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Exodus 4:10-16
This summer in worship we have been hopping around the First Testament (Hebrew Scriptures), trying to hear from the other side—from people in stories we never read in Sunday school, or from people in familiar stories whose point of view is not usually given. Today we’re going to look at the figure of Aaron, the brother of Moses. Our reading is from Exodus 4, but we’re picking it up mid story so here’s a quick summary of what happened in chapter three. After Moses killed one of the Egyptian taskmasters and fled for his life, he got married. One day Moses was taking care of his father-in-law’s flock and came to Horeb, which was called the mountain of God. There the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a bush that was on fire, but not burning up. God spoke from the bush and said, “I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt; I have heard their cry on account of their taskmasters. Indeed, I know their sufferings, and I have come down to deliver them from the Egyptians. . . . So come, I will send you to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt.” Moses immediately asked, “Who am I that I should do this?” God promised to be with him, but that wasn’t enough for Moses. Then Moses asked for God’s name, and God responded “I am.” Then God gave Moses lots of instructions—eight verses worth—and then chapter four opens with Moses still arguing with God. Moses said, “But suppose they do not believe me or listen to me, but say, ‘The Lord did not appear to you.’” God responded by doing miraculous signs.
But Moses isn’t done. Hear now from verses 10-16.
But Moses said to the Lord, “O my Lord, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor even now that you have spoken to your servant; but I am slow of speech and slow of tongue.”
Then the Lord said to him, “Who gives speech to mortals? Who makes them mute or deaf, seeing or blind? Is it not I, the Lord? Now go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you are to speak.”
But Moses said, “O my Lord, please send someone else.”
Then the anger of the Lord was kindled against Moses and the Lord said, “What of your brother Aaron the Levite? I know that he can speak fluently; even now he is coming out to meet you, and when he sees you his heart will be glad. You shall speak to him and put the words in his mouth; and I will be with your mouth and with his mouth, and will teach you what you shall do. He indeed shall speak for you to the people.”
So to summarize, God asked Moses to return to Egypt to free his people, and Moses argued and argued, and God promised to help him, give him words, and give him miracles to perform. And when Moses tried to flat-out refuse, God gave him a spokesperson.
But this sermon series is supposed to be the stories from the other side, and I said this sermon is about Aaron. So since God went to all this bother to answer Moses’ questions, surely God does something similar for Aaron, right?
Exodus 4:27: “The Lord said to Aaron, ‘Go into the wilderness to meet Moses.’”
Really, God?! That’s all you’ve got? You chose Moses as your guy, but (let’s face it) your guy was whiny. This guy is going to be your guy’s right hand man. He deserves to know what is being asked of him. He deserves to know why he’s being sent to see his brother. After all that you said to Moses, after all the miraculous signs you gave him, you call Aaron as his assistant and Aaron gets “Go into the wilderness to meet Moses”? That is so not fair. I hope Aaron has a good response. Exodus 4:27: “The Lord said to Aaron, ‘Go into the wilderness to meet Moses.’ So he went.”
Really, Aaron?! That’s all you’ve got? God says “Go into the wilderness to meet your brother—you know, the one who murdered an Egyptian and then had to flee for his life—go into the wilderness and meet him.” And you say “Sure, thing, be right there!”? You don’t ask why? You don’t ask for details? Just prompt obedience to the call of God? I’m starting to question my choice of preaching about you, Aaron, because I cannot relate!”
I’m more Moses than Aaron at least in this part of the story. I sense the call of God and then I start asking questions. Oh, sure, you want me to go to Minnesota—I feel that and I get that—but how are the schools and how bad are the winters and how’s the housing market? Because, you know, God, I trust you and all, but I’ve got to be sure. Trust, but verify!
Over the years I’ve heard many people say they envy Moses. Maybe they didn’t say it in those words, but they long for the clear message, the undeniable sign, the voice from the burning bush that tells them what to do. On the other hand, we’ve been taught to question voices in our heads. We’ve been taught there are medications for that. There has always been a fine line between spiritual sensitivity and mental instability.
Still, few people want to be Aaron. Few people want to blindly follow a single command, getting everything second hand from somebody who actually heard from God, and then risk their lives for somebody else’s mission. And always take second billing.
But the more I think about it, the less I think that’s what happened. Aaron didn’t get a huge miraculous call from God (at least not one we’re told about). But he did know the need. When God spoke to Moses from the burning bush, he said “I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt; I have heard their cry on account of their taskmasters.” Well, Aaron had never NOT heard his people cry. His entire life had been spent under Egyptian rule, as a slave like the rest of his people. He saw the beatings his people took, had most likely experienced the lash himself. He knew of the Pharaoh’s attempts to kill baby boys, including his little brother who was now apparently his boss. He knew the suffering, and if God was going to do something to help the people, then Aaron wanted to be part of it. It didn’t matter how big or small the role was. It didn’t matter that he was risking his life. It didn’t matter that he was his younger brother’s assistant. Maybe he thought, “God, you’re really going to rescue our people? Whatever you need, count me in!”
Harriet Tubman was called Moses for leading so many of her people to freedom. President Jimmy Carter said that Martin Luther King, Jr., was like Moses. We need some Moseses.
But we need even more Aarons. We need people who are willing to work for the freedom of others not because they had a miraculous call but simply because they saw the suffering; not because they get publicity or awards or followers but simply because they heard the cries. We need more Aarons. We need more Aaron within us. You know this, of course. We know this, as individuals and as a community. But what does it mean in practical terms? How does this belief change your life? In light of all the injustice around us, just saying we believe in justice isn’t enough.
But here’s the hard part for me as your pastor. For every one of you who needs a nudge to get busy, there’s one of you who is already exhausted from trying, and another one of you who is hurting so badly that the last thing you need is more challenge. I don’t always know which you are, and even if I did, I can’t go around saying, “This part of the sermon is for YOU, and this other part is for YOU!” But I can tell you this: As surely as God heard the cries of the oppressed in Egypt, God hears the cries in South Portland, Scarborough, Cape, and Portland. As surely as God wanted to free the people, so God wants to free us—from all that binds us and harms us and holds us back from accepting that we are God’s beloved, that we all are God’s beloved.
But for those of you who are not hurting, those of you not in crisis, let’s talk about what it means to be Aaron. Aaron was Moses’ spokesperson until Moses didn’t need him any more, and then his role changed. Years ago I heard people say they felt called to speak for the voiceless. That’s all fine and good except that most of the people saying this were white, and most people aren’t really voiceless—we’re just hogging the mic.
In June of last year there was an Instagram event called #sharethemicnow. Over forty well-known white women—politicians, athletes, and actors—with an Instagram reach of 30 million followers, gave control of their social media page to black women “with the aim of amplifying black voices working toward change in America’s racist systems and reaching an audience they previously hadn’t.”[1] I am ashamed to say that I have not done enough to share my pulpit, my platform, with people who are too often silenced. Some plans got cancelled because of Covid, but I should have tried harder. We need to share the mic and we need to listen to what we hear, even if we don’t like it.
Rev. Michael Howard writes about this deep need. He says, “The late feminist theologian Nelle Morton said that hope comes from ‘a great ear at the heart of the universe—at the heart of our common life,’ that comes alive when we learn to hear one another to speech. The real curse underneath the most important sins of our time (racism, sexism, classism, etc.) is not simply oppression, or greed, or power. It is the lies that human beings learn to tell about each other, shaping our imaginations, convincing us that we can be excused from the hard work of getting to really know each other. Society teaches us to look at our neighbors and imagine them as problem laden rather than promise filled.”[2] Now, you know that I LOVE our Community Crisis Ministries program, and we do wonderful things through it. But if that is our only connection with the community, then we might be tempted to see others as problem-laden—as people with problems WE can fix—rather than people who are filled with promise. It goes both ways. Maybe if we can see ourselves as promise-filled rather than problem-laden, we will be able to see others that way, too.
[1] https://fortune.com/2020/06/10/share-the-mic-now-instagram-black-women-activists-antiracism/
[2] https://michaelanthonyhoward.com/blog/2017/07/23/nelle-morton-hearing-to-speech