We Can Do Hard Things Isaiah 6:1—13 Rev. Rhonda Abbott Blevins February 9, 2025

In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty, and the hem of his robe filled the temple.  Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew.  And one called to another and said,

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.”

The pivots on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke.  And I said, “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!”

 Then one of the seraphs flew to me, holding a live coal that had been taken from the altar with a pair of tongs.  The seraph touched my mouth with it and said, “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.”  Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I; send me!”  And he said, “Go and say to this people:

‘Keep listening, but do not comprehend; keep looking, but do not understand.’
Make the mind of this people dull, and stop their ears, and shut their eyes,
so that they may not look with their eyes and listen with their ears
and comprehend with their minds and turn and be healed.”
Then I said, “How long, O Lord?” And he said,
“Until cities lie waste without inhabitant,
and houses without people, and the land is utterly desolate;
until the Lord sends everyone far away, and vast is the emptiness in the midst of the land.
Even if a tenth part remain in it, it will be burned again,
like a terebinth or an oak whose stump remains standing
    when it is felled.” (The holy seed is its stump.)

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You might have seen it on coffee mugs or Facebook posts—that phrase “We can do hard things.” Author and podcaster Glennon Doyle popularized it, and it’s become something of a rallying cry for people facing challenges. But long before it was a hashtag or a podcast title, there was Isaiah, standing in the temple, experiencing what had to be one of the most fascinating, and yet most difficult, moments of his life.

Let’s set the scene. The text begins “In the year that King Uzziah died . . .” Now, that might not mean much to us today, but imagine reading “In the year that Kennedy was assassinated” or “In the year the Twin Towers fell.” That’s the kind of national trauma we’re talking about. King Uzziah had reigned for 52 years—most people couldn’t remember any other king. And now? Everything felt uncertain. The political situation was precarious. People were anxious about the future. Sound familiar?

It’s in this moment of national crisis that Isaiah finds himself in the temple. Maybe he went there seeking comfort, looking for answers, or just because that’s what you do when everything feels like it’s falling apart—you go to church. But what happens next is anything but comfortable.

Isaiah sees this mind-bending vision of God, so magnificent that just the hem of God’s robe fills the entire temple. There are these incredible beings called seraphim—literally “burning ones”—flying around with six wings each. The whole place is shaking, filled with smoke, and they’re shouting “Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of God’s glory!”

And what’s Isaiah’s response? Complete meltdown. “Woe is me!” he cries. You see, to see God to the ancient Hebrews meant certain death. So Isaiah cries out, “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips.” In other words: “I am so not qualified for this. I am not good enough. I am not holy enough. I cannot handle what’s happening right now. This might very well kill me.”

Can we pause here and just acknowledge how relatable this is? How many times have we felt completely inadequate in the face of what life is asking of us? How many times have we thought, “I cannot do this hard thing?”

But here’s where it gets interesting. One of these seraphim flies over with a live coal from the altar — which, let’s be honest, sounds terrifying — and touches the hot, burning coal to Isaiah’s lips. Ouch! The seraph says, “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.”

Notice something crucial here: Isaiah doesn’t fix himself. He doesn’t earn his way to worthiness. God meets Isaiah in his inadequacy and transforms him. God doesn’t wait for Isaiah to get it all together—God takes the initiative.

And then comes that divine question: “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And Isaiah, probably still reeling from everything that’s happened, says those famous words: “Here I am; send me!”

Let’s hear what happens next. Listen to these words from Isaiah 6:9-13

And he said, “Go and say to this people:

‘Keep listening, but do not comprehend; keep looking, but do not understand.’
10 Make the mind of this people dull, and stop their ears, and shut their eyes,
so that they may not look with their eyes and listen with their ears
and comprehend with their minds and turn and be healed.”
11 Then I said, “How long, O Lord?” And he said,
“Until cities lie waste without inhabitant,
and houses without people, and the land is utterly desolate;
12 until the Lord sends everyone far away, and vast is the emptiness in the midst of the land.
13 Even if a tenth part remain in it, it will be burned again,
like a terebinth or an oak whose stump remains standing
    when it is felled.” (The holy seed is its stump.)

Did you catch that? After Isaiah’s bold “yes,” God tells him exactly what this mission will involve. And friends, it’s not exactly encouraging. God says, “Go and tell these people: ‘Keep listening, but do not comprehend; keep looking, but do not understand.’ Make the mind of this people dull, and stop their ears, and shut their eyes, so that they may not look with their eyes, and listen with their ears, and comprehend with their minds, and turn and be healed.”

Talk about a hard thing! This isn’t just difficult—it seems downright impossible. Imagine getting that job description: “We want you to go do something really difficult, and by the way, you’re going to fail.” Who would sign up for that?

You know what this reminds me of? It reminds me of some of you. I think about how homes were destroyed during Hurricane Helene, and the task of moving forward seemed overwhelming. I was talking with someone recently—someone who lost most everything—who described her experience this way: “When I first looked at what was left of my house, I couldn’t even imagine where to start. But then we just started picking up one piece at a time.”

That’s often how it goes with hard things — we say “yes” before we know exactly how we’re going to do it. We take the first step before we can see the whole path. We start picking up one piece at a time.

Because let’s be real — the things God calls us to do are often hard things:

·         Standing up for justice when it would be easier to stay quiet

·         Loving our enemies when we’d rather hold onto our anger

·         Forgiving when we’ve been deeply hurt

·         Speaking truth when lies are more comfortable

·         Hoping when despair feels more reasonable

And sometimes, like Isaiah, we’re called to keep going even when it seems like we’re not making a difference. Because here’s the secret—the results aren’t our responsibility. Our job is to be faithful, to show up, to say “Here I am,” even when we’re shaking in our boots.

You know what’s fascinating about this passage? At the very end, after all the discouraging news about how people won’t listen and understand, there’s this tiny glimpse of hope. God talks about a “holy seed” that will remain, like the stump of a tree that’s been cut down. Even in what seems like complete failure, there’s a promise of new life.

That’s often how it works with hard things, isn’t it? We might not see the results right away. We might not see them at all in our lifetime. But that doesn’t mean nothing is happening. Seeds are being planted. Change is happening beneath the surface. Hope persists.

So yes, we can do hard things. Not because we’re so capable or strong or holy, but because, like Isaiah, we’ve been touched by divine grace. Because we serve a God who doesn’t call the qualified but qualifies the called. Because we’re not doing these hard things alone—we’re doing them with God and with each other.

When Isaiah said “Here I am,” he probably had no idea what he was getting into. But he said “yes” anyway. Maybe you’re facing something hard right now. Maybe, like Isaiah, you feel completely inadequate for what’s being asked of you. Maybe you’re looking at the state of the world—our political divisions, our environmental crisis, our social problems—and thinking, “This is too big. This is too hard.”

Remember Isaiah in the temple. Remember that his “yes” came after encountering God’s holiness and experiencing God’s grace. Remember that he didn’t have to be perfect — he just had to be willing.

We can do hard things . . .

·         Not because we’re superhuman, but because we serve a God who specializes in the impossible.

·         Not because we have it all figured out, but because we’re willing to take the next step.

·         Not because we’re guaranteed success as the world measures it, but because faithfulness is its own kind of success.

So whatever hard thing you’re facing today, whatever impossible task seems to be looming before you, whatever calling you’re afraid to answer—remember Isaiah. Remember that it’s okay to feel inadequate. Remember that God meets us in our weakness. Remember that we’re not alone.

And then, maybe, just maybe, we can find the courage to say, “Here I am, send me.”

Because yes, we can do hard things. Not perfectly, not easily, but faithfully. One day at a time. One step at a time. Together, with God’s help.