The Third Sunday after the Epiphany, Year C
February 9, 2025
Isaiah 6:1-8, [9-13], Psalm 138, 1 Corinthians 15:1-11, Luke 5:1-11
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“Imago Dei: Called by Grace to Reflect the Image of God”
The Very Rev. Kathleen Murray
Historic Beckford Parish, Mt. Jackson & Woodstock
Today’s readings bring us face-to-face with a recurring pattern in scripture: when people encounter the living God, they are transformed. Isaiah, Paul, and Peter all begin in the same place—overwhelmed, unworthy, unsure. But through God’s grace, they are called beyond themselves, into something greater. And that call is not just for them. It is for us, too.
But the question today is: are we listening? Are we ready to hear God’s voice calling us to something better? Or are we too distracted, too hardened, too cynical to respond?
The prophet Isaiah begins with an awe-inspiring vision of God. The throne room is filled with God’s glory, the seraphim cry out, and Isaiah falls to his knees, crying, “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips!” He knows he is unworthy. He knows he is flawed. And yet, God does not leave him there. A burning coal cleanses him, and Isaiah is given a choice: “Whom shall I send? Who will go for us?” His answer is swift: “Here am I; send me.”
Isaiah’s calling does not come because he is perfect. It comes because he is willing.
Paul’s story echoes this same theme. In his letter to the Corinthians, he recounts the core of our faith: that Christ died for our sins and rose again, appearing first to the disciples and then, “last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared also to me.” Paul remembers who he was—a persecutor of the church, an enemy of the gospel. By his own admission, he was “the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle.”
And yet, grace changed him. “By the grace of God, I am what I am,” he declares. It wasn’t Paul’s strength or wisdom that made him an apostle; it was God’s grace. And because of that grace, Paul could not help but proclaim Christ to the world.
And in today’s Gospel, we see Peter’s own call to discipleship. He is a fisherman, weary from a long night of catching nothing. Then Jesus steps into his boat and tells him to try again. What happens next is astonishing—a miraculous catch, so overwhelming that the boats nearly sink.
Peter’s reaction is not celebration but fear. He falls at Jesus’ knees, saying, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!” But Jesus does not go away. Instead, Jesus says, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.” And with that, Peter leaves everything behind and follows.
Again, we see the same pattern: encounter, unworthiness, grace, calling.
What does any of this matter to us in today’s world?
We may not experience visions of heaven like Isaiah, or blinding revelations like Paul, or miracles like Peter, but the pattern remains true for us today. God still calls us. The question is: are we listening?
We live in a time when the world seems to be growing meaner, harsher, less compassionate. The spirit of kindness and humility that once shaped our society seems to be fading. People are quick to judge, slow to listen, and reluctant to show mercy. We have seen this in our political discourse, in our schools, in our communities—even in our churches.
It is easy to blame social media, politics, or economic pressures. But I wonder: have we lost our moral compass because we have stopped teaching and modeling moral formation?
Someone once asked me what I learned from my parents. The most important thing I came up with was they taught me right from wrong. That might seem insignificant but it’s not. For generations, moral education was woven into our families, our communities, our churches. Not in the sense of rigid rules or blind obedience, but in the shaping of character—teaching children and adults alike what it means to be honest, kind, and just. It was understood that morality was not just about individual choice but about formation—about being shaped by something greater than ourselves.
But we have replaced formation with information. We know more facts, but we lack wisdom. We have more choices, but maybe we have less virtue. I often sense that we have lost a sense of shared responsibility.
And the result? A culture where cruelty has become normal, where compassion is seen as weakness, and where, rather than being transformed by grace, we are hardened by fear.
So how do we reclaim our calling as people formed by grace? How do we resist the meanness of the world and live into the transformation that Isaiah, Paul, and Peter experienced?
First, we recognize that we are called, even in our imperfection. Isaiah was unclean. Paul was a persecutor. Peter was afraid. Yet God called them all. And God calls us, not because we are perfect, but because grace is sufficient. We do not have to be worthy; we have to be willing. From the very beginning, we have been created in the image of God, Imago Dei, imprinted with divine love and purpose. Our flaws do not erase that truth—rather, grace restores us to it, calling us to live as reflections of God’s justice, mercy, and compassion.
We have to meet the culture of meanness with radical kindness.
I admit it is tempting to meet hostility with hostility, but that is not our calling. Paul reminds us, “By the grace of God, I am what I am.” We must be known not for our bitterness, but for our mercy—not for our defensiveness, but for our love.
The church has a crucial role to play in shaping hearts and minds. If the world is becoming meaner, then we must double down on teaching and modeling kindness, humility, and justice. Our children need to see us living moral lives. Our communities need churches that do not just talk about love but embody it.
Now, let me be clear: being kind and merciful does not mean being weak or passive. It does not mean avoiding hard truths or shrinking back in fear. Jesus did not call us to be doormats; he called us to be disciples. And that means standing firm for what is right, even when it is difficult.
Isaiah did not shy away from delivering a hard message to his people. Paul confronted those who distorted the gospel. Jesus himself overturned tables in the temple and spoke against injustice. They were not weak. They were faithful.
As followers of Christ, we must find the balance: we resist cruelty, but we do not become cruel. We stand for justice, but we do not abandon mercy. We speak truth, but we do so with love.
There is a difference between strength and harshness. Strength stands firm in the face of wrongdoing. Harshness crushes others for the sake of being right. Strength fights for justice. Harshness seeks vengeance. Strength builds. Harshness destroys.
So when we see injustice—whether in our communities, in our workplaces, in our own families—we must be both bold and compassionate. We do not let evil go unchallenged, but we also refuse to let hatred consume us. That is the way of Christ.
We are living in a time when the world desperately needs people who have been transformed by grace. We need people who will respond to cruelty with kindness, to despair with hope, to division with unity. We need people who, despite their imperfections, will say, “Here am I; send me.”
God is calling. Not just the saints, not just the prophets, not just the perfect, but us. Will we answer?
Amen.