Isaiah, undone

Isaiah 6:4

At the sound of their voices the doorposts and thresholds shook and the temple was filled with smoke.

I am penetrated.

I am perceived.

I am known.

The works I have created, for years and years, they are burned away.

The presented wholeness of my self, it is gone, like chaff caught in the wind.

Who am I?

Who is this? Obscured by smoke, the ground shaking, the sound of his servants ringing in my ears, the flashes of light and brilliance emerging, a sight overwhelming.

O this flesh! I still have it, and now it is overwhelmed, overcome, the sight/sound of this merged world is too much to bear up under, and it fails. And the wholeness of it too, for I am one being, one in my existence, and there is a deeper weakness that is shattered, a weakness that this presence moves through me to behold, to convict, to cast down, and my tongue must be silenced.

Who am I? A scattered man, proud in a foolish way, of small moments, of small words, of small privileges and small duties, of a small regard from other small creatures, men regarding men. Pleased in my self for such things, things no disappeared in this new glory, things that could not be stood upon, things that only increase my guilt before him.

Catch the words in these weakened ears, the voices cry, 'Holy, holy, holy,' the emphasis exalting in its repetition, ascending as a mountain path to unreachable heights, the foreboding places of smoke and fire, like Mount Horeb where the Lord once thundered. They speak it for they are beings of unity, beings of truth, in full conformity because of their unchangingness, their permanence. They speak what they observe in truth, exalting that which must be exalted, compelled not by force but by their nature, as a being properly fitted for its role. They cry it because it is true.

Holy! O holiness is a terrible thing! O holiness is a beautiful thing, terrible in its beauty, terrible not in itself, beautiful in itself, but terrible for that which is ugly. O holiness, that burning quality, that which demands, holiness, it is beautiful.

O holiness, it casts me down! O holiness, it makes me bow, not as a volunteer, but because no other response is possible! O holiness, what is there but you?

What is it? It is glory. It is unmixedness, purity. It is itself. It is that which causes praise. It is rightness as it is living, a rightness expressed, full of beauty, full of truth. It is the law.

O heart, O eyes, how often have you read and seen the law, but you have not seen it! You have not perceived in it this burning, this throwing down, this reality of presence in it, that which in its dictation shone upon and reflected outward from the face of Moses! This is holiness, the law made alive, the law seizing! It is beautiful and terrible! See it, now, see it! Is it too late, for now I see Him, and he is overwhelming! I have never seen him in the law and now that I see him I cannot bear it!

O holiness, I am so far from you! O holiness, only in the sight of you am I captured by you! O holiness, you are surpassing in your beauty, but I am unclean, unclean.

What could be done, if I had seen him in the Law? If this holiness had shone forth, if it had been known to me, what would I have seen? Despair. My heart! My heart is unclean, and all that emerges forth from it is stained, my mouth and my lips, these standing forth for the whole of my conversation, all is unclean! What is there now? This presence will consume and I will burn, burn, burn!

Would that my heart could be remade.

O for a remade heart! Now that this is living, show to me the lowness and pettiness of my past. O Lord, in the glimpsing of you, even for these moments, all is changed! Lord, what is the world but a reflection of these things, the mountains of your grandeur, the seas of your unsearchability, the heavens of your obscurity, the grass and flowers of your mercy, the thunder and lightning of your wrath, the rain of your kindness, the sun and moon of your order! And I, in the meanness of my thoughts, content in my small victories, my position, my realm, this false world built, now penetrated overthrown!

All is seen, O heart, all is seen! Nothing is hidden. There is no falseness here, no external control, no manipulation of hearts and minds, there is only bareness, honesty, the forced examination, shown, seen, broken into. This is pain, to see this ugliness, for what is revealed in the heart of man can only be ugly, ugly in its rebellion, in its hatred of all others (for all are hated in this fallen heart, not in action, but in potential). I am seen, and known, and found wanting! Thus I tremble, I fall, I am here in the dust, in the mud, in the pit, on my knees, and I must cry out, this cry, this cry! Woe is me! Woe is me! I am ruined, I am undone, I am unwound and opened, all my schemes broken, my world burnt by the fire of this holiness, left only with my unclean heart and the actions produced by it.

[Thus man is brought before God. If he does not come here, there is no repentance, for repentance is a turning from the broken worlds created, and though few will have them burnt by the fire of his presence, many of us will have them removed by trial, the fire of earthly experience. But they must be surrendered or taken, if God will have us]

[The seraph flies to him and touches the coal to his lips, this coal upon which had dripped the precious blood of the lamb, a shadow yet, for God represented himself unto Isaiah in the temple]

O Lord, holy Lord, burning presence, mighty one, King, I have rebelled against you, but you have converted me unto you, you have won me over! This burning, I was ready, O Lord, I was helpless, needing only the decree of your word!

O Lord, this is your mercy, given at the turning, given when all else is taken, given when the heart is exposed before you, O Lord, if I am alive, then I will return yet to the earth, return yet to those unclean men amongst whom I live, and so Lord, you must burn into me the memory of this, that I may never again construct for myself what is false!

This is my reality, the openness of the exposed heart, this is truth, this is as it is. I am who I am, a man before you, not beautiful in myself, rather, beautiful in the fact of my creation, for all of your works are good, though in my sin I am twisted too. Beautiful as I am made clean, as I am cleansed by the fire of the sacrifice, this fire given to another, touching me and making me like you! O Lord, I can stand, I can stand before you, coming to you in the joy of your presence, coming to you as a man, as I am, in this body and flesh, exposed and known and loved.

This is mercy, the burning away of all that is false and exalting that which is true! O Lord, what allows you to do this, what mystery to be penetrated, behind the smoke filling the temple there is a mystery yet to come in which this is explained, laid bare, made known unto us. This is the promise, the approach unto God made clear.

O Lord! Teach me your ways! Show me your paths! Guide me in your truth and teach me!

Here I am. I am undone, but made beautiful thereby, sharing in the holiness which I know also celebrate. Holy! Holy! Holy! The Lord Almighty is holy! It is beautiful, remaining yet terrible, but its terror is external now, a terror outside this shelter. Here I am, me, all of me, first to last, every action, every motion, all known, all seen, every thought and word penetrated. Here I am, in the presence of the Holy One, holy alike in the grace of his will, made clean by his grace, celebrating what once spoke my doom, held and known to be loved, no longer to be destroyed. I am here, Lord, send me as I am, for I will go.