I don’t know about you, but I don’t like to be put in a box. Not that anyone has ever literally attempted to do that to me. If they did, I would probably find the literal experience as unpleasant as the metaphorical one.
But what does it mean to be put in a box—at least, metaphorically? To be put into a box is to be reduced to a label. It’s to have someone say to you, “That’s all you are and nothing more.” To be reduced to a label is degrading. It makes you feel small and insignificant: as if the many other things that make you who you are, that make you unique and unrepeatable as a person, are somehow unimportant or irrelevant.
Although we don’t like to be put in boxes ourselves, we tend to do this to other people. And we tend to do this to God. God, of course, is above our petty likes and dislikes. And so, it wouldn’t be fair to say that God doesn’t like to be put in a box. It’s not that He doesn’t like to be put in a box; it’s that He can’t be put into a box. All of our boxes are too small, and we don’t have enough of them.
Although we are the ones who have been made in God’s image, we have a tendency to make God in our own image. That is, we tend to think of God as a nicer version of ourselves. This is a God that we can put in a box, place on a shelf, and then pull out at our convenience. If we need Him, we have Him; if we don’t need Him, we can keep Him out of sight and out of mind.
This is not the God of the Bible. And this is not the God whom Isaiah and Peter encounter in our readings today. In the first place, Isaiah and Peter and not in control in these encounters. God has stepped out of whatever boxes they may have placed Him in and has stepped into their lives. In Peter’s case, this is literally what happens: Jesus steps into his boat. This is also true for Isaiah. Isaiah is caught up in a vision of God—God has decided, on His own initiative, to reveal Himself to him. This is not a revelation that Isaiah has come up with himself or produced by his own efforts.
Isaiah and Peter also have similar reactions when they encounter the living God. “Woe is me, I am doomed! For I am a man of unclean lips.” “Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.” These are not the reactions of those who have encountered a God of their own making. A God of our own making, a God who is just a nicer version of ourselves, doesn’t provoke such reactions. Such a God is all and only what we want Him to be. He places no demands on us but simply approves of everything we do. He never causes us discomfort or calls us to conversion.
When Isaiah encounters the living God, he is filled with a sense of doom. When Peter encounters Him, he falls to his knees. And in the face of the thrice-holy God, they each confess their sinfulness. Neither the first reading nor the gospel, however, names their sinfulness specifically. And this, I think, is intentional. In the first place, it allows us to relate to Isaiah and Peter: because although we might not struggle with the same sins as they did, we are all sinful in our own ways. It also shows us that to encounter the living God is not just to encounter a morally perfect being who makes us feel guilty by comparison. To encounter the living God is to encounter a reality that is somehow more real than us. It’s as if, in the presence of the living God, Isaiah and Peter come face-to-face with a reality that is so solid and substantial, that they, by comparison, feel as wispy and transparent as ghosts. Their confession of sinfulness is not just a confession of actual sins, then, but a confession of wonder and awe before a reality far more real than themselves. It’s as if they are saying, “You alone, Lord, are holy. In your presence, no creature could dare call themselves holy.”
Whether we realize or not, this is the God whom we want to believe in. This is the God whom we want to worship and have a relationship with. Although spouses are sometimes frustrated by their inability to figure each other out, no one wants their spouse to be without mystery. And although spouses are sometimes frustrated by the fact that their counterpart doesn’t do what they want, no one wants a spouse who won’t challenge them and make them better. And the same thing is true for us and God: we don’t actually want a God without mystery, whom we can place in a box and put on a shelf. We don’t actually want a God who is just a nicer version of ourselves. We might think we do, but in reality we don’t. Our deepest longing is for a God who is unable to be boxed up and who breaks out of every box we place Him in. We want a God who places demands on us, because it means that we have far more potential than we realize. We want a God who pulls us out of our comfort zones, because it means that we were made for more than just cheap pleasure. We want a God who calls us to conversion, because it means that we can rise above the sin we have fallen into.
This is the God of the Bible. This is the God who became Incarnate in Jesus Christ. This is the God whom we worship and receive in the Eucharist: the thrice-holy God who is far more real than we are ourselves. My challenge to all of us is to become more acquainted with this God, to allow this God to bust apart any false ideas we may have of Him, to break out of any boxes we may have placed Him in. If we don’t do this, we risk never knowing the God who made us and only ever knowing the God whom we have made for ourselves. And in worshiping this God we have made for ourselves, we will find in the end that we have only ever worshiped ourselves.
So, let’s become more acquainted with the real God, the living God—the God of the Bible, and the God of the Eucharist. We can do this by spending more time praying with Scripture or in Eucharistic Adoration. Let’s stop putting God in a box. Let’s allow Him to step into our boat and call us to put out into deep water. Amen.
