Dear Governor

Isaiah 6:1-13

 

        “Whom shall I send?” Many of the epic stories of the Old and New Testament begin with that inquiry. The question is so commanding Daniel Schutte wrote an equally powerful anthem which is sung at almost every ordination service. I have had the honor of preaching at a number of these celebrations.  Isaiah 6:1-8 is the text usually chosen as the scripture of choice.

Notice they pick Isaiah and not Moses. Oh, the same question was asked of Moses. God said, “Whom shall I send to go to Pharaoh?” Fearfully Moses replied, “Not me, my speech is hardly persuasive.”

No one picks the Elijah text. God said, “Whom shall I send to confront Jezebel?” Elijah didn’t say anything. He was too busy running away to the mountains.

No one picks the Jeremiah text. “Whom shall I send to tell the king he is about to be killed by the Babylonians?”  A cowering Jeremiah replied, “Don’t send me. I am just a boy.”

No one picks the John the Baptist story. “Whom shall I send to tell Herod he has sinned?” John gleefully volunteered and had his head handed to him on a platter.

That is why  everyone loves the Isaiah text. God asked, “Whom shall I send?” and before another word can be spoken Isaiah jumps up and begs, “Send Me. Send Me.” We close the Bible, preach the sermon, ordain the new minister, and through teary eyes sing, Here Am I Lord.

But today you have heard the rest of the story. The call of Isaiah does not end with verse 8. Once Isaiah accepts the invitation, God explains the task with this brutal command!

You say to this people, “Keep listening but don’t understand; keep looking but don’t understand. Make the minds of this people dull. Stop up their ears, shut their eyes that they may not turn and be healed.”

Isaiah responded, “How long, O Lord?” Suddenly the prophet wished he had not been so quick to volunteer. Why was he chosen to proclaim such devastating words?  He wasn’t the morality police. He was no better than his neighbors. Why should he be the bearer of such devastation?

The amazing story of the Bible is ordinary folks called to proclaim an extraordinary message of truth. In the Book of Exodus, despite their pain, slaves whispered a song of hope that could not be silenced by Pharaoh. Elijah, armed with nothing but a promise, stood naked before Jezebel. Time after time Jeremiah would preach and be thrown in prison. Yet his voice could not be silenced. These stories remind us of those Biblical witnesses who painfully yet faithfully articulated the uncompromising holiness of God. If they were silent, if Moses, Elijah, and John had not stood against Pharaoh, Jezebel, and Herod, then truth doesn’t matter. Their faithfulness reminds us that we are called to speak. But that is frightening. For if we dare to speak, we know there will be consequences.

Fifty years ago I enrolled at King College in Bristol Tennessee. I was seventeen years old and not nearly as wise as my age might indicate. But I was a pretty good athlete. My freshmen year I lettered in three sports and was the star wide receiver of our intramural football team. You might say I was Julian Edelman and our quarterback, Danny Alexander, was Tom Brady. We were inseparable.

Then one day Danny stopped by my dorm room. His eyes were immediately drawn to the Confederate Flag hanging on my wall.

“Why do you display that?” he asked.

I casually responded, “I just want everyone to know I am a good old southern boy.”

Leaving the room he said, “That is not what it says to me.”

I ashamedly remember thinking, “Who does that uppity nigger think he is?”

The relationship could have ended right there. We were still the stars of the team but we seldom spoke. Then one day Danny took it upon himself to become the prophet of the Lord. I was playing pool in the Student Union and Danny called the next game. As he was racking the balls he said, “Let’s put a little bet on the game. If I win I get your flag.” 

“OK”, I said, “What do I get if I win?”

Danny, looking into my soul said, “Eternal Damnation!”

We never played that game. Instead a four year conversation began in which we explored our past, our present, and our dreams for the future. Looking back I remember those conversations to be an eye opening revelation into the hypocrisy of a nation that claimed to be the land of the free.  For Danny it was something far more important. He was talking about life and death.

This year marks the 400^th anniversary of African slaves being brought to the shores of Virginia. How long must this conversation continue? “Until cities lie wasted without inhabitants, and the land is absolutely desolate. Until there is a vast emptiness in the land and only a stump remains. Until out of that stump a holy seed emerges.”

No matter how often we claim there is no longer racism in America, it remains our primary sin.   Ask Charlottesville.  Ask Richmond. Ask our Governor and Attorney General. This week has caused such anguish in my soul and yet I cling to a faith that boldly declares God continues to be effectively active in our world. I remember my friend Danny. He believed there was a holy seed within me. He believed I was defined more by the word of the prophet than a battle flag. He believed, if given some direction, I could eventually preach against this sin that had dominated our lives.

I hold the same hope for our elected officials. I want them to go to church. I want them to hear the liberating word of the Lord. I want their ears and eyes opened to a reality they have chosen to ignore. I want them to not only confess their sins; I want them to be morally outraged. I want them to lead a dialogue that goes beyond finger pointing and name calling. I want them to be converted by these words of Jesus, “I have come to preach good news to the poor, proclaim release to the captives, and set at liberty those who are oppressed.”  

I believe Virginia is waiting for a word from Christians who are not angry, or anxious, or weary, or quarrelsome, or cynical, or in despair.   In the midst of racial injustice, sex scandals, and our inhumanity toward each other, Virginia is looking for a word of hope.   Just like God called Isaiah, just like God called my friend Danny, God is offering us an invitation to be healing agents.  It might be to a neighbor, or a family member, or the governor of our state. I warn you, it will be hard BECAUSE God’s truth is not a private deal in which we are not inconvenienced.

Fifty years ago how inconvenient must it have been for a black man to reach out to me. So how faithful are we if we are unwilling to have this difficult conversation with folks burdened by our nation’s 400 year old sin?   

God is still whispering, “Whom will I send?”

Please find the courage to say, “Send Me.”     Amen.