'In the year that 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 they 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."
The pivots on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke. And I said: "Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!"
Then one of the seraphs flew to me, holding a live coal that had been taken from the altar with a pair of tongs. The seraph touched my mouth with it and said: "Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out." Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?" And I said, "Here am I; send me!"'
--Isaiah 6: 1-8
'Once while Jesus was standing beside the lake of Gennesaret, and the crowd was pressing in on him to hear the word of God, he saw two boats there at the shore of the lake; the fishermen had gone out of them and were washing their nets. He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little way from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, "Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch." Simon answered, "Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets." When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to break. So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both boats, so that they began to sink. But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus' knees, saying, "Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!" For he and all who were with him were amazed at the catch of fish that they had taken; and so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. Then Jesus said to Simon, "Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people." When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him.'
--Luke 5: 1-11
I spent the summer of 2007 working at the Phoebe Needles Center in Callaway, VA. Despite its name, Phoebe Needles is neither a hospital, nor a drug rehab clinic but the camp and conference center for the Episcopal Diocese of Southwestern Virginia. As part of my ordination process, I was encouraged to work at the camp as a counselor, and at the end of each week we would gather around a campfire for a closing liturgy, and almost every time we sang the song Here I Am, Lord. I had never heard the song before, nor did I know at the time that it was paraphrasing Isaiah, but every time I’ve heard or sang it since, it takes me back to those campfires and to the newly kindled sense of call that I was processing that whole summer. Whom shall I send? Here I am Lord. Is it I, Lord? I have heard you calling in the night. I will go, Lord, if you lead me. I will hold your people in my heart. I can’t tell you the number of people, clergy and lay folk alike, who’ve said that song encapsulates their sense of call, why they do what they do.
That sense of call permeates all three of our readings this week, but especially those from Isaiah and the Gospel. Both the prophet and Simon Peter are called into something that is so much bigger than themselves, something awesome. My great-grandfather Preston Epps, who was a Greek scholar at UNC-Chapel Hill, used to say that awesome was the most overused word in the English language. "That movie was awesome!" "That sandwich was awesome!" "Everything is awesome!" He hated that. But in the cases of these readings, each individual encounters the holy in such a way as to leave them truly in awe. And when caught up in such an awesome moment, their own feelings of inadequacy and fear come through.
The book of the prophet Isaiah dates his call to the year King Uzziah died, roughly 742 BCE. Uzziah had died from leprosy, brought on because he arrogantly decided to burn incense to God, which was a task assigned only to the priests. Isaiah describes in great, almost terrifying detail what his call experience was like. This terror leads to recognition and confession, both individually and corporately: “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips.” Yet when a winged seraph flies to him in this vision and touches his mouth with the live coal from the incense fire – a callback to the actions that got Uzziah killed – Isaiah hears God’s call and with a quiet dignity says, “Here am I, send me.”
Unworthiness in the face of the holy is a common theme in Scripture. Simon Peter beholds the might and majesty of Jesus in a miraculous moment in which he and the other fishermen haul in so much that their nets start to burst. Unlike the other Gospels and their stories of the calling of Simon Peter, James, and John, in the Gospel of Luke, Jesus is already well known, and Simon Peter has already hosted him for dinner and asked Jesus to heal his mother-in-law. It isn’t until after the catch, having had a relationship and knowledge on which to base this life-changing decision, that Simon Peter gets it – there seems to be a misconception at times that the disciples just picked up and immediately followed Jesus with no knowledge of him.
And what is his first reaction upon realizing who Jesus is? It’s to fall down and declare himself a sinful man, not unlike Isaiah. Simon Peter never confesses a specific sin, but like the calling of Isaiah, his confession is met with Jesus first telling him not to be afraid and then issuing his call: you will be catching people, or as the older translations render it, “You will be fishers of men.”
Historically, the Church has sort of fumbled that charge. As theologian Ched Myers points out in his Binding of the Strong Man, there may be no expression more traditionally misunderstood that this call to be "fishers of men.” This metaphor, despite the grand old tradition of missionary interpretation, does not refer to the saving of souls, as if Jesus were conferring upon these fisherfolk some sort of instant evangelist status. Rather, the image is carefully chosen from Jeremiah, chapter 16, where it is used as a symbol of God’s censure of the kingdom of Israel. And elsewhere, the hooking of fish is used as a euphemism for judgment upon the rich and powerful, especially in Amos, chapter 4 and Ezekiel, chapter 29. In light of the historic meaning of his chosen imagery within the lineage of the prophets, Jesus is therefore inviting these common folk to join him in his own mission to overturn the existing order of power and privilege, to turn the world rightside-up.
Whom shall he send? If there is one thing we know from the stories of the prophets, Jesus, and the disciples, it’s that God calls people, whether they like it or not, whether they want it or not. Fate rarely calls upon us at a moment of our choosing. Optimus Prime said that. When corruption amongst the rich has reached its zenith and hope amongst the poor has reached its nadir, God calls. God calls in the midst of fear, impending invasions and hostile takeovers, in the dying of kings and regimes, and in moments of unfaithfulness and uncertainty, God calls because God is still there, in the midst of it all. A truly awesome wonder to behold.
Saint Theresa of Avila said that Christ has no hands but ours, no feet but ours, no heart but ours. As God called Isaiah and lit his tongue with the coal to speak truth to power, and as Jesus beckoned a small group of people to undo oppressive systems by creating community that honored the inherent goodness in all people, we too are being called. Right now, in this moment, in this place. To what exactly, that is for each of us to discern. The call may be to bold action, to public witness by those privileged enough to do so, to the seemingly mundane task of calling elected officials, or even to prayerful solitude on the part of those for whom personal safety is a high priority. God is still in the midst of the fear and uncertainty, asking us even now: whom shall I send?
Our own imposter syndromes may feel like they get in the way, our imperfections too great, sinful people of unclean lips that we are. But as Dr. Brene Brown says in her book The Gifts of Imperfection, “imperfections are not inadequacies; they are reminders that we are all in this together.” Broken and fearful, vulnerable, and imperfect, sinful yet forgiven, loved, and called. Together. We do not walk the way of love alone. We do not face the powers and principalities of this world by ourselves. We go together, and now, perhaps more than ever, we need to be reminded of that. Dorothy Day said not to worry being effective, but rather to concentrate on being faithful to the truth. That Truth, with a capital T, is Jesus Christ, who has called us to love and to serve, to pray and break bread in here, that we may do so out there. Whom shall he send? Here we are, Lord, send us.
