I Am What I Am - February 4, 2007
1 Corinthians 15: 1-11Isaiah 6: 1-8
I used to know a little boy who no one would accuse of having false modesty. Clever and quick, when asked by admiring adults, “How did you get so smart?” he would always answer, “I don’t know. I guess God maked me that way.” What he lacked in grammatical correctness he made up for in theological understanding.
And isn’t that the goal of any church school program—to somehow help young children understand that “God maked” the best a brightest parts of us? That when we are feeling less than our brilliant selves, we can remember that God made us good, and therefor we are good?
What made this little boy so charming—and disarming to some adults— is that he never said, “Oh, I’m not smart. I’m quite average, in fact.” He always acknowledged that there was something special about him, and that the specialness came from another source. That kind of attitude doesn’t always translate very well in the adult-to-adult world. But we find it kind of cute in little kids.
When is the last time we admitted to ourselves that there was something special about us—something that came from somewhere or someone else?
The little boy grew up, as little boys do. He went off to school, where he was with lots of other children, some as clever and quick as he, some less so. He found out that his particular kind of cleverness and quickness came with some burdens. If being smart meant that he had to wait patiently for others to catch up…well…he wasn’t very good at being patient. If the teacher was teaching fractions, and he had already mastered fractions, his mind wandered and he started talking to other kids, disturbing them, and he got in to trouble for it.
As the boy grew older, it became harder and harder for the adults in his life to reinforce that he, like everyone else, was special, and that it was a gift from God—that God “maked” him special for a reason. Just like God made everyone special in some way.
By the time we meet Isaiah, he is not a little kid, and no doubt he has figured out what the little boy figured out. That we are all just ordinary, that there is no special left in us, nothing that would impress anyone, nothing that would make is stand out or disturb the peace. Isaiah surely gets it—that to be a grown up, there is certain amount of blending in that must be done. Self-assurance and high esteem are cute in little kids, but by the time somebody is ready to start really fitting in in the world—well, a little humility never hurt anybody. It’s like the world Garrison Keillor describes in his tales from Lake Woebegone—“What makes you think you are so special? Get over yourself; don’t have a big head.”
We can’t really say that Isaiah’s modest is false modesty—after all he has just been in the presence of God. That would make anybody feel more than a little bit ‘less than’.
And next we get this truly frightening scene, like something out of science fiction—the six-winged seraph flying straight at Isaiah with a live burning coal held in tongs. I don’t know about you, but that would scare the bajeebers out of me. I’m always distracted by that word “tongs” in this passage. Such a modern idea. I looked and looked for some commentary that addressed the tongs, but to no avail. For me, I guess the image will always be of holding out a charcoal briquette with the grill tongs we use in the summer time. Nevertheless the message is clear: the power with which the seraph approached Isaiah was big and hot a scary, and not to be touched with hands.
Despite his protestations, despite his feeling unworthy and unprepared, despite the frightening scene, Isaiah is called out to be a prophet. There is no mistaking that.
Paul is that rare Biblical character not particularly given to false modesty. If you read and study Paul, you might come to the early conclusion that Paul thinks pretty highly of himself, because Paul writes very strongly and confidently about that which he believes to be true. In truth we believe that Paul felt very responsible for the church in Corinth, and wanted very badly to help them in their struggles. In doing so, he can come off as quite the know-it–all. I think of Paul as the teenage version of that little boy we thought about earlier. I think if a person was able to ask Paul, “How did you get so smart?” Paul would still answer, “God made me that way.”
In caring for the church in Corinth, Paul begins by retelling the story, by reminding the church whose authority it is with which Paul speaks. It is not Paul’s own, but is the authority of grace.
“By the grace of God, I am who I am.” I knew some people, earlier in my life who would say “I am who I am” as an excuse for misbehavior, or for thoughtfulness, or for laziness. When confronted with the hurt their actions—or inactions—caused others, they would shrug and answer, ”What can I say? I am who I am.” But saying ‘I am who I am and I cannot change’ as an avoidance technique to positive transformation is not who we are called to be or what we are called to do and say to the world. There is a difference between living within the scope of our human limitations, and taking responsibility for when those limitations effect others and simply giving up, resigned to be less-than.
By the grace of God we are who we are. Limited, finite, fallible, yes. But also called out for a purpose, graced with freedom, and loved beyond measure. The authority and power with which Isaiah was touched, and Paul was called to be an apostle and we are called to discipleship is big and hot and scary. It requires some pretty big tongs. The impulse to turn away from it to hide our eyes and say “Not me, not me. Pick somebody else.” is an understandable impulse that would make sense, were it not for grace.
Maybe what we need, what the church needs once again, is the ability to look at our giftedness with the child-like faith and innocence that shifts the focus back where it belongs, that says, “How did I get this way? God’s grace made me this way.”
Thanks be to God!
