Sermon – February 7, 2010: Unfit to be Called
Sermon for Sunday, February 7, 2010 The First Baptist Church of Lewisburg
Unfit to be Called
Isaiah 6: 1-13; 1 Corinthians 15: 1-11; Luke 5: 1-11
A city service club wanted to honor one of its members for the volunteer work he’d
done. They told him he’d be getting the “Man of the Year” award at the annual banquet,
and that he’d want to begin to think about his acceptance speech.
This led to some soul-searching on his part. One of the organizations in which he’d
become an officer he had joined years before because a senior colleague had told him it
would be good for business contacts. Another group with which he’d become involved
was one that he thought might be able to do something helpful about his son’s future.
There were other things he’d done for motives that he recognized as self-serving, and there
were roles he’d accepted because he had enjoyed the limelight. That busy,
companionable, “hail-fellow-well-met” activity with which he’d filled up so many evenings
hadn’t necessarily, he felt, been done for humanitarian or even always civic-minded
motives. He wasn’t sure that down deep he possessed the character that the award from
his club would impute to him.
He confided in a friend he respected, and finally accepted the arguments offered him
about why he should accept the award. However mixed his motives, a lot of good had
gotten done, and not despite him–he was glad for the benefits that his volunteering had
brought to others. He didn’t have to treat the honor as being bestowed on him for how
great he was, but as a reflection of the community’s valuing the kinds of things in which he’d
worked. His speech of acceptance could deflect what small glory there was onto worthy
causes, and other volunteers’ efforts. He could make his peace with himself by deciding
that, just because he was no better than the next guy, he offered an example to the world
of how much good could be done by ordinary people.
All of the scriptures this morning are about people who have an idea about who
they are suddenly being asked to be greater than they think they can be. Isaiah knows that
the vision in the Temple means that God may want him to be God’s messenger, and
Isaiah’s reaction is that he is a man of unclean lips among a people of unclean lips. The
apostle Paul, in his urging the Corinthians to accept the witness to resurrection of the
apostles, includes himself as last and least deserving among those to whom Christ was
revealed, and says he didn’t deserve the honor of being a witness. Peter, when the miracle
of the net full of fish makes him realize that Jesus somehow participates in the power of
God, wants Jesus to go away because he feels his sinfulness so keenly in Jesus’
presence.
The truth is, until something or someone raises the issue, we live with the measure
we take of ourselves. We get accustomed to the stature we possess in a business or in a
family. We get used to the amount of respect we receive when we’re a steady customer at
the bank or the coffee shop. We don’t question ourselves, we don’t worry about our
worthiness, about our capacity to exceed our own expectations, in the routine of our lives.
In the routine of our lives we’re managing everyday things well enough, usually. Daily
habits train us to expect to do what we already have done, and to be the person we
already have been. By the grace of God, most of us, most of the time, accept ourselves in
that role.
Perhaps that happens for the same reason that time heals all wounds. Maybe the
reasonable and natural insecurities we experience at turning points in our lives and in the
face of new situations have to give way to habitual self-forgetfulness, have to yield to the
press of daily duties. All the anxiety we felt as small children about whether we would get
our share of attention had to give way as part of growing up, and the trepidation about our
worthiness which accompanied the throes of adolescent romance or the challenges of
youthful employment had to wither as the years required us to plot our own course.
That vulnerable, uncertain soul we all have been, however, isn’t gone. It’s part of us
still, as we discover when the question is raised of just how good we are. Perhaps
someone else’s estimate of you seems too high, as in the example of the man nominated
for an award, and that triggers self-appraisal. Maybe God gives you a task to handle which
seems too hard, and that forces you to wonder whether there hasn’t been some mistake,
whether God may not correctly have gauged your resources or resilience.
One of the conundrums of life is how difficult it is for us to know ourselves. Burns’
wistful prayer to be able to “see ourselves as others see us” betrays the limits of selfexamination.
When the question of who we are and who we can be comes up, sooner or
later we have to try to get a perspective larger than our own. Even thinking out loud in the
presence of an interested listener is helpful, and nothing does more for us than confidence
expressed by someone who believes in us.
What happens again and again in the Bible–it’s there in the calling of Moses, and we
read it last week in the calling of Jeremiah, and we remember it from the Christmas story in
the case of Zechariah and the case of Mary– is that people aren’t ready to accept that they
can be good enough to be useful to God. Gideon’s another one– think about all those
famous characters from the Bible who do something on God’s behalf, and try to find one
who never has a qualm, who doesn’t have to wrestle with the task ahead, who doesn’t, at
some point, have to submit faithfully to God’s leading instead of relying on himself or
herself.
We don’t think Peter is overly modest when he prostrates himself at Jesus’ feet and
declares he’s too much a sinner to be in Jesus’ presence. We don’t know Peter that well at
this point in the story, but we presume he’s no better than we are, and which of us wouldn’t
react the same way? It’s not a model of self-effacing, down-on-themselves people being
lifted up by God to serve God’s purposes. All this feeling unfit to be called to God’s work
in the world isn’t a symptom of low self-esteem. Peter the fisherman is a pretty confident
man. He’s something of a natural leader, which Jesus recognizes and endorses. The Holy
Spirit chooses him to recognize Christ. His ego strength is pretty good. He presumes to
tell Jesus what to say and what not to say about Jesus’ coming crucifixion, and at the Last
Supper he declares that he’ll never be a betrayer. We’re not talking about a habitual lack of
confidence being the thing which invites feelings of unworthiness.
We’re certainly not talking about that when it comes to Paul, who comes from a
notable city and knows it, and who is well-educated and knows it, and who has been very
scrupulously religious and knows it. People with ego strength like Paul get on our nerves.
Humility comes into the picture for all of them when they find themselves needing to
say yes or no to God. Humility is just an honest appraisal of how much one amounts to in
the scheme of things, and with God across the table it keeps you from being bigheaded,
Peter or Paul; or anyone else. Being measured against God puts everyone on a level, and
it’s a level which may not seem too promising to the person stripped naked of all pretense
in God’s presence.
God, however, obviously has a different perspective. Sometimes accepting that is
enough. Paul knows he didn’t deserve to meet Christ, or to become an apostle, but he
knows God made it happen, so he accepts it. Isaiah is given a sign–the vision of a coal
from the altar purifying his mouth, making him fit to speak for God. Peter, after he has
protested his unworthiness, is promised a role in God’s plans by Jesus, and he takes that
seriously. He trusts that God, through Christ, can make something of him.
God always needs persons willing to speak for God, willing to accept discipleship,
willing to recognize themselves as flawed but to trust God to make something good out of
them. We commemorate Jesus’ last meal with the disciples when we celebrate
communion, and recognize in Jesus’ way–the way of love and self-forgetfulness, selfsacrifice–
the salvation of the world. It’s a setting which always includes the possibility of
betrayal, and the opportunity to be true. We must recall that it is not our merit which makes
us belong at this table, but the fact that, despite who we really are, the Lord believes in us.
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