I'm the kind of person who skips to the conversation when reading a book.
Part of Isaiah 6 is a conversation that has been replaying in my head with the events of the past few days.
Isaiah must have been running a complete gamut of emotions — sorrow, at the death of King Uzziah; awestruck wonder, at the sight of the King of Kings; guilt and grief, at the realization of his own sinful state; relief, joy, and maybe some pain, at the touch of the burning coal to his lips by the seraphim.
Then comes the conversation between a newly forgiven man and God.
God speaks, saying, “Whom shall I send? Who will go for us?”
Isaiah boldly responds, “Hey! I’m here! Send me!”
So God tells Isaiah the message He needs him to deliver. “Say to this people, ‘You just don’t get it. You hear stuff, but you don’t understand it. You see stuff, but you don’t really see what’s there. Your hearts are so dull — like a knife that won’t even cut through butter. You’re just going to keep on like zombies, like walking corpses, dead, failing to perceive what I’m putting in front of you. And here’s the thing: if only you would see, if only you would hear, if only you would understand, you could turn and be healed.'”
Oh, grief that must have overwhelmed Isaiah’s heart, for he chokes out one question, “How long, O Lord?”
Maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus.