“In the year King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple. Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two their covered their feet, and with two they flew. And one called to another and said: ‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.'”
Seraphs, according to traditional theology, constitute the highest class of angels. Their name means “the fiery ones.” Some artists depict them with six wings — two to cover their faces (because of God’s holiness), two to cover their feet (because of God’s holiness), and two to fly.
They are the highest class of angels because they are closest to God, at his throne, and near the altar of incense. These are the angels that sing the thrice-holy hymn, Holy, Holy, Holy. Every time the seraphs spoke, the foundations shook and the whole place was filled with incense.
When Isaiah had this vision, when he had a glimpse of the sheer holiness and wonder of God, he confessed his unworthiness. He saw himself in proper perspective. And then one of the seraphim, the highest of the angels, took a coal from the altar of incense and purified his mouth; branded him, if you will, and said to him, “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.” Now that his mouth had been cauterized by the coal of the altar, Isaiah was able to respond to God’s question of whom shall he send to proclaim his goodness to his people. Here am I, Isaiah said, send me!
This, in just eight verses, is the transformative power and purpose of worship. We see ourselves in proper perspective; we need a Savior — for grace, forgiveness, strength, and love. We are scalded with divine love in order to speak words of praise and prayer to that Savior. And we are strengthened to respond to Savior’s call to us — “Here am I; send me.”
We worship the way we do at St Timothy’s because of Isaiah, chapter 6. We follow the traditional pattern of liturgy because this is what the early church followed. For 2,000 years, we have mirrored this divine scene that so overpowered and transformed the prophet Isaiah. It’s all there. The altar, the incense, the mention of angels, and the thrice-holy hymn, Holy, Holy, Holy.
We do things differently here at St Timothy’s. We keep traditions and rituals that have long been discarded as old-fashioned and obsolete, not because we think we are special, and not for the sake of being different or personal taste, but in order to invite an experience of the real, moving, presence of the Divine; to sing with the angels, to feel our foundations rocked by the holiness of God, to smell the fragrance of sanctity — so that we, like Isaiah, might see ourselves properly by first seeing a glimpse of God; that we may allow our hearts and lips to be purified by his Word and Love, and then respond with faith to his call.
That’s why we are here, that’s the only reason we are here, and to promote any other purpose is to paint narcissism with the color of religion.
Pope Benedict said it best when he wrote, “Worship, that is the right kind of cult, of relationship with God, is essential for the right kind of human existence in the world. It is so precisely because it reaches beyond everyday life. Worship gives us a share in heaven’s mode of existence, in the world of God, and allows light to fall from that divine world into ours. … It lays hold in advance of a more perfect life and, in so doing, gives our present life its proper measure.”
This is the reason, and it’s the only reason, why we take our liturgy so seriously. It’s why we offer public prayers nearly every single day. It’s why we have Evensong this afternoon and why we keep all the major feasts, even if they fall on a Friday or Saturday and we know the congregation will be small. It’s why we have statues and candles and devotions. It’s why I am convinced of the necessity for a capital campaign to further enhance this space, so that more and more may hear the thundering power of “Holy, Holy, Holy” and the burning freedom of a seraph’s coal that liberates their lips for praise. So more and more can see themselves in need of a Savior, and once they’ve felt his love, people who have been lost, even lost to themselves, will exclaim with every fiber of their being: “Here am I! Send me!” Because worship is the beginning of a right relationship with God, and a right relationship with God is essential for the right kind of human existence.
We worship the way we do because it demands something of us. If worship does not demand something from us, it is too tame. If it’s too tame, it’s under our control. And if it’s under our control, it’s not about God.
That means worship is not a matter of taste. I love elaborate liturgy not because I was raised that way. I was overpowered by it in the same way Isaiah was. I was marked by it the same way he was. But there are times when I feel the weight of its demands. Saying my prayers daily, keeping the feasts, the fasting, the abstinence, is real work. And occasionally, I’m pushed outside my comfort zone by worrying what others might think, what you might think. I’m pushed outside my comfort zone when people leave because of it.
And then I remember Isaiah. And Peter.
In Luke’s Gospel, after his baptism, Jesus went to Nazareth, his hometown, to preach, and then he went to Capernaum to preach. After preaching in Capernaum, he went to the house of Peter. This is before Peter was called to follow him as a disciple. Peter’s mother-in-law was ill with a fever and Jesus rebuked the fever and she was healed.
In the next scene in Luke, Jesus is teaching on Lake Gennesaret and the crowds are pressing in on him, so he gets in Peter’s boat and starts to preach from the water. When he finished preaching, he looked at Peter and told him to put his nets in deep water to catch some fish.
Peter had been fishing all night. The fish weren’t there. He was tired and now he was irritated. Jesus of Nazareth was a rabbi, a carpenter, and a wonderful healer, but one thing Peter knew, he was not a fisherman. This was outside his lane. Peter responds with sarcasm, “We have worked all night and have caught nothing, but if you say so, I’ll let down the nets.”
How often do we do this? How often do we try to keep Jesus Christ in his lane, whatever we think that is. You might have cast out demons, you might have healed the sick, you might even have died on the cross for the sins of the whole world, but know nothing about my marriage, my finance, my thoughts, my sins, my time, whatever.
Put down your nets, Peter. Put down your guard. Put down your protest. Put down your excuses. Listen to me.
The nets broke because of the catch. And Peter saw the living God and echoed the words of Isaiah: “Go away from me / Woe is me. For I am a sinful man / I am a man of unclean lips.”
Jesus told Peter to not be afraid, and he called him as a disciple, and Peter followed. Isaiah received the seraph’s coal and said, “Here am I. Send me.”
Do you see why the Evil One wants us to tame our worship and make it about us? If we are allowed to make it about us, we won’t see Jesus Christ. Seeing Jesus Christ enables us to truly see ourselves. Seeing both in proper perspective is the beginning of new life.
Our Lord is calling us to deeper waters. Not the shallows. There’s nothing there. Our Lord is calling us to the intersection of heaven and earth, where we can see the glory of the Lord and have it both comfort us and terrify us. He is calling us to be burned by the fire of his love and holiness, so we too will follow in the long line of holy men and women who have said “Here am I. Send me.” And follow him.
The Rev. Steve Rice is the rector of St. Timothy’s Episcopal Church, an Anglo-Catholic parish in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, and is the founder of the Society of St. Joseph of Arimathea.
