Yes! Wait...WHAT? (Sermon)

“Yes! Wait…What?”

Exodus 3:1-15

Allen Huff

Jonesborough Presbyterian Church

9/14/14

          There is a connection crying out to us in this text. It may have been obvious to some of you, but remember, I’m from Georgia. Heat and humidity often slow my people down a little bit. So, I discovered this only three weeks ago during Sunday school. Listen to the revealing harmony as we overlay portions of two stories.

          “Moses was keeping the flock of his father-in-law, Jethro…he led his flock beyond the wilderness…”

          “In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night.” (Luke 2:8)

          “There an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire…”

          “Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them…” (Luke 2:9)

          “[God] said, ‘I will be with you; and this shall be a sign for you…when you have brought the people out of Egypt, you shall worship God on this mountain.’”

          “This will be sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” (Luke 2:12)

          “Then Moses said, ‘I must turn aside and look at this great sight…’”

          “The shepherds said to one another, ‘Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place.’” (Luke 2:15)

          “Then the Lord said, ‘I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt; I have heard their cry…I know their sufferings, and I have come down to deliver them…’”

          “My soul magnifies the Lord, for the Mighty One has…helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.” (from Luke 1:46, 49, 54-55)

          Jesus is frequently called “The Second Moses.” It seems fitting, then, that the stories of Moses’ call and of Jesus’ birth mirror each other so closely. What’s more, they are two of many biblical reminders that the call of God tends to surface, or at least becomes uniquely irresistible, in the midst of wilderness. And that irresistibility tends to evoke a response of eager cooperation.

          “Here I am,” says Moses.

          “Here I am,” says Samuel.

          “Here I am, send me,” says Isaiah.

          “Here I am, the servant of the Lord,” says Mary.

          “Here I am,” says Ananias.

          None of the twelve disciples says, Here I am, but their drop-everything-and-go responses convey their willingness.

          In virtually every one of these stories, however, the Here I am character experiences a kind of spiritual hiccup. Moses gives voice to that hiccup, ironically enough, when he reverses the Here I am statement to ask the question, “Who am I?”

          “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh, and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?”

          Does that feel like familiar ground to any of us: To say, “Yes!” then, “Wait! What? Who am I to do that?” If it does feel like familiar ground, it is also, says God, “holy ground.”

          On the holy ground of call and response, the Who am I? question marks the moment when the one who is called confronts, barefooted, the demands of new responsibility. At that point, any blinders a person may have get peeled away. They see the moment and the future very differently. To move all the way through the holy land of Here I am/Who am I requires the empowerment of deep memory, and a fierce hope.

          I recently heard someone famous refer to hope as a “beggar in the universe.” I think I understand his intent, but I also think that what he calls hope we would call wishful thinking. Biblical hope has nothing to do with begging. Biblical hope is the very Yes! of discipleship. Hope is the Here I am of faith, and it includes the inevitable “Who Am I?” of doubt.

          After getting Moses’ attention with something that defies description, God turns and calls Moses to work that is even more incredible. And the only assurance God offers is a sign that does not give Moses much to dig his bare toenails into. “This shall be the sign for you,” says God, “when you have brought the people out of Egypt, you shall worship [right here] on this mountain.”

          The “sign” is a promise toward which Moses must not only live, but lead others. It is not some talisman to wear around his neck, or a compass to guide him. The sign God promises requires pure trust. It’s more of a, “You’ll know it when you see it” thing. And that’s perfectly appropriate, because, and forgive the cliché, but the life of faith is a journey – a journey of risk, and discovery, and memory-fueled hope. And it’s this all-important memory, that layer of identity, which turns Moses from Here I am to Who am I.

          “They won’t believe me,” says Moses. “I need a letter of reference or something.”

          And here God gets in on all the existential talk: “Tell them,” says God, “tell them my name is I AM WHO I AM. Tell them I AM sent you,” ‘the I AM of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the one who was, and is, and is to come. Now go.’

          Having been raised in an Egyptian household, Moses’ well of memories is barely even damp at the bottom. So I AM begins to remind Who am I of the old story of Abraham, the man who simply leaves when God says, “Go.”

          God calls Moses to do more than remove the Israelites from Egypt. God calls Moses to establish a brand new set of memories by which God’s people may live forward into new hope. And through the ragged arc of Here I am’s and Who am I’s, I AM eventually speaks another word: Emmanuel. Through Jesus of Nazareth, God says “I AM with you, in person.” So begins yet another chapter of the ongoing Exodus of creation.

          Humankind is always somewhere on the Exodus continuum. We are either slaving away in some Pharaoh’s kingdom of power, wealth, and fear. Or we are crossing some sea trying to escape that land. Or we are building golden calves because pillars and cloud just don’t persuade us anymore. Or we are simply wandering, complaining about the food, or eating manna. Sometimes, though, we are settling in to a new way of life, remembering gratefully the faithfulness of God, and looking hopefully toward a future we can’t yet see, but which we trust because we trust that we didn’t get to where we are at this moment completely by accident.

          Here in the early 21^st century, being the Church is no easy calling. We inhabit an uncharted wilderness. Sometimes the best we can do is to throw up our hands and say, “Here we are,” then work through every moment of “Who are we?” with memoried grace. So we keep telling the stories, trusting and even helping I AM to create new and renewing memories for generations to come.

          Please remember this: The issues that seem irresolvable now will, in time, find resolution. And they will be resolved because they are, necessarily, part of the human journey to which God has called us. Issues do not define us – how we deal with one another in the midst of them does.

          “In remembrance of God’s mercy, [and] according to the promise [God] made to our ancestors,” here we are. Let us, then, be defined by the Here I am of faithfulness to God and of grateful and humble love for one another and for all creation.