Now Go

Exodus 3:1-15

August 30, 2026

 

            My first call was to be the Associate Pastor of a church in Rockville, Maryland. Rockville is right off the beltway around Washington, D.C., and it was a nice church with nice people. I had my first interview with their search committee when they came to a job fair at my seminary. I was a last minute add-on to their interview schedule. I hesitated about interviewing with churches because I was not sure about what I wanted to do after seminary. Would I go on to a call in a church or would I stay on campus and continue with another degree? But I thought I should at least try an interview. Some of the search committee members confessed to me later that when they first read my resume, they were not convinced that I would be the right person for the call but were pleasantly surprised when they met me in person. I guess we were all unsure about each other. But as we talked during the interview, it began to feel right.

            After that initial interview, I drove up to Rockville for a second interview, see the church, meet the with the Head of Staff, and all the other things that you do when you are interviewing for a call. Everything looked good. Everyone was excited. However my excitement was tinged with trepidation. That’s an understatement. I was terrified. Not because it was a bad call or because I had a bad feeling about it. I was just terrified. I had no idea what I was doing when it came to being a minister, none. None. It didn’t matter that I was about to be a seminary graduate. It didn’t matter that I worked as a church intern for a year. I knew that when it came to ministry I was clueless. My fear was real.

            I must have hidden my fear well because they offered me the call. I said “yes,” and smiled and hugged folks. But in my mind I was screaming, “AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!” After the interview was over and I was driving back to school, I told myself that if I heard the band REM’s song Don’t Go Back to Rockville on the radio, I would take that as a sign. That would be it, I told myself. That would be my sign from God that this was not the right thing to do. If REM told me not to go back to Rockville, then I would not go back to Rockville. I would go back to my apartment, call the committee chair, apologize for my change of heart, and turn down the call.  

            Brent and I were talking about this the other night, and I told him that I have never prayed so hard to hear a song as I did on that drive back to Richmond. I searched every radio station. Please, somebody play REM. REM must be playing somewhere! Brent joked that I was probably wishing for a call line so I could make a request.  

            But my fears were not eased by REM. I did go back to Rockville. I took the call, and even though it was not perfect, I learned a lot. I grew a lot. I started to figure out how to become a minister in that call.

            Flash forward a few decades, and I was again looking for a call. My first interview was virtual, and it was with this church in a town that I had heard of but knew nothing about. It was a call in a town with a name that sounded out-of-place in Tennessee. Pulaski. There are no songs about not returning to Pulaski that I know of, and by the time I was interviewing with the search committee REM had broken up. It was doubtful they would write one for me. I was offered the call. I was excited! The committee was excited. And just like that first call I was terrified. I had served in ministry for over 20 years when I first came here. I served in churches from Maryland to New York to Iowa to Minnesota and Oklahoma. I was most definitely not a first time pastor. But I was still terrified. I still had to trust that God was telling me, “now go,” not because I didn’t like the folks here or the church or the area, but because every call has both promise and challenge. Every call means that I will have to learn new things and be challenged in new ways and have to figure out how to be a minster in this new church and in this new place. With every new call, including this one, no matter how excited or enthusiastic I am, I am equally convinced that I do not know what I am doing. No amount of experience can change that fear.

            I’m not alone. A friend and colleague in our lectionary group told us about Eugene Peterson, the acclaimed minister, teacher, and author. He served one church for over 20 years. He went on to teach and contributed to the scholarship of the church. He wrote a colloquial translation of the Old and New Testaments – The Message – which we use sometimes in worship and definitely in our Wednesday night bible study. Yet with all that experience, with all that ability, Peterson once said that he never really felt like he knew what he was doing. He never felt like an expert in ministry. He just made it up as he went.

            All of this is to say that I get Moses. I understand why he answered God’s call to lead God’s people out of Egypt with the words, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh, and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” In other words, “Wait, what? I must have misunderstood you, God. You want me to do what?”

            The focus of these verses from Exodus is usually the burning bush, understandably so. Moses is shepherding his father-in-law, Jethro’s, flock, and he leads them out to what was probably the edge of nowhere, beyond the wilderness. And while he’s minding the sheep and minding his own business, he sees a bush that was on fire but it was not being consumed by the flames. An elementary knowledge of fire tells us that fire needs fuel. A bush on fire should have burned up, and the fire would have either extinguished itself or jumped to a new source of fuel. But this bush just kept burning. Moses sees it and decides to give it a closer look. God sees that Moses is coming near to give the bush a closer inspection, and God calls out to Moses from the flames.

            Moses responds, “Here I am.” God tells him to take off his shoes because this is holy ground. God then establishes his identity and his connection to Moses. God is the God of Moses’ father, of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob. Then God tells Moses that just as Moses has seen the burning bush, God has seen, really seen, the misery of his people in Egypt. He has heard their cries and knows their suffering. And now he has come to deliver them from this misery to a good land, a broad land, a land flowing with milk and honey. So, God tells Moses that the way he will deliver the people is by sending Moses to Pharoah to bring God’s people out of Egypt.

            I think it is safe to say that this not what Moses was expecting to learn. He questions God’s wisdom in sending him. Moses doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s not anyone special. He isn’t prepared or trained to go to Pharoah and to set God’s people free. But God promises that Moses will not be alone. God will be with him. God will go with him. And when Moses has brought the people out of Egypt, they will worship God together on this very mountain.

            God may be sure, but Moses is not. So he stalls and delays. If you think about it God has already told Moses who he is. God has already offered his litany of identity. But Moses, who I suspect was playing for time, wants to know God’s name. Um, if I go to the people and tell them, “God sent me,” they’re gonna want a name.

            I cannot speculate as to what name Moses thought he might hear, but it probably was not, “I Am Who I Am,” or “I Will Be Who I Will Be,” which is another way that can be translated. This probably did not give Moses the clarity he was seeking. After all, how can you wrap infinity, endless being, creator of all, into a name? How would Moses convince the people that God was calling him to lead them with a name like I Am Who I Am?

            As I said, the focal point of this story may traditionally be the burning bush, but I think the real crux of these verses comes down to two words: now go. My former professor, Tyler Mayfield, an Old Testament scholar at Louisville Seminary writes that “holy spaces have holy consequences.” By paying attention to the burning bush, Moses found himself on holy ground. But as Mayfield wrote, encountering God is not just about seeing the burning bush, then posting it on your social media with the caption, #blessed, then going back to your daily life.

Encountering the holy means that there is more coming, more to be done. Holy spaces have holy consequences. Moses met God in the burning bush, in that holy space, and the consequence was that he was told, “now go.” The holy space was important but not the final point. The holy space led to holy consequences.

            I suspect it is an understatement that Moses felt inadequate to the call he was given. He was unsure if he could handle the holy consequences of his encounter with God in that holy space. Jesus’ words in our gospel lesson only reinforces the challenges of being called. He tells the disciples openly, without any pretense or attempt at subtlety, what it means to be the messiah. It means suffering. It means death. It means resurrection, but that does not happen without the suffering and death first. And if they want to become his followers, then they must be prepared to deny themselves, pick up their own crosses, and follow – wherever that path may lead because just as Moses encountered God in that holy space, so too have the disciples encountered God in the person of Jesus. The holy space they have lived in comes with holy consequences. The holy consequences may mean losing everything in order to gain everything. Now go.

            The thing I have come to learn about holy spaces and holy consequences is that whenever you find yourself in a holy space and answer the call to go, where God leads is to another holy space and another call to go. That was true when I answered to call to go to Rockville, and it has been true for every call I have answered since then. But whatever the call may be, no matter how unprepared or how inadequate we believe we are to face the challenges ahead, the promise is always the same. God will be with us. We are not alone. God is with us.

We gathered in a holy space, and in this holy space we are all called to go out. I cannot predict the holy consequences that await us, nor do I know what each person’s unique call may be. The calls we face may be daunting and hard, but I also know this. God is with us. We are not alone. There are plenty of times in my ministry when I have forgotten this promise. There are plenty of times when I have doubted God’s presence. But God has not forgotten me, and God has been faithful, even when I wasn’t. I’m still here. I’m still called. I’m still afraid. I am not sent out alone.

We are not sent out alone. God is with us. So whatever the holy consequences may be, we will be given the tools, the knowledge, the ability to face them, because God is with us. God was with Moses. God was with the disciples. God is with us. Now. Go.

            Let all of God’s children answer this call in this holy space saying, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.