Uzziah is Dead!
Sermon
WIND THROUGH The VALLEYS
Sermons for the First Third of the Pentecost Season
Those who look to this well-known Old Testament lesson for some new insight on the interrelatedness of the Persons of the Godhead, look in vain. There is nothing here that especially commends this text for Trinity Sunday. However, there is much for our consideration.
"In the year that King Uzziah died ..." These opening words may seem incidental to the rest of this autobiographical account, but they are not. They fix the time of this spiritual experience. In this, they give us a particular historical setting. These opening words tell us that there are events in our lives too, that ignite a reaction, a response. King Uzziah is dead! That announcement, in 742 B.C. in Jerusalem, put terror into the hearts of some. Why?
All kings must die. Yet the title, "King," is a reference to power. When the king died, the power was gone. It happens with all great people. Napoleon died. Queen Elizabeth died. Hitler died. And with the death of each, power also passed. King Uzziah died. There is so little in Scripture about Uzziah that he almost goes unnoticed. Yet we learn from 2 Kings 15 and 2 Chronicles 26 that he was also named Azariah, and that he was next to King David in what he did for the people. Not only did he have successful armies to drive back the Philistines and others who would otherwise have invaded, but he carried out projects, during his 52-year reign in Judah, that provided security for the people. He increased their water supply and, in general, raised their standard of living. There was stability during his reign. Even his trouble with the priests, when he took their authority by burning incense, and the resulting leprosy he suffered did not notably take away from his leadership. He placed his son, Jotham, on the throne as a regent under him, and it was as if he himself still ruled. By his very existence, leprous or not, Uzziah kept the pieces of government together and created security.
Then it happened! Uzziah died! There were alert and concerned people who took special note of his death. Isaiah, probably already acknowledged as a prophet, was among them. He, and others, knew that with Uzziah gone, a crisis was assured. There would be the exchange of power. Jerusalem and Judah would be threatened again by the attempt of the Assyrians to expand their empire. The very name of Uzziah meant, "My strength is Yahweh." Now with Uzziah gone, that strength seemed gone too. As he reflected on all of this, Isaiah felt remorse. He felt himself drained of energy. He felt empty! He was worried about the future.
It is the same feeling that overtakes us at critical times. It came to many Americans at the death of President Roosevelt and the assassination of President Kennedy. It comes when people consider questions like: what will happen when mother dies? What will happen when my husband is gone, or wife? What will happen when the family separates, when the company moves, when the grocery store closes?
What happens when the paths of life lead into a narrow valley? What happens when the Uzziah's of life die? Isaiah went to the temple! Maybe the occasion was a religious festival. Maybe it was to participate in a ceremony that repesented the divine King as returning to his temple in a procession of triumph. Perhaps the occasion was the funeral of the King. Isaiah went to the temple.
We have our reasons for going to church, for making a religious trip, for worshiping God. Many people enter a place of worship at death, for a funeral. Others appear when it is important to recognize and trust in a power beyond ourselves, in a King who is above all kings, a Yahweh who is above all gods.
In the temple, standing with the priests between the porch and the altar, Isaiah watched the drama of ceremony and worship, of words and music. It all took on a personal meaning. The temple scene faded and there came a vision. In the vision, Isaiah saw the indescribable Yahweh. The language of the account is borrowed from the state and the temple. Not Uzziah now, but Yahweh is on the throne. His attendants are supernatural beings, the seraphim. They protect themselves, with wings, from the glory of Yahweh. They call out, "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts!" That call was not an announcement of the morality of God, but his uniqueness, his wholly otherness, his transcendence. The experience of the temple trembling and the smoke stressed the otherness of God. Isaiah becomes stricken with unworthiness.
In the presence of God, at the contemplation of God, we are driven to sense our humanness, our mortality. We are reminded of our frailty and our sins, "I am a man of unclean lips," Isaiah confesses. "I dwell in the midst of a people with unclean lips!" Was he confessing the sins of the tongue, or was he speaking in generalities? Had he used his voice in false prophecy? Had he, as we, pretended to have spoken for God, when he merely wanted to press his own opinions? Was it profanity he was confessing, and the making of false promises and the repetitive speaking of empty words? No matter, of them all we are guilty.
We have a constant need for purification. Whether it is of the lips, or the feet, or the hand, the heart, the thought, there is need for cleansing. Is it maybe at crisis times in our lives, or in our families, or in our nation and world that we are most conscious of our frailties and sins? God uses especially these critical times to address us. When we think the end for us has come, God gives a new beginning. When the difficult times come, the days of extreme guilt or remorse; when the sins of the hour, the day, or a life-time weigh heavy on us, and we pronounce our own "woes" upon ourselves, and beg freedom from them, God has a word for us. It is a word of forgiveness.
That forgiveness is as purifying as a hot stone upon the lips, as fresh water that washes away the brackish, as a cool breeze on a hot and humid day. That forgiveness becomes a transforming experience. Those who have been in the depths of alcohol, drugs, lust, compulsive lying, or other debilitating habits can also know what it is to be free from these. Such freedom comes from forgiveness. Those who receive such freedom and forgiveness have an assignment. They have a commission. It is to share the news of a caring God who meets us in the valleys of life. It is to share the news of a loving God who forgives us when our unworthiness overtakes us.
Sensing his forgiveness and call, Isaiah responded. "Here am I! Send me." Though this marked the beginning of a clear call to a prophetic ministry for him, the response is expected of all those who have experienced the purifying effect of God's forgiveness, whatever their vocation may be. The message of a God of love is to be heard from a television technician, a car mechanic, and a tomato grower, as well as from a minister of the Gospel. It is the experience of forgiveness that makes us witnesses. Yet we don't see people standing in line, saying, "Send me." Maybe it is because we do not sense our forgiveness, or because we have never confessed. We are unfit for the task of telling until we are pardoned, and once we are pardoned, we have the task! It will not be an easy one, as Isaiah is also told just beyond this selected portion of his sixth chapter. "And God said, 'Go, and say to this people: Hear and hear, but do not understand; see and see, but do not perceive.' "
There will always be those who will sense no need of forgiveness. They will not understand; they will not hear; and they will not see the need for the message of a forgiving God. Some will think that the talk of forgiveness is making too much of sin. Others will think that forgiveness is being too kind with misbehavior, making light of sin. These have not understood that thunder and lightning do not cause repentance and growth; rather, a soft steady rain does, and a quiet sun, and a slight wind through the fields and valleys. Some will not understand how a wife or husband can take back an unfaithful spouse, or how parents can receive back a child who has rebelled and left home. Some may never understand why an offender should ever be paroled, or any criminal ever pardoned and given a second chance. Some may not understand why Christian mission work is to be done among people who hate us, or how the United States can give back lands to those who have first attacked us. They may never understand until they themselves know a God of love. They may not understand until all the props of their lives are gone, until they hear the announcement that "Uzziah is dead." Some may never understand why they are to proclaim a God of forgiveness, until they themselves beg for a second chance, and get it!
"In the year that King Uzziah died ..." These opening words may seem incidental to the rest of this autobiographical account, but they are not. They fix the time of this spiritual experience. In this, they give us a particular historical setting. These opening words tell us that there are events in our lives too, that ignite a reaction, a response. King Uzziah is dead! That announcement, in 742 B.C. in Jerusalem, put terror into the hearts of some. Why?
All kings must die. Yet the title, "King," is a reference to power. When the king died, the power was gone. It happens with all great people. Napoleon died. Queen Elizabeth died. Hitler died. And with the death of each, power also passed. King Uzziah died. There is so little in Scripture about Uzziah that he almost goes unnoticed. Yet we learn from 2 Kings 15 and 2 Chronicles 26 that he was also named Azariah, and that he was next to King David in what he did for the people. Not only did he have successful armies to drive back the Philistines and others who would otherwise have invaded, but he carried out projects, during his 52-year reign in Judah, that provided security for the people. He increased their water supply and, in general, raised their standard of living. There was stability during his reign. Even his trouble with the priests, when he took their authority by burning incense, and the resulting leprosy he suffered did not notably take away from his leadership. He placed his son, Jotham, on the throne as a regent under him, and it was as if he himself still ruled. By his very existence, leprous or not, Uzziah kept the pieces of government together and created security.
Then it happened! Uzziah died! There were alert and concerned people who took special note of his death. Isaiah, probably already acknowledged as a prophet, was among them. He, and others, knew that with Uzziah gone, a crisis was assured. There would be the exchange of power. Jerusalem and Judah would be threatened again by the attempt of the Assyrians to expand their empire. The very name of Uzziah meant, "My strength is Yahweh." Now with Uzziah gone, that strength seemed gone too. As he reflected on all of this, Isaiah felt remorse. He felt himself drained of energy. He felt empty! He was worried about the future.
It is the same feeling that overtakes us at critical times. It came to many Americans at the death of President Roosevelt and the assassination of President Kennedy. It comes when people consider questions like: what will happen when mother dies? What will happen when my husband is gone, or wife? What will happen when the family separates, when the company moves, when the grocery store closes?
What happens when the paths of life lead into a narrow valley? What happens when the Uzziah's of life die? Isaiah went to the temple! Maybe the occasion was a religious festival. Maybe it was to participate in a ceremony that repesented the divine King as returning to his temple in a procession of triumph. Perhaps the occasion was the funeral of the King. Isaiah went to the temple.
We have our reasons for going to church, for making a religious trip, for worshiping God. Many people enter a place of worship at death, for a funeral. Others appear when it is important to recognize and trust in a power beyond ourselves, in a King who is above all kings, a Yahweh who is above all gods.
In the temple, standing with the priests between the porch and the altar, Isaiah watched the drama of ceremony and worship, of words and music. It all took on a personal meaning. The temple scene faded and there came a vision. In the vision, Isaiah saw the indescribable Yahweh. The language of the account is borrowed from the state and the temple. Not Uzziah now, but Yahweh is on the throne. His attendants are supernatural beings, the seraphim. They protect themselves, with wings, from the glory of Yahweh. They call out, "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts!" That call was not an announcement of the morality of God, but his uniqueness, his wholly otherness, his transcendence. The experience of the temple trembling and the smoke stressed the otherness of God. Isaiah becomes stricken with unworthiness.
In the presence of God, at the contemplation of God, we are driven to sense our humanness, our mortality. We are reminded of our frailty and our sins, "I am a man of unclean lips," Isaiah confesses. "I dwell in the midst of a people with unclean lips!" Was he confessing the sins of the tongue, or was he speaking in generalities? Had he used his voice in false prophecy? Had he, as we, pretended to have spoken for God, when he merely wanted to press his own opinions? Was it profanity he was confessing, and the making of false promises and the repetitive speaking of empty words? No matter, of them all we are guilty.
We have a constant need for purification. Whether it is of the lips, or the feet, or the hand, the heart, the thought, there is need for cleansing. Is it maybe at crisis times in our lives, or in our families, or in our nation and world that we are most conscious of our frailties and sins? God uses especially these critical times to address us. When we think the end for us has come, God gives a new beginning. When the difficult times come, the days of extreme guilt or remorse; when the sins of the hour, the day, or a life-time weigh heavy on us, and we pronounce our own "woes" upon ourselves, and beg freedom from them, God has a word for us. It is a word of forgiveness.
That forgiveness is as purifying as a hot stone upon the lips, as fresh water that washes away the brackish, as a cool breeze on a hot and humid day. That forgiveness becomes a transforming experience. Those who have been in the depths of alcohol, drugs, lust, compulsive lying, or other debilitating habits can also know what it is to be free from these. Such freedom comes from forgiveness. Those who receive such freedom and forgiveness have an assignment. They have a commission. It is to share the news of a caring God who meets us in the valleys of life. It is to share the news of a loving God who forgives us when our unworthiness overtakes us.
Sensing his forgiveness and call, Isaiah responded. "Here am I! Send me." Though this marked the beginning of a clear call to a prophetic ministry for him, the response is expected of all those who have experienced the purifying effect of God's forgiveness, whatever their vocation may be. The message of a God of love is to be heard from a television technician, a car mechanic, and a tomato grower, as well as from a minister of the Gospel. It is the experience of forgiveness that makes us witnesses. Yet we don't see people standing in line, saying, "Send me." Maybe it is because we do not sense our forgiveness, or because we have never confessed. We are unfit for the task of telling until we are pardoned, and once we are pardoned, we have the task! It will not be an easy one, as Isaiah is also told just beyond this selected portion of his sixth chapter. "And God said, 'Go, and say to this people: Hear and hear, but do not understand; see and see, but do not perceive.' "
There will always be those who will sense no need of forgiveness. They will not understand; they will not hear; and they will not see the need for the message of a forgiving God. Some will think that the talk of forgiveness is making too much of sin. Others will think that forgiveness is being too kind with misbehavior, making light of sin. These have not understood that thunder and lightning do not cause repentance and growth; rather, a soft steady rain does, and a quiet sun, and a slight wind through the fields and valleys. Some will not understand how a wife or husband can take back an unfaithful spouse, or how parents can receive back a child who has rebelled and left home. Some may never understand why an offender should ever be paroled, or any criminal ever pardoned and given a second chance. Some may not understand why Christian mission work is to be done among people who hate us, or how the United States can give back lands to those who have first attacked us. They may never understand until they themselves know a God of love. They may not understand until all the props of their lives are gone, until they hear the announcement that "Uzziah is dead." Some may never understand why they are to proclaim a God of forgiveness, until they themselves beg for a second chance, and get it!
