Exodus 3:1-6
July 6, 2025
When Brent and I went to Richmond,
Virginia in May to attend a conference at my seminary, I realized that I had not
been back to my alma mater or to Richmond in general in 25 years. It wasn’t
because I didn’t want to go back, it’s just been because, you know, life.
Family, work, distance, money, time, life. All those factors and more have made
it hard to get back to the seminary and the city that I loved. So, it was great
to get to make the trip this Spring and show Brent the place where I
encountered my burning bush.
You heard me correctly. I’ve tried
to describe what I’m about to describe countless times, and I’m never sure I’ve
given a clear account but I’m going to try again. I moved to Richmond not to
attend seminary but for a job. The job was terrible, but I found my way to a
Presbyterian Church and my life was transformed. The job went away, which was
both terrifying and a blessing, and I was scrambling to find another one. I’d
heard through folks at church that the Presbyterian seminary in town was
hiring. So, resumé in hand, I went to the school to apply. I parked in front of
the main building and walked around the corner of that building trying to get
oriented to the campus when I was stopped short.
This is an old seminary in an old
neighborhood. At the top of Watts, which is the main administration building,
there are gargoyles watching over the campus. There is a quad, which is just
what the name implies – a large rectangle of grass surround on all four sides
by buildings – the library, dorms, the chapel, faculty offices located in old
houses. It’s very pretty but there’s nothing extraordinary about it, about any
of it. But when I walked around that corner, saw the quad, saw the other
buildings, I was overwhelmed with this intense feeling, intuition, deep-seated
knowledge – there are no suitable words – and whatever this sensation was, it
stopped me in my tracks. I just stood there and looked and looked and looked.
The seminary can be intimidating, but I didn’t feel intimidated. I felt
overwhelmed and overcome. In that moment, I just knew in a way that I had never
experienced before or since I must be on that campus. I had to be in that
community. I had to be on those grounds and in those buildings. Whatever that
feeling or intuition or sudden knowledge was, it was powerful. But it was only
in hindsight that I recognized it for what it was: I was being called. That
sounds hokey, I know, but I believe it to be true. I was hearing, feeling,
intuiting a call. There was no deep voice calling my name.
“Amy,
I want you to be a minister in the Presbyterian Church (USA).”
I
didn’t actually see any bushes, burning or otherwise. I just knew I needed to
be there. At that moment, I thought it would be through a job. It wasn’t until
a month or two later that I began to contemplate being there as a student. But
that’s what would eventually happen. Whatever it was that happened to me in
that moment, whatever it was that I felt or knew or understood, it was a call.
It was my Moses moment, my metaphorical burning bush.
Moses
encountered an actual burning bush.
He
was out tending the flock for his father-in-law, Jethro. He led the flock
beyond the wilderness to the mountain Horeb. We, as the readers and hearers of
this story, know that Horeb is the mountain of God, but there is no indication
that Moses understood that he was encountering the divine. Again, we also know
that what is making the bush burn is no ordinary fire but the flame of the
angel of the Lord. But Moses does not know that. What Moses knows is that there
is a bush that appears to be burning, but the fire is not consuming it. It’s
not being turned into ash as it burns. It grabs his attention, it piques his
curiosity, so he decides to go and see what this burning bush is all about.
“I
must turn aside and look at this great sight and see why the bush is not burned
up.”
Biblical
scholar Terence Fretheim points out that Moses was not frightened by the sight
of the burning bush. He was not repelled by it either. He does not seem to
think that there is anything godly about it. He is merely curious, and God uses
his curiosity to draw him closer. As Fretheim wrote, “curiosity leads to call.”
It is only when Moses’ curiosity compels him to go closer that God begins to
speak to him.
And
when God speaks to him, he tells Moses to remove his sandals for the place
where Moses is standing is holy ground. Again, there is nothing to indicate
that this is holy ground. God chooses to call Moses away from anything overtly
religious or sacred. There are no temples nearby. There is no religious altar
or marking to designate this as holy ground. But it is holy because this is
where God and Moses meet. This is where God identifies himself to Moses as
being the God of his father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of
Jacob. If we were to keep reading in the text, God tells Moses that he has seen
the misery of his people. He has witnessed their suffering and heard their
cries. So God is calling Moses to be his messenger to Pharaoh. God is calling
Moses to lead his people out of enslavement and into freedom.
This
is a big calling, bigger than Moses was prepared for, bigger than he wanted or
thought he could handle. And God has yet to reveal the full scope of Moses’
call. Moses will argue with God. Moses will tell God that he has no business
being the Lord’s messenger. He is not a gifted speaker; in fact he struggles
with speaking. Moses tells God that God should call his brother Aaron instead.
Aaron can speak to Pharaoh. Aaron can do this job much better than Moses can.
Oh, and by the way, God, if I do this and it’s still an if, the people are
going to want to know who this God is who sent me. They are going to want to
know your name.
God
tells Moses that his name is “I Am who I Am.” Tell the people “I Am has sent me
to you.”
This
name God gives Moses has been studied and pondered for years, centuries.
Grammatically, it could also be translated as “I Will Be who I Will Be.” Tell
them “I Will Be” sent you. Or it could be translated as “I Create who I
Create.” In other words, the name of God is bigger and broader and fuller than
what our language or any language can communicate.
This
is the call of Moses. This is the call that came from his curiosity to see a
bush that was burning but not being consumed. And while the call itself is
essential and important, I want to circle back to the ground, the holy ground.
It
seems to me that what made the ground holy was not the presence of the bush or
the mountain Horeb. There was nothing in that particular spot that designated
it as holy. It was holy because it is where God chose to be. It was holy not
only because it is where God chose to be, but because it is where God chose to
be and where God called Moses. What made the ground holy is because God and
Moses encountered each other there. It was holy because that is the site of the
encounter between divine and human.
This
broadens the scope of holy ground, doesn’t it? Holy ground is not necessarily
ground that is set apart for the divine. Holy ground is wherever God meets us
and where we meet God. Holy ground is wherever God calls us, and we recognize
that call. When I stood on that spot leading to the quad of the seminary, I was
standing on holy ground. I didn’t know that, not intellectually anyway.
Something in me recognized that I was standing on more than brick and concrete.
I was being called even though I didn’t fully understand or comprehend that
call. But it was holy ground.
If
you are comfortable and able, slip off your shoes for a moment. Let your feet
touch the ground beneath you. Look down and look at where your feet are. Maybe
it’s where your feet are most Sundays. You are sitting in the pew or the chair
where you always sit. The ground beneath you is carpet or floor, just like it
always is. But I think something more is happening in this moment. I think the
ground where we are standing is holy ground, because God is calling us in this
moment. God is calling us in this moment, in this place, on this ground. God is
calling us to hear the cries of his people, to see the suffering in the world
and to respond – with our prayers, with the work of our hands, with our voices,
with our whole beings. We are called and because we are called this ground
beneath our feet is holy. We are standing on holy ground. Wherever God calls
us, wherever God encounters us is holy ground. And because God calls us through
others, those people are holy as well. It seems to me that God infuses all of creation
with holiness, if only we could be curious enough to turn aside and see, if
only we could recognize it in ourselves and in others. Take off your shoes
because this is holy ground. Thanks be to God.
Let
all of God’s children say, “Alleluia!”
Amen.
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