Squeezing his eyelids as tightly closed as possible, he waited a few seconds before carefully opening them again. Slow, incremental opening. Slits at first. Half-open. Full sight. It changed nothing about the scene before him. Nothing had. Not the vigorous shaking of his head. Not blinking in rapid succession. Not turning around then quickly turning back. The unfolding scene of heavenly magnificence remained unchanged. Without being told, Isaiah knew he stood in the very presence of Almighty God.
High above him, enthroned in glory and majesty and power, sat the Lord. The train of his robe entirely filled the temple. He’d never lost a battle. Never scurried away from a skirmish. Never conceded a war. Perfect holiness surrounded Him. Seraphim sang his praises in adoring abandon. “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the entire earth is filled with His glory!” As the words left their lips, the building shuddered and shook with the intensity of that glory. Smoke filled the place. And fear filled Isaiah’s heart.
He wasn’t certain how he had gotten here. He certainly wasn’t worthy of this amazing privilege. Perhaps the vision had been intended for someone else. Perhaps he had just been in the wrong place at the right time. Perhaps he’d been in the right place at the wrong time. It didn’t matter. As grand as this was, it couldn’t be for him. He wasn’t worthy. He knew himself. Knew who he was. Knew his past and his present. He was all too aware of the things his mind conjured, the thoughts his heart so often entertained. He knew how dark his heart had the propensity to be. He also knew where his wilful self wanted to take him. None of it was good. None of it was lovely. None of it was something he wanted to bring into the presence of a righteous, holy, powerful God.
Falling to his knees, Isaiah did his best to explain. Pressing words past nearly numb vocal cords and over frozen lips, he found the wherewithal to cry out his worthlessness. He was lost. He knew it. Spiritually unclean. They all were. His friends. His family. His neighbors. All of them were living unsanitary lives mired in spiritual muck. He didn’t belong in God’s presence. He wasn’t worthy to encounter God on such a deep, intimate level. Yet the sovereign God of the universe who needs nothing from anyone while giving everything to everyone, came to him.
Bowing there in humble contrition, awaiting whatever consequences must surely be coming, Isaiah must have been enormously surprised to see one of the seraphim spring into action. Flying over to the altar, the seraphim takes tongs and carefully plucks a white hot coal from the altar. Approaching Isaiah, God’s emissary touches the coal to his mouth and speaks words straight from God’s lips to Isaiah’s heart. “You. Are. Clean. Your sin is purged. Your iniquity is gone. Your soul has been cleansed. In the courts of Heaven, the account of your guilt has been obliterated.” Although it didn’t change what people called him, it changed who Isaiah knew he was. No longer was he filthy, sinful, unworthy. He had new adjectives now. Redeemed. Forgiven. God’s. (Isaiah 6:1-7, 41:8-9, 43:1-4, 49:16)
Centuries later, Simon Peter would find Himself in a similar situation. A real situation. Not a vision. Not a dream. A life experience. Discouraged after a night of pulling up empty nets, Peter stood on the shore with his men cleaning their gear. Lines of frustration etched his face. Concern furrowed his brow. Questions raced through his brain. They needed to catch fish. What were they doing wrong? What could they do differently? Should they try a different part of the lake? Was their current spot simply overfished? Or was the issue bigger? A problem with the ecosystem? Would fishing be better tomorrow? Or was his business in irreparable trouble?
Lost in thought, the jumble of questions riding his tired mind, Simon Peter barely looked up when Jesus boarded his boat and asked him to float a little ways out from land. Mechanically, he did as he was asked. Jesus began speaking to the people, teaching them how to live their lives on earth in preparation for eternal life. Peter tuned it out. He was still worrying, agonizing over his current income debacle. Unless Jesus had fishing tips, Peter wasn’t really interested. Never mentioning his disrespectful preoccupation, Jesus ended His teachings and turned to Peter with a command. “Go out deeper. Toss in your nets. They will come back full.” Apparently, He did have some thoughts on fishing.
Simon Peter almost rolled his eyes. Everybody was a fisherman! Forcing calm respect into his tone, Peter reasonably replied, “We’ve been out all night. No fish entered our nets. Not even a tiny, inedible one. But, for You, we will give it one more shot.” Tired beyond argument and anxious to be done with this experiment so they could go home and rest, Peter and his men rowed out to the center of the lake. One by one, they tossed the nets over the side. And they filled. Overflowed, actually. First, their boat. Then their partner’s boat. Fish were everywhere. Hundreds of fish. So many fish their boats started to sink lower than made anyone comfortable. And Peter, centuries after Isaiah, fell to the ground before Jesus and cried out words of realization that echoed those of the Old Testament prophet, “I am not worthy to be in Your presence. I know who You are. I also know who and what I am. Filthy. Sinful. Unclean. So unworthy am I, it is impossible for me to even stand on my feet in Your presence. You are God alone!”
No matter how grateful he was for the fish. No matter how relieved he was to have his business literally stay afloat. No matter whether he ever caught another fish again. Peter knew himself. He knew he wasn’t worthy. He didn’t deserve any of this. Not the boats full of fish. Not the conversation with Jesus. Not the blessing of His presence. All Peter had were the filthy rags of his own righteousness. But Jesus was fixing to change that. Speaking words of peace and redemption, Jesus said, “Don’t be afraid. I’m going to teach you to fish for souls.” And, without even one question, Simon Peter, James, and John left their monstrous catch, their boats, and their nets behind and followed Jesus. Whoever they had been before they met Jesus was washed away. They were new creatures through the power of Jesus. They had new adjectives now. Saved. Changed. Children of God. Ambassadors for Christ. (Luke 5:1-11)
It is often so difficult for us to see the prophets and disciples of the Bible as people just like us. Plagued by the evil one. Tired. Worried. Scared. Susceptible to bad days. Blindsided by unexpected circumstances. We seem to think they were all pillars of unbending, unfailing virtue and faith. We overlook their temptations and failures. We find it so hard to believe that Isaiah, Peter, James or John could ever have had a moment when the memories of who they were before Christ seemed to block out who they had become in Christ. Peter would absolutely argue with you.
Bent low with grief, pain, and humiliation over the enormity of the betrayal he swore he would never make, ragged sobs and broken prayers of repentance racked Peter’s body. He buried his face in his hands, mentally thrashing himself with every beat of his broken heart. Why had he done that? Why hadn’t he been stronger? What had happened to his resolve to follow Jesus anywhere…even to death? As the questions beat upon his ravaged soul, the evil one would have followed up with unfiltered accusations intent on negating Peter’s repentance. Points of guilt. Words of discouragement. Jabs and jibes meant to destroy every particle of who Peter knew himself to be. He’d have called him names, questioned his relationship to Jesus. Maybe Peter questioned it too. Maybe he wondered who he was now. Was he the person he was before Jesus stepped onto his boat? Was he the same man he was when Jesus stepped off the boat? There was clearly a choice to be made at that moment. A heavy choice with eternal consequences. And if Peter hadn’t known who he was in Christ, he might have botched it. Thank God he didn’t. (Luke 22:31-34, 54-62)
Sometimes, in the busyness and boisterousness of the world, we feel lost and start to forget who we are. We find ourselves drifting from our moorings and edging closer to the pretty baubles of earth. As our souls brush against the temptations we have tried so hard to resist, the evil one will swoop in, reminding us of who we were before we met Jesus Christ, attempting to trick us into capitulation. He’ll tell you nothing has changed. He’ll say your transformation was just a figment of your overzealous imagination. He’ll say some preacher talked you into it, someone’s well-worded speech emotionally inspired you to agree to it. He’ll call you names. Spiritually worthless. Hopelessly lost. Destined for eternal death. He’ll be dead wrong. (John 8:44; I Peter 5:8)
If you have met Jesus Christ and repented of your sin, you are a new creature in Him. The evil one doesn’t even know you anymore. None of the names his ugly voice speaks apply to you! Not even one. Your name has changed. You have new adjectives now. You are redeemed. Chosen. Changed. Child of God. Sojourner on earth. Resident of Heaven. Know it. Believe it. Own it. When the evil one comes against you with threats and hate, temptation and intimidation, fear and anxiety, throw what you know in his face. He’s got nothing on you. Can never have anything on you. He’ll never be what you are. Beloved of God. Saved by grace. Quickened by the Word. Called to be a saint. That is who you are in Christ! I hope you believe it! I hope you own it! I hope every part of your life resonates with who you became when you met Jesus! And I hope, with every fiber of my being, that you peacefully rest and daily live in the blessed knowledge of who you are in Him! (Song of Solomon 6:3; Romans 1:7; Ephesians 2:1-9; Romans 8:11; I John 3:1; I Corinthians 6:11; Hebrews 11:13, 13:14; I Peter 2:9-11)
Amen!!!