Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean;
remove the evil of your doings
from before my eyes;cease to do evil,
learn to do good;seek justice,
rescue the oppressed,
defend the orphan,
plead for the widow.                   [Isaiah 1.16-17]

A close friend and I were talking recently – and at length – about all manner of things, as friends are wont to do. At one point, our conversation embraced our discipleship, and the shape it takes and has taken.

My friend reflected upon a discipleship of decades, a journey for which I have great respect. In recent times, he realised that his path in the past had been somewhat misdirected, attending with such vigour to some aspects of faith in Christ that he failed to apprehend the essential element – the outworking of his faith.

We explored how this had arisen, speaking of a particular formation in faith, the various communities to which he had belonged, and the teaching which both accompanies us and, is shaped by, the wealthy, educated world.

It is deeply perplexing.

The Old Testament prophets all speak with resonance of God’s passion for their world in which they live. Hosea, with whom we wrestled in these last two weeks, has deep concerns with the faithlessness of God’s people; his life and his words echo that concern and offer hope of God’s reconciliation.

Isaiah’s polemics about worship punctuate much of what he offers us. The cause of his ire is not worship itself, but the lives led by those who worship; they will speak of a faithful God, who comforts the lost and oppressed; they will pray for the forgiveness and justice residing in God’s heart and hand; they will sing of God, present to us when parent and partner and community have been torn from us.

And yet, when the singing and praying and preaching are done, there is silence and not justice. The orphaned child remains hungry.

How did discipleship become so inexpensive? When did liturgy become so anodyne?

It is clear that my friend’s paradox is not his alone. The contention about faith, as opposed to good works, bears no viable offspring. It is an argument of deliberate obfuscation, to avoid Isaiah’s – and God’s, it seems – profound despair.

The measure of the failing which the prophet addresses is that worship has no meaning if the hungry remain famished, the poor remain impoverished, and those who are oppressed cannot stand from the burdens which they bear.

This is not just bread in our hands and an open door, but voices which speak and sing for those who are able only to whisper for fear of consequence.

The contention which my friend and I resolved is that it is not only powers and principalities in the world around us which have formed us in this manner, but the complicity of the Church which keeps us compliant in our turn.

As a consequence, many aspects of worship remain beholden to praise songs which ask nothing of us, self-interested prayers, and sermons which are invested in transaction, disregarding mercy and hope.

Our Basis of Union asserts that “The Church is able to live and endure through the changes of history only because its Lord comes, addresses, and deals with people in and through the news of his completed work” – Christ is present and attends to people’s lives and struggles. This is where we are called, not in the abstract.

In the Uniting Church, we offer a missional refrain, speaking of worship, witness and service. As I continue to disciple myself to Christ, I see how these three are inherently inseparable. Each informs, and is informed by, the others. When one is diminished, our worship becomes performative, our service simply becomes social action, and our witness articulates only wishful thinking and not a hope, anchored in the risen, crucified One.

I admire my friend’s integrity, to reorient himself to the calling of Christ. In his faithfulness, I am reminded that is how each of is called to live, to be yoked to the one who will continue to correct that which is erroneous in our lives, to the glory of God.