vision

One Mighty Vision

Isaiah 6:1-8

How can this ancient vision of God on his throne enlighten us regarding our own salvation? Well, for one thing, there is within the vision a pattern for restoration to God we still experience today.

The purpose of the first part of the text is clear: God is to be seen as holy. While God’s holiness comes through clearly in this and other Bible stories, the importance of God’s holiness seems to have faded somewhat in contemporary thinking. The secular world wants to make God malleable, squeezing him to fit popular trends in thought. No one who truly believes in God thinks this is possible, of course.

When we say God is holy, we mean God is ideal, perfect, the only definition of what is right. God’s holiness is central to his character, his being. This is why the seraphim, the highest form of angels, cry out, “Holy, holy, holy” to one another. Logically, the one who made all things gets to define goodness according to his will and rightly expects his creation to conform.

God’s explicit holiness leads to the second part of the text, the prophet’s acknowledgment that he cannot measure up to the God he sees. “Woe is me, for I am lost!” he cries. He realizes he cannot determine good or do good consistently on his own, a fallen state leading to sin and separation from God.

Isaiah knows that when holy God and fallen creation meet, that which is profane should be doomed.

Even in this Old Testament story, however, we see the holiness of God includes tremendous love. Even though creation has turned away, God continues to love and long for what he has made. (We use the word “grace” for such a love.) One of the angels takes a burning coal from the altar before God and touches it to the lips of Isaiah. Rather than blistering the prophet, the coal cleanses him, freeing him from the constraints of his sin.

And there is the pattern: Despair over sin leads to repentance—a desire to be better—and God responds with restoration. Christians see this pattern play out in a new way through Christ.

Our burning coal is the cross, symbol of our belief in the work God did there through Jesus Christ to cleanse us of sin. Just as it was a mystery to Isaiah how a burning coal could cleanse him, the cross is a great mystery to us. God comes among us in flesh and dies, and we are forgiven; we simply trust this is so, and the cleansing fire of God’s Holy Spirit goes to work in us. This cleansing happens in a moment, but it also is a process, as we sink deeper into the mystery and give more and more of our sinfulness up to God.

With this process comes our own vision. The basic vision for all Christians is simple, one given to us in the Bible. We see ahead of us a world fully conformed to God’s holy will. Out of that vision comes our mission, the one explicitly stated by Christ—make people disciples of this loving God!

Whether we’re talking individually or corporately, as a local church, that mission needs refining. We will pursue the same goal in different ways, adjusting our strategies based on our audiences. But we head toward the same place, eternity in the presence of the holy, loving God who reigns on his throne.

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May Such Be Done to Me

Genesis 15:1-21

Father Abraham—at this point in the story, simply Abram—is remembered as the archetype of the faithful man. It’s good to know, however, that even our best examples have moments of doubt and insecurity.

It’s also good to know just how far God is willing to go to reassure the faithful when they waver.

A Starry Promise

Abram already had heard powerful promises from God and had seen God work in mighty ways. But like so many of us, Abram seems to have allowed his doubts to creep up on him in the night.

Specifically, God had promised Abram numerous descendants, despite the advanced ages he and his wife had reached without having children. So God led Abram into a vision, one that begins with the words, “Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.”

With that powerful assurance, Abram felt secure enough to pour out his confusion and fear to God. Abram complained a household slave seemed to be his only possible human heir. Abram still had not held a son of his own despite following God’s lead in every way.

Rather than chastising Abram for wavering, God restated his promise in a powerfully visual way. Leading Abram out into the desert night, God showed Abram a clear sky studded with twinkling points of light, the Milky Way ribbon twisting among them. God told the fearful man, “Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them. So shall your descendants be.”

It was enough, we are told. Abram believed. God saw Abram as righteous because of his renewed faith. We see that God doesn’t condemn our wavering minds if we’re willing to take our doubts to him.

That story of a starry night reminds me of a time when I was wavering, unsure of the call into ministry I felt I was hearing. I was on a work-related trip to the U.S. Virgin Islands. I also was trying to decide whether to leave my public relations career, uproot my family and go to seminary.

I stood on a beach in the dead of the night, the sky brilliant with stars. “God,” I said, “I could use some kind of a sign—anything.” At that moment, a shooting star streaked across the sky.

I also remember thinking, “God, I’m not sure what that means.” I was wavering that much. But I did sense God was with me, and the experience helped me better trust my own seemingly illogical desires.

I’ve learned to seek and welcome those little moments of reassurance in the night. Often, they come after the anxiety that follows failure or confusion. Sometimes they’re vivid, like a shooting star. Other times, they are soft, like a whispered word. They are always a comfort, however, and they leave me anticipating the sunrise.

A Morning of Renewal

We don’t talk much about the morning after Abram’s vision. That’s because the Bible doesn’t tell us any real details about it. The morning is implied, however. We’ve witnessed a night scene, and the next scene happens in broad daylight, before sunset.

It’s good as we read this story to slow down a little and imagine what it must have been like to awaken from such a vision. Thanks to God, despair had found repair and turned into strength. That morning must have seemed like a great gift, an opportunity to begin again with a sense of purpose and trust in God.

I doubt if Abram thought he needed much else from God that morning. Biblical visions seem to be powerful moments for their recipients, events more real than everyday life. The blur of a normal day will wear down the sharp reality of a vision, but the dulling effect usually takes awhile.

There was no opportunity, however, for a regular day to dull Abram’s vision. When God begins pouring out grace, it often comes in surprisingly large doses. At some point in what I imagine to be a blissful day, God showed up again, this time with a connected promise about the land Abram’s descendants would possess.

A Night of Covenant

The language and imagery God used would have been familiar to Abram, employing structures similar to human covenants of the Ancient Near East, intense promises binding the parties for life.

While the sun was still up, God told Abram to take a heifer, a goat and a ram and cut them in two, laying the opposing pieces so someone could walk between them. A turtledove and a pigeon completed the bloody walkway’s borders. It was gruesome work; Abram had to drive away the vultures until the sun set.

As it grew dark, the eerie arrangement communicated a primitive, clear message for anyone entering a covenant. A party to an agreement, by walking between the pieces, was saying, “If I break this covenant, may such be done to me.” In Abram’s day, if the agreement was between two people of unequal power—say, a farmer and a king—the weaker party might have to make the walk alone.

Abram must have wondered when God would ask him to walk the walk.

The Firepot and the Torch

The Firepot and the Torch

But instead, something strange happened. After sunset, a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch appeared and passed between the pieces. It was not Abram who made the walk. It was the all-powerful creator of the universe, the one in control of all things, who said, “May such be done to me.”

Obviously, it’s not the kind of promise God had to make. It was, however, a remarkable message about how much our creator loves us. His desire to reassure us as he draws us back into a relationship despite our sin is stronger than we can imagine.

Another Blood-Soaked Walk

God’s walk between the bloody carcasses prefigured another walk he did not have to make: the walk to Calvary, to the cross. To fulfill all his promises to Abram—in particular, the promise that Abram’s descendants would bless the whole world—God came among us as Jesus Christ.

There is no way we, in our sinful states, could demand such humility from God. God chose to suppress his infinite strength and masquerade as weak and broken solely for our benefit. In the process, death vented its full wrath where it had no right to do so, and its power was broken.

In other words, there were terrors that should have been visited on us for our sins. But God said, “May such be done to me, instead.”

Through God’s unmerited love, we are both saved and reassured.