Isaiahwas a blueblood among the prophets. His Hebrew was classic. His style was noble. His circles were influential. But his message was bare-knuckled.
Through the reigns of four kings he procliamed one message: God will not forever wink at wrong.
He spoke with a grit in his gut and a fire in his eyes like one who had stood in hell and seen heaven, for that is exactly what had happened. Isaiah saw God.
Whether what he saw was in the sky or in his head matters little compared to the truth that is was in his heart. The lights danced and the angels chanted back and forth, "Holy, Holy, Holy," as if they had nothing else to say, and they didn't - for that is all you can say before him who is holy.
There are those who boast about having a vision of God like they boast about seeing the president. Not so with Isaiah. When he saw God he didn't update his resume, he begged for mercy.
"Woe is me, for I am undone! Becuase I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the king, the Lord of hosts" (6:5).
No sooner is the mercy requested that it is received. An angel purges his mouth with a hot coal, teaching us that the only mouth worthy of speaking for God is the one cleansed by God.
Isaiah was never the same after that. Send me! He volunteered. And so God sent. And so Isaiah preached. He preached with the passion and fury of a man who'd seen his life pass before his eyes.
For he had. He preached with the passion and fury of a man sent by God. For he was.
And he preached with the passion and fury of a man who longed to join the angels and spend eterniy singing, "Holy, Holy, Holy" at the top of his lungs.
Something tells me that's what he is doing right now.
