Opening: A Question We All Know
Can people really change?
That question sits in the back of our minds like a song we can’t finish. It comes at two in the morning. It comes after the argument we had at dinner. It comes when the doctor says, “The test is back,” or when a child looks at us with holy trust.
Maybe you’re asking it now: Can I really change? Do I have to change?
Let me start bluntly, because the truth sets the stage: on our own, we cannot. We can’t rewire the heart by sheer will. We can’t take ourselves to a better place solely by trying harder. That’s the bad news. But the good news is larger and louder: God can change us — and does, in ways that make our lives not merely different, but new.
To understand that, we step into one of the most dramatic spiritual scenes in Scripture: Isaiah’s vision in chapter 6.
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Part 1 — God Revealed (Isaiah sees the Lord)
Listen to how the scene opens. “In the year that King Uzziah died I saw also the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up; and his train filled the temple” (Isaiah 6:1). Imagine with me the temple, the incense, the hush. Now imagine that hush breaking into song — a song so big it shakes the doorposts and fills the whole earth: “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory” (v.3).
Hebrew doesn’t do superlatives the way English does. To get to “the very most” you repeat. So God’s holiness is said with the force of threefold repetition. Not once, not twice, but three times: holy, holy, holy. That’s the sound of God being all He is — perfectly separate, perfectly beautiful, perfectly essential.
I want to open with a small, human picture to set this up. Years ago I read of a little boy visiting New York City with his dad. He tilted his head and watched the skyscrapers. After a long look he sighed and said, “Daddy, the buildings sure get small at the top. I guess by the time we get all the way to heaven there won’t be very much of us left.”
That kind of child-sight is more faithful than it sounds. The nearer we draw to God, the less room there is for puffed-up self. Praise has that effect: it shrinks us in the right way — not to shrink our worth, but to enlarge our perspective. When God is bigger in our sight, our petty territories and small triumphs feel smaller. That’s the first move Isaiah experiences: he sees God as God is, and in seeing that majesty something in him moves.
So the first task of worship is not moral self-improvement. It’s encounter. It’s being revealed to us. That revelation will lead to two responses that are almost always mixed together: awe and honesty.
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Part 2 — Heart Exposed (Woe is me!)
After the chorus of “Holy,” Isaiah does something honest and raw: he says, “Woe is me! For I am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips” (v.5). Think of a good, respected man — a prophet respected by kings — suddenly collapsing into the realization of how small and stained he is in the presence of the Holy.
Confession in Scripture is not a thing to ransack for guilt alone. It is the honest acknowledgment of reality. Isaiah’s confession is not a moralistic self-hating speech; it is a truthful posture in response to God’s shining. When you stand in the light, you see the spots you can’t see in darkness. That’s why confession follows revelation. It’s not punishment-first; it’s recognition-first.
We do three things that keep us from this kind of honest seeing. First, we excuse. We rationalize. Senator Dirksen once gave a wonderfully cynical political dodge: asked where he stood, he said, “I stand by my friends.” We do the same with our spiritual life — we stand by our habits, our resentments, our stories, and call them “reality.” Second, we minimize. We say, “God winks at sin; love lets me off.” Third, we drown. We confess with a parade of shame and never look up to hope.
All three are avoidances. Isaiah’s “woe” is not avoidance. It is the exact opposite. It is the gulf of honesty where healing begins.
A humor sign I once saw read: “Do you want to feel guilty? Call your mother.” We laugh because we recognize the truth. Guilt is not something a preacher invents to be cruel. Many of us carry the weight already; the preacher’s job is to point to where the weight can be lifted.
So here’s the heart question: are you willing to see? Not because the sight is pleasant, but because seeing is where change begins.
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Part 3 — Grace Applied (Coal touches lips; the Desk Drawer vignette)
And now the good news—God moves. In verse 6 an angel takes a coal from the altar and touches Isaiah’s lips, saying, “Lo, this hath touched thy lips; and thine iniquity is taken away, and thy sin purged.” God reaches first. Isaiah doesn’t lubricate his lips with virtuous acts and wait for forgiveness like a reward; God comes and cleanses.
That’s what grace looks like: undeserved, initiating, effective. God does not wait for our perfect posture. He moves into the messy room of our life and cleanses.
Let me give you a real-world picture — quick and simple — of how that looks in ordinary life.
> The Desk Drawer
A mid-career accountant kept a small bottle in his desk drawer — not for real pain, but to quiet the stress that kept him up at night. For months it was a hidden secret. One afternoon he opened the drawer and found a sticky note his child had slipped inside: “Daddy, please stay with us a long time.” He sat down at his desk, closed the drawer, and prayed for the first time in years. That one quiet moment was the doorway: counseling followed, new habits slowly took hold, and his life began to reorder. He later said, “If God can clear a cluttered drawer, He can clear a cluttered heart.”
That vignette sits like a flash of light in our temple moment. Isaiah’s coal was not theatrical only; it was the instrument of healing. God’s coal burns away the residue that keeps us from living freely. We don’t conjure that coal. We welcome it.
Now, some of you are thinking: “What if God asks me to change something that scares me? What if He calls me to do something I can’t imagine?” We tend to frame “change” as a list of “dos” and “don’ts.” But in Isaiah the coal leads not to a list but to a life. The coal’s work is to make us available.
There’s an instructive little dialogue I like between two friends, Leo and Francis, that helps here. Leo says holiness must mean “having no sins to reproach myself with.” Francis says, “We will always have something to reproach ourselves with. Turn and look at Jesus. Admire him; your guilt will not be erased by focusing on yourself, but by focusing on Him.” That’s radical and freeing.
Holiness is not self-improvement to the point of perfection; it is the emptiness where Christ can make new things.
In practical terms, then, grace applied means three simple movements inside us: praise that sees God, confession that sees ourselves honestly, and acceptance that God’s action is for us. If you want to breathe again spiritually, do those three things.
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Transitional Moment — Don’t Rush Past This
Before we go on: take this in. Many sermons rush from the sin to the mission, as if forgiveness is merely a preface to activity. But notice Isaiah: cleansing comes before commission. God cleanses in order to call. He doesn’t call to punish; He calls to partner.
So if you’re tired, fragile, ashamed, or hollow, hear again: God’s first move is mercy. If you are ready, say quietly, “Lord, touch my heart,” and mean it. You don’t need to have your life together to come near; you need to be honest enough to come near.
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Part 4 — Life Released (Whom shall I send? Here am I.)
Now the text puts the question: “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” Isaiah, freshly cleaned and breathing again, says simply, “Here am I; send me” (v.8). That is the shape of discipleship: forgiven people are sent people.
Notice two things about Isaiah’s response. First: it’s voluntary. No angel chains him to service. He says yes. Second: it is immediate. There is no long bargaining. The coal doesn’t produce paralysis; it produces obedience.
There’s a line I’ve used before: a philosopher told two cynical young men, “You are as holy as you want to be.” It sounds harsh, but there’s truth in it.
God will not make you more holy than the desire you give Him.
There’s real responsibility here: if you want to remain small and safe, you can hold that desire. If you want to be moved, you can answer the call.
So what does being “sent” look like? It looks like small things: a phone call you’ve been avoiding, an apology you’ve been putting off, a step back into family life. It looks like bigger things for others: going to a place of mission, starting a service, showing mercy where it is costly.
Let me be practical for a moment, because sermons should land. If you want to respond to this call, you don’t need a ten-point plan. You need one next step.
God will give the path a step at a time. Take the first one. Maybe it’s: tonight, ask forgiveness of one person. Maybe it’s: next week, visit someone who is lonely. Maybe it’s: sign up to serve once a month. The point is obedience, not perfection.
When we say “Here am I,” we are not volunteering out of our strength alone. Scripture is clear: obedience is the soil where the Spirit does His deepest work. God gives the gifts; we give the guts.
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Practical Application — How This Works Monday Morning
How do we make this sermon practical? Here are five quick moves you can take this week:
1. Practice one minute of honest prayer each morning — praise two things about God and confess one thing honestly. Keep it short; keep it real.
2. Clear one drawer — physically tidy a cluttered space. Let it be a symbol of God’s willingness to reorder the inner clutter.
3. Make one reconciliation phone call — a quick, honest, non-defensive conversation.
4. Take one service step — volunteer, help a neighbor, or serve someone who will never repay you.
5. Journal what God says — after prayer and action, write down any nudges or impressions. God often speaks in small, gradual ways.
These are not magic tricks. They are faithful rhythms that invite God to do the heavy lifting.
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Anticipating Objections
You might say, “Preacher, this is all fine, but what about relapse? What about the stubborn pattern I’ve lived with for decades?” Good question.
Two honest answers:
first, transformation is usually gradual. Isaiah’s coal is decisive, but in many of our stories the work takes time, friends, accountability, and sometimes professional help.
Second, relapse does not mean failure; it means you need to return to the coal. God is not surprised by your weakness. His grace is patient.
Another objection: “If God calls, why does it sometimes feel costly?” Because following Jesus often intersects with broken systems, with people who will resist, and with personal fears. But remember this: the life released by God is not a luxury life; it is a redeemed life. It carries risk but it also carries meaning.
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Invitation — An Opportunity to Respond
As we come to a close, I want to invite you into three possible responses, each honest and straightforward.
1. If you recognized your need — Step toward the coal. Pray silently now: “Lord, touch my lips. Cleanse me. Make me able to say yes.” If you want prayer after the service, come forward; we will pray with you.
2. If you know God has been at work but you’ve been holding back — Say yes out loud this week: tell someone, sign up, take that first step.
3. If you have been sent before and you’re weary — Come and get renewed. Isaiah’s vision was not just for the first commissioning; it’s for the restoration of every sent heart.
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Closing Story to Carry Home
One last short picture. A man I once heard about told this: he had a habit that cost him, a secret that made him live in shadows. He woke one morning and realized his child was going to grow up with a father who was not fully present.
He walked outside, smelled the clean air, and felt shame and hope at the same time. He didn’t polish himself first.
He went into the house, sat in the kitchen, and prayed, “If You are real, help me.”
That one sentence began the long climb. Years later his son said, “I always knew Dad was with me.”
That is the power of a single honest step. God meets it and meets us thereafter.
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Benediction
May the One who is holy, holy, holy fill your eyes with His beauty.
May He lift the smoky ash from your life with the coal of His mercy.
May He give you one small step of obedience this week — and the courage to take it.
Go in the grace that cleanses and the love that sends.
Amen.
