Emphasis Preaching Journal

The pulpit does not stand in a vacuum. It is always located in a specific place, and each sermon from it occurs at a particular time. And the place and the time influence the pulpit, just as the pulpit is expected to speak to its place and its time.

The liturgical calendar is one of the factors of time that impacts our preaching, and this week that calendar invites us to preach about the Trinity. On the one hand, of course, this is an established part of the theology of each person in our pews. They routinely hear references in liturgy and song to “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,” and they affirm that fundamental doctrine each time they recite one of the historic creeds. At the same time, however, the Trinity may be one of the most underdeveloped parts of their theology in terms of our people’s ability to articulate and explain what they believe.

I encountered just last week a rather common example of the problem. While teaching a class, I asked a question about Jesus. One of the students, in an effort to clarify, responded, “Do you mean Jesus or God?” 

We all know what the student meant by the question. My hunch, however, is that the student didn’t know why it was an incorrect question. And at the core of that misunderstanding is a basic ignorance of what we believe about God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit.

One Sunday is not enough time, of course, to cover this material completely. It is, however, enough to begin. And that is our opportunity this Sunday -- perhaps even our requirement.

There is a theological task involved, to be sure, but we do our God, our people, and our pulpits a disservice if the end result of our work is just a theological treatise. The ancient church father believed that the “Holy, holy, holy” exclamation of the seraphim in Isaiah 6 was a reference to the Trinity. Yet it was a reference made in reverence, awe, and worship. Let that be our tone and our goal, then, in our preaching. 

We will point to and speak of the Trinity this Sunday. In the process, we will help to clarify our people’s theology and develop their understanding. But beyond that, we want to enhance their worship. For that is what thinking about God and seeing him more clearly should always inspire.

Isaiah 6:1-8
The scene that we know as Isaiah’s call is one of the most majestic in scripture. I remember an occasion years ago when I was prepared to preach on this passage. After the liturgist had finished reading it, however, I didn’t even want to get into the pulpit. The atmosphere was so awed by the reading of this scene that it seemed that nothing more needed to be said. I did go ahead and preach that Sunday, but my sermon seemed superfluous and anticlimactic.

The death of King Uzziah should not be passed over as merely background material or a kind of timestamp on the event. Our nation has lived through a small handful of incidences when our president has died in office, and we know that it is profoundly disorienting and disruptive. It shakes the country to its core. And Judah’s experience of this king’s death would only have been worse, partly because there was more room for chaos in their system of succession than ours, and partly because Uzziah was an institution.

The Bible reports that Uzziah reigned for 52 years. So where were you and what were you doing 52 years ago? How many different presidents have we had in 52 years? How different is our world now than it was a half-century ago? I imagine there were a pretty fair number of citizens in Judah who couldn’t remember a time when Uzziah wasn’t king. His death, therefore, must have been a monumental event, and disorienting in the extreme.

Against that backdrop of national calamity, then, see how especially important Isaiah’s vision is. To see the Lord at all is unspeakable. But to see on a throne is of particular importance at this moment in Judah’s history. Uzziah may be dead, but the throne is not empty. The real throne never is. And so, while the passing of the human monarch was disorienting, the vision experienced by Isaiah was profoundly reorienting.

Interestingly, this vision of the Lord manages to give us a tremendous sense of his majesty without really describing him at all. Unlike some other theophanies in scripture, this passage features no details of dazzling apparel, radiant face, or such. Instead, we sense the glory from its impact -- as we might perceive the immensity of the rock from the dramatic ripples in the lake. We are told about the robe filling the temple, the structural foundations shaking, the breathtaking reverence of the seraphs, and the awestruck obeisance of the prophet. While we don’t see the Lord along with Isaiah, therefore, we do get a sense for him by the responses of everything that is in the presence of the divine majesty.

We will give more thought below to the significance of Isaiah’s “unclean lips” and the response of the seraph. Meanwhile, the end result of the episode is the well-known moment of calling. The Lord asks aloud, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And Isaiah famously answers, “Here am I; send me.”

The image of Almighty God seeking volunteers is a compelling one. And it is especially noteworthy that, surrounded by the seraphim, the Lord still seeks and accepts a human agent. Just as noteworthy, meanwhile, is Isaiah’s exemplary response. How easy it would have been to focus on his uncleanness and consider himself disqualified (see Peter in Luke 5:8). How easy it would have been to feel small and inadequate in the presence of the seraphs. And how easy it would have been to resist the unspecified mission. Yet Isaiah does not hesitate to do the harder thing: “Here am I; send me!”

Romans 8:12-17
This passage from Romans can be preached in so many directions, for it is full of gospel truth. Our specific endeavor in the end this week, of course, is to mine the passage for the theme of Trinity Sunday. And while Paul is not deliberately offering an excursus on the Trinity, we see that Trinitarian theology is naturally and inevitably woven through all that he writes.

The first order of business, we observe, is the juxtaposition of Spirit and flesh. This is a recurring theme in scripture, of course. It is central to Paul’s paradigm of the Christian life, and we will see the same dualism shortly in our gospel lection. It is the two-sided competition Jesus references in Gethsemane (Mark 14:38). And it may be Genesis’ understanding of our human composition as well, for a part of the story of the creation of human beings suggests this same spirit-and-flesh paradigm (Genesis 2:7).

In Paul’s understanding of the human condition, however, he presents the issue not merely as a struggle between the two parts of our selves. Rather, he employs the spirit-and-flesh language to point to a larger-scale struggle. The issue, according to Paul, is not a battle within myself, but rather a struggle between the Spirit of God and my sinful nature. This truth may be anticipated and implied by the profound creation account in Genesis, but it is explicit here in Pauline theology.

We are acquainted with how some plants and flowers turn naturally towards light. Sunflowers are perhaps most famous and lovely in this pattern. Let us imagine, however, a plant that has free will. On the one side, there is the sun. On the other side, there is some artificial light. Toward which will the plant turn? In which direction will it grow?

You and I are spiritually located between the Holy Spirit and our flesh. The challenge that Paul articulates then is this: Toward which will we live? In which direction will we move and grow? The apostle’s exhortation is that we should reject the pull of our sinful nature, living instead in joyful and liberated response to the Spirit of God.

Next, with remarkable fluidity, Paul pivots to a different use of the term “spirit.” Now it is no longer a reference to the Holy Spirit or even, strictly speaking, the spirit that is naturally within us. Now the dualism shifts to two different kinds of spirits that we might have within us, which Paul identifies as a “spirit of slavery” and a “spirit of adoption.” In this case, “spirit” suggests a kind of inner sense of identity, and Paul reminds his readers that we have a new identity. Our original status as slaves and has been abolished, and in its place we enjoy this new status as children of God.

That, then, is the truth that brings a grand passage to its grand climax. The new spirit within us responds to the Holy Spirit of God with an exclamation of beloved familiarity. We are assured of who we are in Christ. And that new status and identity carries us through what the rest of this life holds for us and on into glory!

John 3:1-17
Like the selection from Paul’s epistle to the Romans, there is so much for a preacher to preach from in this section of John. When reading a passage like this one before a sermon, I am inclined to want to tell my people to think of it as a buffet at a restaurant. We can’t digest all of it in one sitting, but we’ll enjoy as much as we are able!

For our purposes this week, of course, our focus is on the Trinity, and we will feast on that theme below. But we should also take a quick survey of the rest of what’s on the table. Even though it is not all for this Sunday’s menu, it is worth appreciating the spread.  

First, there is the character of Nicodemus. He is noteworthy in John’s narrative because he appears near both the beginning (here), near the middle (7:50-52), and at the end (19:38-42). At both the front end and the back, John notes that Nicodemus came to Jesus “by night,” which is not a flattering detail in the Fourth Gospel’s light-vs.-dark dualism. 

Nicodemus represents a certain group of people. He’s a member of the Jewish religious leadership, which conspicuously fails to recognize and understand Jesus. He proves to be a disappointing partner in this conversation, yet he is arguably the best of his breed in the gospel of John. We turn the page one chapter later, meanwhile, and meet a much less probable character -- a Samaritan woman -- and find that her dialogue with Jesus is more fruitful by far than the one with this “teacher of Israel.”

Furthermore, Nicodemus serves as a broader symbol. In both his darkness and his need to be born again, he is an everyman kind of character. He represents the condition of humanity in general. He knew enough to come to Christ; one wonders what became of him in the end.

In addition to the rich character of Nicodemus, we are also introduced in this passage to the famous image of being born again. The underlying Greek is variously translated as “again,” “anew,” and “from above,” and I suspect that we are better off embracing all the meanings rather than choosing just one. Clearly it is a second birth, and as such a new birth. Furthermore, the subsequent remarks by Jesus about the Spirit and “heavenly things” also bear witness to it being a birth that is “from above.” 

In a gospel that is marked by dualism, we sense a recurring juxtaposition here. I take the “water” of verse 5 to be an allusion to natural birth rather than baptism. There is no other reference to baptism in this passage, but the preceding verse refers to the womb and the succeeding verse refers to being “born of the flesh.” Given the context, then, the “water” seems to join with “the flesh” and “earthly things” on one side the ledger, while “spirit,” “Spirit,” and “heavenly things” all form the other half of the dualism. 

Finally, the passage concludes with grand statements about the purpose of Christ’s coming into the world. The Greek word hinah (Strong’s #3363) is the conjunction commonly used to denote purpose. In English, we render it “so that” or “in order that.” And Jesus uses that term three times in three consecutive verses. Taken together, John 3:15-17 combines to offer a profound but concise affirmation of the work of Christ. He was sent by God as a function of God’s love for the world (verse 16). His objective was not to condemn that world but to save it (verse 17). And his purpose was that anyone who believes in him would have eternal life (verses 15 and 16). 

Application
“Cherubim and seraphim with unwearied voices praise him,” observed St. Ambrose of the scene in Isaiah 6, “and say, ‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God of hosts.’ They say it not once, lest you should believe that there is but one; not twice, lest you should exclude the Spirit; they say not holies (in the plural), lest you should imagine that there is plurality, but they repeat three times and say the same word that even in a hymn you may understand the distinction of persons in the Trinity and the oneness of the Godhead.”

In addition to the insight from Ambrose, we also observe in God’s speech a toggling between singular and plural pronouns. “Whom shall I send,” the Lord asks, “and who will go for us?” For consistency’s sake, we would expect the passage to read either “whom shall we send” or “who will go for me.” But the interplay of singular and plural reminds us of the creation account, when God says “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness” (Genesis 1:26), followed by the report that “God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them” (verse 27).

Tellingly, Isaiah’s encounter with the Trinity was no mere spectator sport. The prophet could not see God and then just go home unaffected. Instead, Isaiah is cleansed and forgiven. And furthermore, we observe that the human character was invited to become involved with the work and purpose of God.

All of those elements from the Old Testament passage are given fuller expression in our New Testament readings, and that begins, of course, with a more explicit doctrine of the Trinity. What the Old Testament suggests, the New Testament declares. God is Three Persons, and both the teaching of Jesus in John and the letter from Paul to the Romans identifies those Persons in the familiar and revealing language of Father, Son, and Spirit.

Meanwhile, Isaiah’s experience with uncleanness and pardon anticipates the gracious and salvific truths found in our two New Testament passages. Isaiah is, in fact, unclean, yet he is cleansed from it rather than condemned for it. So we see the heart of God that, ultimately, sends his Son not to condemn the world but to save it. And just as a kind of freshness is given to Isaiah, so both Jesus and Paul point to a great newness offered by God: a new birth, a new status, and a new identity.

Finally, like Isaiah, we are brought into relationship with the Trinity. In the case of the prophet, we witness merely his calling. In Paul’s letter to the Romans, however, we are taught the larger truth. Set free from the slavery into which we were born, we are adopted as children of God. We make a careless but common mistake, of course, when we casually assume that “child of God” is our natural status. When we begin to understand the doctrine of the Trinity, though, we see more clearly how remarkable this gospel truth is. The Father has an only-begotten Son; yet in his grace and love, he adopts us as his children as well, making us “joint heirs with Christ.”

God is Three Persons. He is in relationship, with us or without us. He is Father, with us or without us. Astonishingly, he wants to be with us, and to that end he cleanses us, frees us, calls us, and adopts us as his own. 

Alternative Application
Isaiah 6:1-8. “Reappraisal” We have an idiom in our day which indicts us. We say “Talk is cheap,” and when we say it we condemn ourselves twice over. On the one hand, we betray our shameful underestimation of the value and importance of words. And on the other hand, we confess that we have in fact cheapened something so precious. 

In our closest human relationships, we know better. Talk is not cheap at all. Rather, the words that we speak to and hear from one another can prove to be either altogether priceless or exceedingly costly. And if talk were so cheap, so easy to come by, then people wouldn’t find it so hard to say elementary things like “I’m sorry” and “I love you.”

From the very beginning, scripture bears witness to the importance of speech and of words. And we get a profound measure of their importance in this familiar and dramatic scene from Isaiah. Consider two points.

First, we observe Isaiah’s response. He is overwhelmed by the glory and the holiness of God. Naturally, he becomes acutely aware of his own sinfulness. Yet see how he expresses it: “I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips.” And in response, the seraph touches the prophet’s mouth with a coal and then declares, “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.”

It is significant that human sin and supernatural cleansing are so connected to the lips and mouth. Remember, after all, that Jesus said our words reflect and reveal our hearts (see Matthew 15:10-20). To have unclean lips, therefore, suggests a deeper problem. And so in light of that truth, it is not surprising that Jesus says, “I tell you, on the day of judgment you will have to give an account for every careless word you utter; for by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned” (Matthew 12:36-37).

Since Jesus ties the judgment day to our words, perhaps Isaiah’s experience gives us an advance peek at our own. Perhaps this will be our experience of the judgment as well. Perhaps we will stand in the presence of God and find ourselves overwhelmed with a recognition of our own sinfulness, and we will feel it in our very lips.
Meanwhile, there is a magnificent flipside. Just as our inner uncleanness is reflected in our lips, so too is our worship. The antidote to “every careless word you utter,” after all, is not that we should be mute. Rather, we observe that the reverence and awe of the seraphim is expressed. It is not just manifested by their posture; it is articulated by their words. And so we may join them in that highest form of speech -- worship -- which is not cheap at all.