First United Methodist Church
Birmingham, Michigan
Scripture: Isaiah 6:1-8
May 15, 2005
Before we go any further with this little exercise, let me say clearly and confidently (leaving no room for anyone to misunderstand or take offense), that I believe you can worship anywhere, any way, any time, with anybody, wearing pretty much anything. But speaking solely for myself, it feels good to once again pray, preach and sing the praises of almighty God in this place, wearing my brand new tie.
Let me explain. Two Sundays ago, at the conclusion of worship, Roger and Barbara Timm (two of the best treasures we ever stole from the Presbyterians) said: “If you’ve got a minute, we’ve got something to give you.” Which turned out to be a tie from Ede and Ravenscroft of Edinburgh, Scotland (Clothiers by Appointment to the Crown since the year of our Lord 1689). Roger and Barbara knew I had bought a tie there while leading several of you across the trail of the Protestant Reformation. And befitting the good Presbyterians they once were, they have returned to Scotland and purchased ties for yours truly a trio of times since.
But in giving me this one, Roger said: “We thought you would wear it upon reentering the sanctuary on May 15.” To which Barbara said: “It’s a gift, Roger. You can’t tell Bill what to do with a gift.” But Roger’s “hint” mirrored my “want,” given that I am wearing it as a way of reminding myself that this day is no ordinary day, this place is no ordinary place, and the thing I am privileged to do on this extraordinary day in this extraordinary place is no ordinary thing.
For years I have worn a new tie every Easter as a way of turning the youngest child’s question at Passover (“Why is this night unlike any other night?”) into an aging preacher’s question at Easter (“Why is this morning unlike any other morning?”). And in a similar spirit, every Sunday finds me wearing the color red somewhere on my person (visible or invisible) as a way of reminding myself that every Sunday….whether it dawns fair or ill….is a weekly rehearsal of our Lord’s resurrection from the dead.
Yet this day is extra special, else why would my daughter and son-in-law be here from San Francisco? Unless they came to help install the organ, which also came from San Francisco. Parts of which you can see. Though nothing of which you can hear. But you will. Soon. Trust me. After all, it’s only been twenty weeks and three million dollars.
Twenty weeks is nothing. Wells Cathedral in England took 245 years. Notre Dame in Paris, 187 years. While Washington Cathedral (in our nation’s capital) was first discussed in 1791 and finished (if a cathedral is ever finished) in 1990.
And three million dollars, while slightly more than a drop in the bucket (and never to be confused with chump change), is a bargain when factored in fifty-year increments. Assuming that some of us are sitting here in 2055, we’re talking a mere $60,000 a year. If we’re here in 2105, it drops to $30,000 a year. Sometimes you have to think long as well as big.
And maybe high, too….as in transcendence. Along with low….as in roots. I trust you have read about Dearborn’s magnificent Islamic Center of America ($14 million to build 92,000 square feet, including a 60-foot dome). It is set to open on Thursday. The article quoted John Esposito of Georgetown University (a pre-eminent Islamic scholar) who said: “What we are seeing is a 21st century community emerging, making sacrifices to build cathedrals as symbols of both their deep roots and their ongoing presence.” Which, translated, seems to be their way of saying: “We’ve been here. We are here. We’re going to stay here. We’re going to make a difference here. Even though everything we do here (including the design of the building we have constructed here) announces that our home is never just here….never only here….never finally here.” Which is an incredible theological statement….one which could be ours as well.
Which is why I offer no apology for the magnitude of the work we have done. Magnificent, by some standards. Modest, by other standards. It was needed. It is appreciated. And on my watch (along with succeeding watches to come….again, trust me), it shall be wonderfully utilized.
Before undertaking it, we refurbished everything else in the building first….beefed up the staff first….built the Christian Life Center first….expanded the program first….and dramatically multiplied both mission dollars and mission efforts first. But cardiology being equally important to ecclesiology, we knew that sooner or later we would have to attend to our heart. Our heart being worship….including the means to do it and the space to hold it.
King Uzziah died in 742 BC, although Uzziah’s name may have been Azariah….historical precision not being the primary objective of the narrative here. Sometime during that year, Isaiah (who was a prophet on the payroll) entered the temple. Or, truer to the text, had a vision of entering the temple. This vision included the Lord enthroned, high and lifted up, with a train that trailed longer than the one on my daughter’s wedding gown. Beside the Lord were six-winged seraphs (use your imagination here). Two wings for covering the face. Two wings for covering the feet (“feet” being an euphemism for nakedness here….again, use your imagination). And the remaining two wings for flying.
Suddenly, one seraph calls to the other (or to several others), singing a version of the hymn my wife says they sang every Sunday morning in the church of her childhood:
Holy, holy, holy, Lord God almighty,
All thy works shall praise thy name in earth and sky and sea.
After which the building itself shakes and its entirety is filled with smoke (incense?).
Now I ask you, is Isaiah talking about what the building looks like or what the encounter feels like? Is it the building that is shaking? Or is it the prophet who is shaking? You know the answer as well as I do. After all, this is a story we find in the pages of the Bible, not in the pages of Architectural Digest. Consider the old phrase “Sunday go to meeting.” Ponder for a minute the word “meeting.” Then ask yourself: “Who is being met?” Friends? Yes. Preacher? Yes. Choir? Yes. God? Maybe….hopefully….occasionally. But like the one good golf shot that keeps you coming back, God is met (in sanctuaries on Sundays) often enough to make a difference….yes, all the difference in the world.
And it is the remembrance of encounters past, coupled with the expectation of encounters in the future, that leads us to call places like this “sacred.” There’s no accounting for things that have happened here. Nor is there any way of predicting things that might happen here. Speaking from his barstool, a man met briefly said tipsily: “Bill, I’d love to come to your church. But I wouldn’t want to be responsible for the roof cracking.” Assuming he is serious, what is he afraid of? Well, you know that it’s not what he’s afraid of, but who. Which recalls Annie Dillard's great line when she wrote: “If we really expect God to show up in worship, we all might consider wearing hard hats into the sanctuary.”
We don’t, of course….wear hard hats. Yet we do, of course….expect God to show. Which is why some of us still enter quietly and speak softly. Because you just never know.
Several years ago in a sermon on the 12th point of the Scout Law (quick, somebody give me the 12th point: “A Scout is ____”), I told you about the evening Kris and I went to a wedding. Which is to say we attended a wedding. I did not perform the wedding. Meaning that I did not stand up here looking like me, but sat down there looking like you. As in a pew. Where I do not hang out very often. I do not know what it is like….out there….where you are. The wedding was for my friend. I had buried his first wife (who was also my friend). And I was extremely happy he had found someone else with whom to share his life.
Anyway, Kris and I took our places in the pew. Which wasn’t in this church. But it was a beautiful church….with a beautiful organ….playing beautiful music….for a crowd of beautiful people….who were behaving (for the most part) beautifully. Yes, beautifully. Except for the people immediately behind me. They were listening to nothing and talking about everything…. including a lot of talk about hunting. And as the wedding got closer and closer, their talk got louder and louder. Whereupon I leaned over to Kris and whispered (very quietly): “Is it always like this out here?” To which she whispered back (even more quietly): “More than you know.”
I found myself wanting to turn and glare, ever so briefly, at the people behind me. And up until a few years ago, I would have. Because, until a few years ago, I was in that period of my life when I would occasionally count items in the grocery carts of people in the “express checkout lines” and kindly point out to them that this was a “12 item or less” line and they had 27 items in their cart (33 if you counted the six pack). But I didn’t turn and glare because, now that I am older and wiser, I realize that no one died and appointed me “King of the Universe.” So I sat facing forward, grinding my teeth in silence. My friend’s adult children began processing. Whereupon a tear or two began rolling. And the organ began swelling. Which was when it happened.
But before I tell you what happened, I need to tell you that this church….the church in which I was seated….is dominated (architecturally) by a floor-to-ceiling window of stained glass. I mean, the whole front of the church is a window. It’s not just a window in the wall. The window is the wall. And it’s mostly of Jesus (although the disciples are in it, too, along with several other images that are less recognizable, but no less beautiful).
So there I was….forward facing….tears welling….family coming….organ swelling…when the man behind me talking (subject, hunting) noticed the window for the very first time. I mean, we’d been sitting there fifteen minutes. How could he have missed it before this? But, seeing it now, he pointed it out to his significant (female) other. Then, in a stage whisper, he said: “Wow. I wonder what a .357 Magnum would do to that?” To which she said (in no less of a stage whisper): “It would send you straight to hell.”
Now I know the guy was just being funny. He wasn’t planning on blowing out the window. And he wasn’t planning on blowing away Jesus. I mean, Jesus has been killed before. And I’m not all that certain anybody went “straight to hell” for that, either….given that it is in God’s nature to be far more merciful than I would ever think of being.
No, the guy behind me wasn’t so much sinful as stupid. Or insensitive. Or inappropriate. He just said the first thing that came into his head. And it’s a free country. You can pretty much say anything to anyone, at any time, in any place….except “fire” in a crowded theater. But I wanted to turn around, shake his lapels, and say to him: “Look, buddy, if this place….if this window….if the figure in the window….if this moment….if these lovers….if none of this means anything to you….can you tell me what, if anything, does?”
I mean, at some point in your life, you are going to have an experience for which no other word will suffice except the word “sacred.” And it’s going to touch you….move you….humble you. Moreover, it’s going to shut your ever-moving mouth….bring a tear to your eye….form a lump in your throat….drag a long, slow sigh from your lungs….and maybe even drop you to your knees. Whereupon you may attempt to explain what has happened with traditional words like “God” or “Jesus” or “church” or “sanctuary.” But, more likely, you will not know what words to use (by way of explanation)….although later you may say with Jacob: “Surely the Lord was in this place and I didn’t even know it.”
We’re talking about encounters. We’re talking about “going to meeting” on Sunday….or any other day, for that matter. How did Isaiah say it: “I saw the Lord, high and lifted up. And then I said, ‘Woe is me. For I am lost’ (actually, I like other translations which read ‘for I am undone, unraveled, unglued, exposed’). I am a man of unclean lips. And I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips.”
We’re talking “confession” here. We’re talking about my smallness in the midst of God’s greatness here. We’re talking: “There’s no way I can have this kind of encounter while continuing to entertain notions of my own grandeur here.” But what is this “lips” business here?
I’ll tell you about this “lips” business. Isaiah is a prophet. And prophets, unlike plumbers, painters, plasterers and pipe fitters, do not make their living with their hands. They make their living with their lips. They speak for God. And they also speak for bread. Which is what I do, don’t you see. I speak for God. And I speak for bread. My calling is my living. And the prophet is saying: “At the very heart of what I am called to do….trained to do….do do….I am unclean. More than inadequate. More than unworthy. Unclean.”
Never have I openly lied to you. Never have I knowingly misled you. Never have I sought to varnish, package or otherwise finesse the truth for you. Never have I intentionally used my skill with words to manipulate the Word. But what do I know….about what I have done, I mean. Over the last dozen years, some of you have been hurt by my words….confused by my words….unsettled by my words….even angered by my words. Knowing how to do surgery with words, I have not always closed up the opening with words. Making me a man of unclean lips in the midst of a people of unclean lips. Yes, you too.
But then comes the coal….taken with the tongs….out of the fire….the altar fire….God’s altar fire. Whereupon the coal is applied to the lips….cauterizing the wound while warming the chill. Accompanied by the promise: “Lo, this has touched your lips and your guilt is taken away….your sin, forgiven.” I have felt that coal on my lips. I have also said those words with my lips. Tell me you’ve heard those words from my lips (that your guilt is taken away and your sin forgiven). Tell me I have said them loud enough and often enough so that you haven’t left this sanctuary crippled by sin or shackled in shame. My friend Dick Cheatham is famous for saying that every sermon ought to have some good news in it. Tell me you’ve heard some here.
Fire. Tongs. Coal. Then the voice. Ever the voice. Always the voice. “Who will go? For us? For God? Who’s available? Who’s sendable?” It only starts here. It never stays here.
Who will go and do? Given that doing is important. We’re talking feeding, clothing and visiting. We’re talking teaching, healing and forgiving. We’re talking about driving out demons and raising up the dead. You can do all that stuff on the way home from church….should do all that stuff on the way home from church….will do at least some of that stuff on the way home from church.
But the corollary question to “Who will go and do?” is the question “Who will go and be?” How does the anthem put it?
Christ requires of us, wheresoe’er he comes, to have the best of rooms.
No Motel 6s for our Lord. Our Lord is picky….fussy…..choosy. But what is the best of rooms? Saint Peter’s? Westminster? Canterbury Cathedral? The Mormon Tabernacle? Our newly-refurbished sanctuary? Surely we qualify. If we weren’t first class before, we’re first class now.
Ah, close. But no cigar. Big room. New room. Good room. Great room. But not the required room. The required room….the desired room….the best of rooms….the heart.
Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary,
pure and holy, tried and true;
with thanksgiving, I’ll be a living
sanctuary for you.
* * * * *
Note: This Sunday’s sermon was preached on the occasion of our re-entry into the sanctuary after a twenty-week hiatus in the Christian Life Center. The extensive sanctuary renovation was sufficiently complete so as to allow the congregation to again occupy the pews. The Schoenstein organ installation was (and remains) a work in progress. But the “awe” and “wow” factors were very much in evidence as we gathered for worship.
The final praise chorus, “Sanctuary,” was sung, first by the preacher, then echoed by the choir at the close of the sermon.
The text for “The Best of Rooms” (set to music by Randall Thompson) dates from 1647 and reads as follows:
Christ, he requires still, wheresoe’er He comes,
To feed, or lodge, to have the best of rooms:
Give Him the choice; grant Him the nobler part
Of all the house: the best of all’s the heart.
—Robert Herrick
