Opening: The Longing for Justice
Good morning, friends. Before we open our Bibles, let me start with a little story.
Author Gary Haugen once described how he would teach math to a room full of six-year-olds. He said he would begin each day by handing out a snack—but unevenly. A few kids would get a generous pile of cookies, some would get only a crumb or two, and others none at all. Then he’d quietly sit down at his desk and wait.
He wouldn’t have to wait long. Before anyone could spell “Pythagoras,” the math would begin.
Those who received less would immediately calculate the injustice: “That’s not fair! They got more!”
Those who received more would rush to defend their windfall: “But I didn’t do anything wrong!”
Before long, the entire class would have produced a very loud, very passionate mathematical proof that something unjust had happened.
Why does that happen? Because the longing for justice is hard-wired into us.
It’s not just about cookies. From the moment we’re old enough to know the difference between right and wrong, we want wrongs made right. We want scales balanced.
Pause with me on that thought. We love justice—until we are the ones on trial.
---
God’s Holiness: The Ultimate Courtroom
That instinct brings us straight to Isaiah 6. Listen to the prophet’s words:
> “In the year that King Uzziah died I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up; and the train of his robe filled the temple… And one called to another and said: ‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory!’ And I said: ‘Woe is me! For I am lost; for 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!’” (Isaiah 6:1, 3, 5)
Isaiah is not seeing a gentle glow or a soft mood of reverence. He is seeing the blazing reality of God’s holiness.
Holiness is not a decorative word for Sabbath School posters.
Holiness means utter purity, absolute moral perfection, a reality so radiant that nothing unclean can survive in its presence.
Notice Isaiah’s immediate reaction: “Woe is me! I am undone.”
He doesn’t compare himself to the nation around him. He doesn’t say, “I’m better than the idolaters next door.”
He knows instinctively that in the light of that throne, comparison games collapse.
Pause and feel that with Isaiah. If you or I were suddenly placed in that throne room, what words would break out of us first?
---
Sin: More Than a List of Deeds
This is why the Bible speaks of sin not only as the bad things we do but as a condition of the heart.
Paul writes in Romans 3:
> “None is righteous, no, not one;
no one understands;
no one seeks for God…
for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” (Romans 3:10-11, 23)
Sin is not a few wrong turns on an otherwise decent road.
It is the posture of a heart that has turned from God—like a compass needle frozen away from true north.
The angry outburst, the hidden selfishness, the quiet pride are symptoms of a deeper disease.
Let me paint a picture. Imagine the Grand Canyon stretching a mile wide.
Some of us might manage a running leap of fifteen feet. Olympic long-jumpers might sail twenty-nine feet.
But none of us can cross the canyon. That’s the gap between our best goodness and God’s glory.
Relative differences don’t matter when the distance is infinite.
So when Isaiah cries, “Woe is me,” he’s speaking for every one of us.
Before a holy God, we are not mistakers who need a little more effort. We are sinners who need a rescue.
---
Why God Must Judge
Friends, if you and I were writing the rules of the universe, we might be tempted to skip this next part. We like the idea of a loving God who simply forgives, no questions asked. But a God who must judge? That sounds harsh—until we stop and think about it.
Imagine a human courtroom. A man is guilty of a violent crime. All the evidence is clear. The victims’ families wait for the verdict. The judge listens to the case, then smiles kindly and says, “You seem sorry. Case dismissed. No sentence today.”
Would you call that loving? Or would you call it corrupt?
Every fiber of us would cry out: That’s not justice! That’s wrong!
If a human judge must uphold justice, how much more the Judge of all the earth.
Justice isn’t a mood God turns on and off. It’s part of His nature. To be perfectly loving, He must also be perfectly just.
Love without justice is mere sentiment. Justice without love is despair. In God, these are not competing traits—they are one perfect whole.
So when Romans 3 says “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,” it’s not a minor theological footnote.
It is a summons to the courtroom of the universe, where the charge is cosmic treason and the evidence is airtight.
And the penalty? The Bible does not shy away: “The wages of sin is death” (Romans 6:23).
Death here is more than physical—it's separation from the God who is life itself.
Pause here. Let that reality rest on you—not to crush, but to clarify.
The problem of sin is not that we occasionally make mistakes. The problem is that we stand condemned before a holy God, and justice must be met.
---
The Tension We Cannot Solve
Maybe you feel the tension. I certainly do.
If God is only just, we are without hope.
If He is only loving, sin is trivial and evil wins.
How can God be true to His justice and yet rescue the guilty He loves?
This is the question every religion tries to answer in some way.
Some propose scales of good deeds outweighing bad. Others speak of cycles of rebirth or layers of penance.
But the Bible says plainly: None is righteous. No one can bridge the canyon. No human ladder reaches the throne.
The tension builds through the Old Testament. Sacrifices at the temple cover sin for a moment but never remove it.
Prophets speak of a coming Servant who will bear iniquity, but no one sees how.
It is as if the entire story of Scripture holds its breath, waiting.
---
Hint of the Rescue
Right there, in Isaiah’s vision, we catch a whisper of what’s coming.
After Isaiah’s confession—“Woe is me”—a seraph flies to him with a burning coal from the altar.
The angel touches Isaiah’s lips and declares: “Your guilt is taken away and your sin atoned for.”
Where did that atonement come from? From the altar of sacrifice.
Something else died in Isaiah’s place. Blood had been shed so that a sinner could stand in the presence of a holy God.
That scene is not an isolated miracle. It is a preview of the cross.
The same God who demands justice provides the sacrifice.
The same God whose holiness burns against sin prepares the way for mercy to flow.
---
Reflection Pause
Let’s pause together—just breathe.
Where are you standing today in relation to that holy God?
Are there corners of your life you’ve excused as “not too bad,” forgetting that no one leaps the canyon on their own?
Bring those quietly to Him right now, even before we move on.
---
---
From Altar to Cross
Isaiah’s cleansing wasn’t a random act of magic. It came from the altar—the place of sacrifice.
Every sacrifice on Israel’s altars was like an arrow pointing forward. Lamb after lamb, year after year, the same unspoken question echoed: When will the final Lamb come, the One who truly takes away sin?
Centuries later John the Baptist would point to Jesus and cry,
> “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29)
The altar in Isaiah’s vision foreshadowed the cross on Golgotha.
There, justice and mercy would meet once and for all.
Even before we arrive at Calvary, the Old Testament already hums with expectation.
Psalm 85:10 pictures it beautifully:
> “Steadfast love and faithfulness meet; righteousness and peace kiss each other.”
Holiness and love, justice and mercy—what seemed irreconcilable are destined to embrace at the cross.
---
Our Helplessness, God’s Initiative
Pause again and notice something subtle but life-changing:
Isaiah doesn’t reach up to cleanse himself. He doesn’t bargain or perform.
The cleansing coal comes to him from God’s altar.
The same pattern holds for every sinner. Rescue begins with God’s initiative.
Paul captures it:
> “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8)
This is crucial for our hearts. We do not climb to God; God comes to us.
Grace is not earned. It is received.
---
The Invitation of Part 1
Friends, today we have stood with Isaiah in the temple and with Paul in the courtroom.
We’ve felt the weight of holiness and the reality of sin’s canyon.
We’ve heard why justice must be met and seen the first glimmers of how God Himself provides the sacrifice.
The story cannot end here—but it must pause here.
Because until we grasp the seriousness of sin and the necessity of justice, we will never rejoice rightly in mercy.
Let me ask quietly:
Where do you need to stop excusing and start agreeing with God about sin?
Where is He inviting you to drop the self-rescue plan and simply confess?
Take a moment—even in silence—to speak to Him in your own heart.
You might simply say, “God, I see Your holiness and my need. I cannot bridge this canyon. Please prepare my heart for Your mercy.”
---
Closing Bridge to Part 2
Next time we will walk to Calvary.
There we will see with fresh eyes how mercy is given—how Jesus, the true Lamb, satisfies God’s justice and extends His grace.
The coal from the altar becomes the cross on the hill.
The God whose holiness terrified Isaiah will embrace sinners like us through His Son.
