Encountering the Living God

In a world where faith can become routine and worship predictable, there's a clarion call echoing through the corridors of our hearts: return to the foundation. Return to knowing God—not just knowing about Him, not just being around Him, but truly, deeply knowing Him.

The Daily Bread We Cannot Store
The ancient Israelites learned a profound lesson in the wilderness. Each morning, God provided manna—bread from heaven—with one strict instruction: gather only what you need for today. Those who tried to hoard it, who attempted to stockpile their spiritual provision, discovered something disturbing the next morning. The manna they'd saved had turned moldy, worthless, rotten.

This isn't just a story about obedience. It's a picture of how our relationship with Christ must function. We cannot load up on Sunday and cruise through the week on spiritual leftovers. Yesterday's encounter with God, as powerful as it may have been, cannot sustain today's journey. Christ, the Bread of Life, invites us to come to Him daily—to eat of Him, to be nourished by Him, to find our sustenance in His presence every single morning.

When Love Exists Without Fear
A sobering truth emerged from the testimony of a fallen televangelist who, after serving time for fraud and corruption, was asked when he fell out of love with Jesus. His answer was startling: "I never fell out of love with Jesus. I just stopped fearing Him."

This reveals a dangerous imbalance in modern faith. There exists in many corners of the church a love for Christ without a corresponding fear—not a paralyzing terror, but an awe-struck wonder at His holiness, His righteousness, His perfection. When we lose this reverential fear, when we no longer tremble at the reality of who God is, we find ourselves capable of justifying behaviors that stand in stark opposition to His character.

The fear of the Lord is not meant to drive us away but to draw us into proper relationship. It positions us rightly before the throne of grace, acknowledging both His love and His holiness, His mercy and His justice.

The Throne Room Encounter
Isaiah chapter six presents one of Scripture's most powerful encounters with the living God. The prophet finds himself in the throne room of heaven, where God sits high and exalted, the train of His robe filling the temple—a symbol of majesty so overwhelming it cannot be contained.

Above the throne fly the seraphim, massive creatures of indescribable power and beauty. Yet even these magnificent beings recognize their place. With two wings they cover their faces, unworthy to look upon the Holy One. With two wings they cover their feet, acknowledging they can never stand above Him. And with two wings they fly, calling to one another in voices so thunderous the doorposts shake: "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty!"

These creatures weren't casually singing a familiar hymn. They were undone by the reality of God's presence. They weren't speaking to God or to Isaiah—they were declaring to each other what they could not contain: the overwhelming holiness of the One on the throne.

The Response of the Undone Heart
When Isaiah witnessed this scene, his response wasn't theological analysis or casual observation. He cried out, "Woe to me! I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the Lord Almighty."

This is the missing element in much of contemporary faith—the moment of being utterly undone. Isaiah was a prophet. He knew Scripture. He understood spiritual things. He was, by all accounts, a good and godly man. Yet in the presence of perfect holiness, all his credentials dissolved. He saw himself as he truly was: a sinner standing before a holy God.

When was the last time we were so overwhelmed by God's presence that everything else stopped? When did we last find ourselves unable to move on to the next thing because we were captured by the reality of who He is?

The Only Path to Cleansing
But the story doesn't end with Isaiah's devastation. One of the seraphim flew to him carrying a live coal from the altar. Touching it to Isaiah's lips, the angel declared, "See, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away and your sin atoned for."

This is the gospel foretold. We cannot cleanse ourselves. Our best efforts at righteousness are insufficient. It is only by God's initiative, through the sacrifice represented by that altar, that we are made clean. In the new covenant, that sacrifice is Jesus Christ, whose blood alone can purify us from all unrighteousness.

This is why we must understand our depravity before we can truly grasp the Good News. Without recognizing how desperately lost we are, salvation becomes just another nice addition to our lives rather than the complete transformation it's meant to be.

Here Am I, Send Me
After being cleansed, Isaiah heard the voice of the Lord asking, "Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?" Isaiah's response came without qualification, without a list of questions about job description or benefits package. He simply said, "Here am I. Send me."

This is the natural response of someone who has truly encountered the living God. Not a calculated decision weighing pros and cons, but a wholehearted surrender. When we understand what we've been saved from and what we've been saved for, holding back any part of our lives becomes unthinkable.

The Call Forward
The invitation remains open. God is not angry or distant. He's drawing us into His presence, calling us to encounter Him as He truly is. He wants us to regain a sane revelation of His character and what it means to truly know Him.

This isn't about religious performance or checking spiritual boxes. It's about daily bread—fresh manna each morning. It's about worship that ministers to God because He deserves it, not because we need something from Him. It's about being undone by His holiness and remade by His grace.

Tomorrow morning, the manna from today will be insufficient. But the invitation to feast on the Bread of Life will be extended once again. Will we gather it? Will we eat? Will we allow ourselves to be nourished by the only One who can truly satisfy?

The throne remains. The seraphim still cry out. And the God who is high and lifted up still invites us to come, to see, to be transformed, and to say with full surrender: "Here am I. Send me."