Exodus 4:1-12
Last week we read the story frequently called “Moses and the Burning Bush.” We talked about God’s instructions for Moses to take off his shoes, for he was standing on holy ground. Today I’d like to talk about Moses’ response to the whole encounter.
It starts, of course, with Moses seeing the angel in the burning bush, and stopping to see why the bush was burning but was not being consumed. “When the Lord saw that he had turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush. ‘Moses, Moses!’ And Moses said ‘Here I am!’”
Then God said, “I have seen my suffering children and have heard their cries, and I am going to deliver them from slavery.” Moses must have thought “Well, this is good news! My people need saving!” But then God said, “So come, Moses, I will send you to Pharaoh.” Suddenly “Here I am, Lord!” changed to “Who, me?” And it didn’t feel like good news anymore. “Who am I that I should do this difficult thing?”
Most of us probably know that feeling. Many of us have, at one time or another, felt incapable of the task before us. We thought parenting would be easy—after all, lots of people do it—and then we find ourselves feeling under-prepared and overwhelmed. Or maybe we volunteered for something we thought was small, only to find out later that it was much more than we bargained for . . . like when “helping out in your child’s classroom” somehow morphed into being President of the PTA.
The life of faith can be one of those things. We think it’s easy—join the church, say a few “I will, with the help of God”-s and we’re off. But it’s more than that. It’s always more.
I read a poem this week that spoke to this very idea. It begins with a woman’s strange request:
“Please de-baptize me,” she said. The priest’s face crumpled. “My parents tell me you did it,” she said. “But I was not consulted. So now, undo it. . . . If it were just about belonging to this religion and being forgiven, then I would stay. If it were just about believing this list of doctrines and upholding this list of rituals, I’d be OK. But your sermon Sunday made it clear it’s about more. More than I bargained for. So, please, de-baptize me. . . . You said baptism sends me into the world to love enemies. I don’t. Nor do I plan to. You said it means being willing to stand against the flow. I like the flow. You described it like rethinking everything, like joining a movement. But I’m not rethinking or moving anywhere. So de-baptize me. Please.”[1]
At the end of the poem, the priest is weeping . . . not because she asked to be de-baptized, but because she was “the first person who ever truly listened or understood.”
Being people of faith sometimes means being called to do difficult things, to stand with the oppressed, to speak truth to power, to confront the pharaohs on their thrones and request—no, demand that the prisoners be set free.
Being people of faith sometimes means being called to do difficult things, like forgive . . . for the twenty-seventh time; like forgive . . . and not count how many times it’s been; like look beyond the façade to see the pain. “Who, me? Who am I to do such a difficult thing?”
You’re a Christian. That’s who.
Of course, we don’t de-baptize, nor do we re-baptize. But either way, I don’t want to be de-baptized. I want to live into my baptism. I want to say “I will, with the help of God” and mean it, on both counts. But sometimes it’s hard to know how.
Let’s look again at Moses’ story. After Moses questions God’s wisdom in giving him this job, God replies merely, “I will be with you.” Still Moses resists, with questions like “Who are you?” and “What if they don’t believe me?” He offers his last excuse: “I am slow of speech and slow of tongue.” In other words, “Ask someone who has gifts for this kind of ministry, someone younger or older or braver.”
But notice God’s response. God doesn’t give Moses a pep talk or work on Moses’ self-esteem. God doesn’t say, “Oh, no, Moses! You’re a good public speaker! And I just know you’ll do a great job!” No, God says, again, “I will be with you.” That’s all you need.
Now I want to ask the kids a question. When you cough, what are you supposed to do? (You’re supposed to cough into your elbow.) But why? So you don’t share your germs, because colds are contagious . . . which means other people can catch your cold.
Well, germs aren’t the only things that are contagious. Courage is also contagious. I’ll give you an example. Let’s say you see someone at school getting picked on. Maybe some bigger kids are pushing him around, or some popular kids are making fun of her. What do you think God would want you to do if you see this happening? God wants us to stand up for people who are being mistreated, and to stop the mistreatment if we can, and if we can’t, then to be their friend so they don’t feel alone. So let’s imagine that somebody at school is being mistreated. And you say, “Hey, that’s not cool! Stop that!” Then maybe somebody else will decide to stand up, too, because you were brave so they can be brave.
Now you may think: I’m not popular so nobody will listen to me, or I’m small so I can’t stand up to the big kids or I’m afraid of getting picked on, too. And you know what God says? God doesn’t try to talk you out of your feelings. God just says “I’ll be with you.”
Grownups, you may see someone getting picked on—maybe by a bully, or maybe a bureaucracy; maybe by a bigot, or maybe a biased system that leaves them always three steps behind. You may think: Nobody will listen to me or I’m just one person so I can’t stand up to the system or I’m afraid of what others might think. And you know what God says? God says, “My people are suffering, and I am sending YOU to set them free. But don’t worry: I’ll be with you.”
And that is enough.
[1][1] McClaren, Brian. http://frsimon.wordpress.com/2014/09/01/please-de-baptise-me/