We Become Like What We Worship

The Tragic Reality of Idolatry

Isaiah 6

The Power of What We Behold

We all become like something. The question is, what are we becoming?

We become what we behold

Have you ever noticed how people start to resemble what they admire? The way we talk, dress, and even think is shaped by what captures our attention. Spend enough time in a close-knit group, and you’ll begin to adopt their mannerisms, values, and even their interests.

I’ve seen this in my own life. The more time I spend with my wife, the more we mirror each other in subtle but significant ways. I’ve grown to appreciate the things she loves—like The Lord of the Rings, painting, and gardening—and perhaps she has learned to tolerate my fascination with Star Wars.

I once read that people even start to resemble their dogs over time. While I’m not sure if that’s entirely true, it does make me reconsider what kind of dog I’d choose!

But this isn’t just a quirk of human behavior—it’s a spiritual reality.

What we fix our eyes on shapes our hearts. It transforms us.

We become like what we worship.

And that is why, to fulfill our God-given purpose, we must fix our eyes on Jesus.

To explore this, let’s begin with a dramatic and unforgettable moment in Scripture—Isaiah’s vision of the Lord in the temple.

Drama in the Temple

Some moments in life shake you to your core. In an instant, everything you assumed was stable and secure feels small, fragile, and inadequate. After such a moment, you can never see the world the same way again.

Isaiah had one of those moments.

It was the year King Uzziah died.

For most of his reign, Uzziah had led Judah into prosperity and security. But at the height of his power, he overstepped his bounds, entering the temple to burn incense—a role reserved for the priests alone. His pride led to his downfall.

In response, God struck him with leprosy. For the rest of his life, he lived in isolation, a tragic ending to what had once been a promising reign.

Now, the throne was empty. The nation was in turmoil. Assyria loomed as a growing threat. Everything felt uncertain.

It was a time of change, and change is often frightening.

But Isaiah saw something far greater than a national crisis.

He saw the true King.

A Throne That Is Never Empty

Isaiah’s vision is so overwhelming that words struggle to contain it.

He sees the Lord, high and exalted, seated on a throne—not empty, not wavering, not threatened.

The throne of Judah may have been in crisis, but the throne of heaven remains untouched.

The train of His robe fills the temple—a striking image of unmatched majesty. Smoke rises. The very foundations shake at His presence.

This is no passive God, nor a distant one—He is enthroned in glory, ruling with absolute power.

Surrounding Him are seraphim—"burning ones"—mysterious, fiery angelic beings.

They do not speak to Isaiah. They do not even speak directly to God.

Instead, they cry out to one another in unceasing worship:

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of His glory!”

The triple repetition of holy is significant. In Hebrew, repetition intensifies meaning. To say God is “holy” would be true. To say He is “holy, holy” would be emphatic. But to declare “holy, holy, holy” is to proclaim Him infinitely set apart, utterly beyond all creation.

This is not just a vision of majesty—it is a vision of absolute otherness.

Even the seraphim—these glorious, unfallen beings—cover their faces in reverence before God.

If they cannot look upon Him, what hope does Isaiah have?

And Isaiah?

He is undone.

Seeing Clearly for the First Time

In that moment, Isaiah realizes something devastating: he does not belong here.

“Woe is me! I am lost!” he cries.“For I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips.”

It is not just that he sees God’s holiness—it is that, in seeing God clearly, he finally sees himself rightly. The brilliance of heaven exposes everything corrupt within him.

He is like a man who has wandered into a pristine white room with mud-caked boots, painfully aware that his presence defiles the space. Every impurity, every flaw, is unmistakable in the dazzling light of God’s presence.

And if Uzziah’s fate—being struck with leprosy for entering a holy place unworthily—was any indication, Isaiah knows what should happen next. He expects destruction. And maybe for the first time in such a real way, he understands that he deserves it.

But something astonishing happens instead.

One of the seraphim, acting as a priest and sent by God in the heavenly temple, takes a burning coal from the altar—the place of true atonement—and presses it to Isaiah’s lips.

“Your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for,” the seraph declares.

Isaiah has done nothing to deserve this cleansing. He has not earned this mercy. Yet, in the presence of God, he is completely changed.

Instead of being consumed, he is cleansed. Instead of being cast out, he is commissioned.

When God asks, “Whom shall I send?”

The one who, moments earlier, feared for his life now stands ready.

“Here I am! Send me.”

The contrast is staggering. Moments ago, he stood on the edge of ruin. Now, he stands before the throne, willing and eager to speak for God.

This is transformation.

He has been remade by what he beheld.

And it reminds us that all who have encountered the grace-filled, holiness-drenched reality of God cannot help but be changed forever.

The Tragic Irony of Idolatry

Isaiah’s mission is not an easy one. He is not sent to a people eager to listen.

He is sent to a people whose ears will remain closed, whose eyes will be blind, whose hearts will be hardened.

Why?

Because they have already chosen what they will worship.

Isaiah is transformed by beholding the true King.

But Israel?

They have fixed their gaze elsewhere—on idols of wood and stone.

And the tragic reality is this:

We become like what we worship.

Psalm 115 lays it out starkly:

“Their idols are silver and gold, the work of human hands. They have mouths, but do not speak; Eyes, but do not see. They have ears, but do not hear.”

And then comes the devastating conclusion:

“Those who make them become like them; So do all who trust in them.”

Israel had exchanged the living God for lifeless things—and now they themselves were becoming lifeless.

• The idols had eyes but could not see—and now Israel was blind.

• The idols had ears but could not hear—and now Israel was deaf.

• The idols were nothing more than dead wood and stone—and now Israel was a forest about to be cut down, left as nothing but stumps.

They had been worshiping death.

And death was coming.

Yet, this was not just their undoing—it was also the undoing of the land.

The very ground they were called to tend would bear the weight of their idolatry. Their failure to reflect the living God meant failure to care for the world He entrusted to them.

God, in His justice, gives them over to what they have sought—

But what they have sought brings only ruin.

The Mis-Pî Ritual: A Twisted Reflection

The irony runs even deeper.

In the ancient world, before an idol could be placed in a temple, it had to undergo a ritual called mis-pî—the “mouth-washing” ceremony. Priests would take a newly carved idol, bring it to the temple gates, wash it, consecrate it, and declare it ready to ‘speak’ for the gods.

But the idol had no real power.

It could not see. It could not hear. It could not speak.

Yet, after this ritual, people believed it had been given divine authority—made into the mouthpiece of the gods.

And then, in Isaiah 6, God does something remarkable.

He takes Isaiah—not a lifeless idol, but a living man, an unclean man—and truly purifies him at the gates of the true temple.

This is no empty ritual. No hollow consecration.

Instead, God sends a seraph with a burning coal from the altar—the place of true atonement—and touches Isaiah’s lips.

This is no mere symbol.

It is real purification.

True vs. False Transformation

God does for Isaiah what the world falsely tries to do for its idols.

• The world washes wood and stone, but God truly cleanses hearts.

• The world gives a voice to the speechless, but God makes the unworthy His true messenger.

Isaiah is not a lifeless object in need of a priestly illusion.

He is a person, deeply aware of his sin—now radically transformed by grace.

He is given a real voice. A true calling. He becomes the mouthpiece of the living God.

Meanwhile, Israel has entrusted itself to lifeless things.

And so, they will be left voiceless, hopeless, and hardened.

The Image of God and Our True Purpose

To grasp the full weight of this, we must go back to Genesis.

From the very beginning, humans were created to reflect God.

Genesis 1 describes God creating a temple space in which He would dwell. On the seventh day, He rested—not in exhaustion, but in enthronement. He took up His home in this temple-world, ruling over the entire cosmos.

And at the center of this grand design, He placed His image.

Humans.

We were made in His likeness—literally, we were to be His "idols" in His cosmic temple. But not as lifeless statues.

Unlike the mute and powerless idols of the nations, we were living, breathing representatives of His rule.

The world was God’s dwelling place, and we were meant to display His glory in it.

Our purpose was to lead all creation in worship and obedience, reflecting the beauty, wisdom, and holiness of the God who sits on high and whose glory fills the earth.

But this is why idolatry is so destructive.

It is not just about bowing to the wrong thing—it is about failing to be what we were meant to be.

Instead of reflecting the living God, we become like the dead, powerless things we worship.

Yet, the story does not end there.

Jesus restores our purpose.

The Stump and the Hope Within

Isaiah asks the haunting question:

“How long, Lord?”

How long will the people remain blind? How long will their hearts stay hard?

The answer is devastating:

• Until the land is desolate.

• Until the cities are destroyed.

• Until the people are exiled, cut off from the land of promise.

At first glance, there is no hope here.

The land—meant to be a flourishing garden, a new Eden—would become a barren graveyard. The very trees that once made their idols would be reduced to lifeless stumps.

They had put their trust in dead things.

Now, their land would reflect the death they had chosen.

A once-thriving nation would become a wasteland of shattered hopes and ruined altars—monuments to idols that could not save.

But even here, judgment is not the final word.

Isaiah 6:13 offers a glimmer of hope:

“But as the terebinth and oak leave stumps when they are cut down, so the holy seed will be the stump in the land.”

The image of the stump is one of devastation—a mighty forest reduced to lifeless remains.

And yet, hidden within the wreckage is a promise.

The holy seed is in the stump.

A remnant will survive.

From what appears dead, new life will come.

Isaiah later expands on this in Isaiah 11:

“A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse; from his roots a Branch will bear fruit.”

Israel’s failure was not the end of the story.

A new beginning would come—not through human power, but through a King who would rise from the remnant.

A King who would truly reflect God’s image.

And just as this promised shoot would bring renewal, so too are we called to reflect Him—to become part of this restoration, but only if we fix our gaze on Him.

The idols had failed. The people had fallen.

But God’s plan was not undone.

And this brings us to Jesus—the true shoot from the stump, the fulfillment of Isaiah’s vision.

Jesus: The One We Behold

Jesus is everything Isaiah longed to see.

He was the One truly sent by God to bring a message of repentance and belief.

• Where Israel looked to idols and became blind, Jesus came to open blind eyes.

• Where the people became deaf to God’s voice, Jesus came speaking truth.

• Where Isaiah had to be cleansed before he could stand in God’s presence, Jesus—the Holy One and the Great High Priest—went to the cross so that we might be cleansed in Him.

He was cut down on a tree, so that we would not experience the wrath of God, but His gracious atonement and welcome.

And when Jesus rose, He took His rightful place on the throne of heaven.

The vision Isaiah saw in the temple?

That was Jesus.

John 12 tells us that when Isaiah saw the Lord high and lifted up, he saw Christ’s glory.

The throne Isaiah saw was never truly empty.

The King has always been there.

And now, through Christ, we are invited not only to see Him—but to become like Him.

The One on the throne has always been Jesus.

And the invitation remains:

Fix your eyes on Him, and you will be transformed.

Becoming Who We Were Meant to Be

We can only fulfill our purpose as image-bearers by looking to the One who is the perfect image of God (Colossians 1:15).

Only by beholding Jesus are we made new:

“We all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another.” (2 Corinthians 3:18)

To fix our hope on money, success, political power, or anything else that promises security will lead to nothing but disappointment and destruction.

If anything tempts us to take our eyes off Jesus, we will fail to reflect Him—and lose sight of our true purpose.

After all, faith is not just believing—

It is becoming.

“This is how we know we are in Him: Whoever claims to live in Him must live as Jesus did.” (1 John 2:5-6)

What we behold, we become.

So the question remains:

What are you looking at?