God's Promises Bring Hope: Trust and Blessing

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Who here has seen the classic musical, The Sound of Music? Anyone remember how old they were when they saw it? I was seven years old. My great aunt Lottie took me to see it. She loved musicals and wanted to share her love of them with me.

Do you remember the opening scene? Well, in case you don’t or if you’ve never seen it, I have a treat today for you. Let's watch.

Now, why do you think I would play this opening scene to introduce today’s story? Anyone have an idea? 

Our story today about Abram is a turning point in the book of Genesis. Before this chapter, Chapter 9, we have all those familiar stories that make up what scholars call the “primeval history”--Creation, The Fall, Cain and Abel, and Noah and the Flood, which we heard last week. But, beginning this week, the focus narrows. Instead of stories about cosmic beginnings, we focus in on one couple, Abram and Sarai. So, just like the opening scene in The Sound of Music, where we begin way up high and have a wide-angled view of the Austrian Alps,  we see this tiny figure on top of one of the mountains, and then the camera pulls us in and zooms into this person who then fills the entire frame. With today’s story, we now have zoomed in on a closeup of Abram. And of Sarai, his wife. 

As we began worship today, we talked about the incredible trust in God that Abram must have had. I invited you to think about people in your lives that you trust, what it might feel like if you had no one you could trust, and, then, to wonder if someone asked you to pick up and move, whether you would. Like Abram.

I wonder how Abram felt. Perhaps a little scared? I wonder if he had hopes, too? One of the things we will hear today is how God’s promises bring hope to Abram. 

Do you have hopes in your life? Perhaps they’re hopes for the future. Or for your family. Or for something else. What are your hopes? 

Today, as we hear the story, we’re going to journey right along with Abram. We begin in Genesis, chapter 12. 

The Lord said to Abram, “Leave your land, your family, and your father’s household for the land that I will show you. 2 I will make of you a great nation and will bless you. I will make your name respected, and you will be a blessing.

3 I will bless those who bless you,
    those who curse you I will curse;
        all the families of the earth
            will be blessed because of you.”

4 Abram left just as the Lord told him, and Lot went with him. Now Abram was 75 years old when he left Haran. 

Do you, first of all, notice that there doesn’t seem to be anything special about Abram? In last week’s story about Noah, we read that he was a righteous man, blameless in his generation. And that “Noah walked with God.” But, there’s nothing like this in the first verses of our story today about Abram. 

Hmmm...something for us to think about.

Back to our story, we’re on this journey today with Abram. What do you do when you’re preparing to go on a journey? You plan your trip. Pack your bags. What are some of the things that you pack when you go on a journey? Yes, you might take clothing, toiletries, shoes, maybe a book to read along the way. All of these are things that we might pack in our suitcase as we prepare to go on our journey. 

But what if the journey you were taking meant you were leaving everything behind that was familiar to you and never returning? We heard in the opening verse that God told Abram to leave behind his land, his family, and his father’s household, which also meant leaving behind his entire inheritance. Everything and everyone Abram knew--God asked him to leave it all behind.

What might that feel like? Leaving your entire, familiar life behind? Oh, and do you remember hearing that Abram was 75 years old when God called him? Any of you 75-year-olds out there ready to leave everything behind and follow God’s call? Just like Abraham?

We continue our reading at verse 5. Abram took his wife Sarai, his nephew Lot, all of their possessions, and those who became members of their household in Haran; and they set out for the land of Canaan. 

Now Abram had already moved once, from Ur to Haran. He had traveled there with his father Terah and his nephew, Lot, many years before. They had originally planned to travel all the way to Canaan. But, when they arrived in Haran, they decided to settle there. By the time of our story today, they’ve already been living in Haran for many, many years. But, Haran is where the journey with Abraham begins today. 

Pretend that you are taking your family members and others sitting around you. We’ll leave Haran and head south.  Okay, this is Canaan, land of milk and honey. Oh, but, we’re not staying here! 

Verse 6. When they arrived in Canaan, Abram traveled through the land as far as the sacred place at Shechem, at the oak of Moreh. The Canaanites lived in the land at that time. Abraham passed through the land of Canaan and kept going to Shechem, to the oak at Moreh. 

It is here, at the Oak of Moreh, that God appears to Abraham!  Verse 7. The Lord appeared to Abram and said, “I give this land to your descendants,” so Abram built an altar there to the Lord who appeared to him. 

What do you think it would be like to have God appear to you? What would God look like? What would God sound like? What else might be happening if God appeared? Would the earth itself react, say, through the weather? Or what about the animals? How would they react? 

It was after God appeared that God then said to Abraham, “I give this land to your descendants.” In response, Abraham built an altar to God here in this place, knowing that the land would belong to his descendants. Now Abram’s altar was probably made of big rocks. 

Next Abraham and his family moved on to the hill country east of Bethel. Let’s read verse eight and see what happened here.  Verse 8. From there he traveled toward the mountains east of Bethel, and pitched his tent with Bethel on the west and Ai on the east. There he built an altar to the Lord and worshipped in the Lord’s name. 

Abraham pitched his tent, so let’s plan to stay for awhile, too. In this place, then, with Bethel on the west and Ai on the east, Abraham built another altar! And, then, after leaving everything familiar behind and moving to this new and unfamiliar place, Abraham worshipped God. 

And our story ends with verse 9:  Then Abram set out toward the arid southern plain, making and breaking camp as he went.

That was quite the journey. Let’s “unpack” it a little bit. 

In our story last week, we heard that this God of Israel was not like all of the other gods. Rather than destroying the entire world, this God chose to preserve life. But God is now on the hook. God needs to show that he truly isn’t like all the other gods. 

And so, God picks a man. Abram. No one special. Just someone who is pretty ordinary. Like you and I. God calls this man to pickup his family and move across an entire country. Leaving everything behind. Knowing that he will probably never see his father or the rest of his family ever again.

It takes some serious trust, doesn’t? For Abraham to do exactly what God calls him to do? I wonder if you and I would be like Abram. Trusting. Never questioning.

I belong to a few closed clergy groups on Facebook. A few days ago a pastor in San Antonio posted in the group. “Help!” she posted. “I’m trying to make a point in my sermon! Can you help me think of people who felt they weren’t worthy. Or aren’t capable of God’s call for them?” Within 30 minutes, there were 40 posts. The first several listed people in Scripture who had resisted God’s call: Amos, David, Mary, Paul, Samuel, Gideon, Isaiah, Jonah, Jacob, Jeremiah…. And, then, someone asked the question, “Did YOU immediately answer God’s call?” What followed then was post after post from pastors saying, “No, I didn’t.” 

How is your journey like Abraham’s? How are his travels similar to the path you have been on with God so far? Maybe they’re not the same. Maybe you’re still resisting. If you are, you’re not alone. But, God selects us in grace, as ordinary as we might be. As resistant as we might be. And God calls us onto a journey. In our baptism, God called and continues to call us. Onto a journey. A journey of trust. A journey of blessing.

Yes, blessing. Because we know this story of Abram. God made a promise with Abram and his barren wife, Sarai. A three-fold promise. Of descendants. Of land. And of blessing. That they would be blessed so that they might be a blessing to others. It was this promise--this covenant--from God that gave them hope.

Trust and blessing. That’s the story of God’s call to Abram and Sarai. Where is God calling you? No matter where, God promises to be with us. It is in those promises, fulfilled in Christ, where we find our hope.

Let us pray: God, thank you for giving each of us a journey and for guiding us on our way. Thank you for blessing us to be a blessing to others. Amen.

Preached Sunday, September 16, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Pentecost 17
Readings: Matt. 28:19-20; Gen. 12:1-9

Letting the Farmer Go Free (English)

He also said, “The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how. The earth produces of itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head. But when the grain is ripe, at once he goes in with his sickle, because the harvest has come.”

He also said, “With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it? It is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.”

With many such parables he spoke the word to them, as they were able to hear it; he did not speak to them except in parables, but he explained everything in private to his disciples. Mark 4:26-34 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from God, our Creator, and our Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

On behalf of my congregation in Kentucky--Grace & Glory--I bring you warmest greetings. As we’ve begun to know each other over these past few days and have learned of the different places we’ve come from to be here, I’m particularly grateful for all of you and to know that many of our congregations in this church are exploring the possibilities of new ministries in our changing (or changed) contexts. And even that some of you are in or nearing first call.

I’ve been now in my first call in Kentucky for about a year-and-a-half. In some ways, living there has been this interesting mix between the urban life I’ve lived as an adult and also of the rural life that I lived until the age of 19.

My father was a rancher in north central South Dakota, an area that at that time was known for a fairly arid climate, but with a geography that was well suited to growing sheep and cattle. In addition to ranching, he also grew feed crops--crops that would be harvested at the end of each summer and put up to ensure that there would be enough to feed our animals over rather brutal winters.

So, it seems no coincidence that our lessons today should be two parables about farmers and farming and seeds. The Gospel of Mark contains few parables, but there are an entire string of them that begin in the third chapter and conclude with these two. When one looks at all of them together we can see that they create a context for understanding the ministry of Jesus as the inaugural ministry of the coming, yet somewhat elusive, reign of God. A reign that feels as though it will never come because of some blunder by a disciple or two. Or that will remain hidden because of a command by Jesus to, simply, keep it a secret.

One aspect of Jesus’ parables suggested by Matt Skinner at Luther is that they have a way of reordering our conventional assumptions and values. They don’t explain how we can necessarily recognize the reign of God. But, they do make it clear that we will need to adopt new ways of perceiving God’s kingdom.

The first parable is about a farmer. Something with which I can definitely relate. There’s nothing earth-shattering about the chain of events in this parable. The farmer plants the seeds. And then the farmer waits. And waits. And waits. And waits.

As one who has lived with a farmer, I can attest to the waiting. And waiting. Sometimes a little worrying. Then more waiting. And as one waits, without really doing anything other than the initial planting, things begin to happen. The seeds, buried in the ground, begin to sprout. And then to break through. And then to grow. And grow. And grow. Until finally it is time for the harvest. There is really little that the farmer must do except to plant the seed and then to trust that nature will take its course, as it inevitably always does.

The second parable, then, is that of the mustard seed. It’s a parable that we have likely heard many times over the course of our lives. Of a seed that isn’t like any ordinary seed, but that begins as something very small and seemingly insignificant, but that turns into something very visible and great. A tiny seed that grows and morphs into the greatest of all shrubs. A shrub that is more than just beautiful, but a shrub whose branches offer shelter and security. 

I am here this week because the congregation I serve is at very start of a new ministry to our Latino neighbors. Many of you are here, too, because you are either exploring something similar or already moving forward. We’ve listened to the statistics that relate to the growth of the Latino population in our country. We’ve also heard the statistics about the decline of congregations in the ELCA. In the midst of these statistics and in the midst of these two parables, there are a couple of lessons for us.

One of the first, and perhaps most important things for us to remember is that, just as the farmer in the first parable has little to do with the growth of the seeds, so, too, we have little to do with the growth of God’s kingdom. Just as nature eventually ensures the sprouting and growth of the seeds, so, too, the nature of God’s kingdom is to grow and to be seen and witnessed. We are like the farmer, waiting for the seeds of God’s kingdom to grow and take root, yet knowing though that it will happen. Because this is what God’s kingdom does. It happens.

Then, the second lesson is that God’s kingdom cannot be likened to amazing trees, such as the cedars of Lebanon. Or the redwoods of California. Or the oaks of Kentucky. Or of any other tall, majestic tree. No, God’s kingdom is likened to that of a shrub. A mustard shrub. An ordinary plant that shows up and takes a place over inch by inch. And that eventually ends up changing the entire landscape. Some might consider it a nuisance. Others might think it is too much of a good thing. And yet others, like the birds in our parable, might find a place where they can be safe. A place where they will be happy. 

The question for us as we leave here is what is next? Knowing what is happening demographically in our country. Knowing what is happening demographically in our congregations. Knowing that God’s kingdom will move forward no matter what happens, wiil we chose to be a part of it? To go more deeply into our neighborhoods? To go more deeply into relationship with those who might look a little different from us, but who have, as we do, the same desire for shelter and security? For hospitality? For sanctuary and sustenance? Will we chose to be a part of God’s kingdom at work and, as a result, to be transformed by the ordinary in ways unimaginable? Just as each of us has been transformed by the unimaginable acts of our Savior, Jesus Christ?

I hope so, dear friends. I hope it is time to let the farmer in each of us go free! Amen.

Preached June 14, 2018, at Lutheran Seminary of the Southwest, Austin, TX.
Reading: Mark 4:26-34

Encountering the Messiah: Abundance

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to them, “Fill the jars with water.” And they filled them up to the brim. He said to them, “Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward.” So they took it. When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom and said to him, “Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.” Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him. John 2:1-11 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from our Lord and Savior, the Messiah, Jesus Christ, the Lord. Amen.

Directly north of San Antonio, Texas, is a geographic region located in the Edwards Plateau. This area, which is called the Texas Hill Country, is located at the crossroads of West Texas, Central Texas, and South Texas. It’s also often considered the entry to the American Southwest or the American Southeast, depending on which direction one is traveling.

According to Wikipedia, it’s an area that is known for its karst topography, formed from the dissolution of soluble rocks such as limestone, dolomite, and gypsum. The terrain has a thin layer of topsoil and a large number of exposed rocks and boulders, which makes it very dry and very prone to flash flooding. It’s a scrub landscape with native vegetation that includes the yucca plant, prickly pear cactus, the ashe juniper, the Texas live oak, and wildflowers--oh, the wildflowers! In the spring, the wildflowers--particularly, the Texas bluebonnet--are everywhere.

It was settled by German immigrants in the mid-1800’s, most of whom were farmers. Today, though, this area is known mostly for tourism. And more recently, it has emerged as the center of the Texas wine industry.

I moved to Texas in the summer of 2010. That fall, as the heat of summer began to fade, my brother and sister-in-law and I decided to head to the Hill Country to taste some of that Texas wine. We decided to try out a couple of wineries in an area that was just beginning to develop--northwest of Austin, near Lake Buchanan. As we were at our last stop, our host suggested and highly recommended that we check out a brand new winery that had just opened, a few miles away off a hilly, winding, back-country road. So, we went to visit Perisso’s Vineyard and Winery.

The winery consisted of one building. On the first floor was a big open room that contained huge metal wine vats, dozens of barrels, and a few picnic tables set up for tasting. It was a pretty bare-bones operation. We soon learned that the second floor was occupied by the owners of this boutique winery--Seth and Laura Martin, and their five children. And two dogs--one a Lab and the other a huge, furry Newfoundland, named Bear. We settled at one of the picnic tables. And then we began to taste. To taste--as one of their hosts called it--to taste this “life-changing” wine.  

Over time, Perisso’s became our favorite winery. We’d stop in several times a year. We got to know Seth and Laura and their family well. In fact, we became good friends. We’d get up early in the hot August heat and help them harvest. We’d drop in on Sunday afternoons and sit under one of the huge oak trees, tasting their newest varietal and finding out which child it was named after. And each time we visited, we’d get caught up on what was happening in their family, Bear would come and hang out with us, and, yes, we’d taste wine. Some of the best wine, in fact, that I’ve ever tasted.

Over time the winery grew. They added two more buildings, an event center and another for processing and storage. Their wine club list grew from under a hundred into the thousands. And several of their wines began to win awards. First in Texas. Then, across the U.S., including at the San Francisco International Wine Competition, one of the most prestigious in the world.  They truly lived into their name, Perisso’s, which in Greek means “abundance.” 

Like the story of Perisso’s Vineyard, wine and extraordinary abundance are at the center of our story today. 

But it didn’t begin so extraordinarily. In fact, it began with something pretty ordinary--a wedding. Yet, in the opening verse of our text, we already get a signal that this story may not be so ordinary. “On the third day,” we read. Does that bring something to mind? “On the third day.” When we hear these words, we know that something new is about to happen. They signal resurrection, a new and abundant life. The extraordinary. But it all begins in the ordinary. With a wedding.

Weddings in ancient Palestine lasted approximately a week, with an abundance of wine expected throughout the celebration. Jesus is a guest at the wedding in our story, along with his mother and his disciples. This is the first time in John that we are introduced to Jesus’ mother, who is never called by name in this fourth Gospel. She is simply called the “mother of Jesus.” We will see her only twice in this Gospel. Here, in this story, and at the foot of the cross with the beloved disciple. She is here at the start of Jesus’ public ministry. She will be at the end of his life. She is witness to the first revelation of Jesus’ glory and his last. In John, there is an implied shared parenthood between the earthly mother of Jesus and the heavenly Father. There is no separation or compartmentalization of Jesus’ humanity and divinity. There is no either/or. There is simply a both/and. 

Jesus’ mother comes to him to report that the wine has run out. Such an occurrence would be a major hospitality blunder. So, she approaches Jesus and says, “They ran out of wine.” Why? What does she see in that moment? What has she seen in her life with him this far that would cause her to believe that there was something he might be able to do about it? 

And how does Jesus respond? We can’t miss some of the humor here. “Well, mom, it’s really not my problem. Perhaps they should have hired a better wedding planner.” So, Jesus’ mother walks away. But, as she leaves, she stops to speak to one of the servants. “Do whatever he tells you.” She knows what will happen if he does what Jesus tells him to do. She believes in Jesus.

Something does happen. The miracle, the sign. The first sign pointing to who Jesus is and to the meaning of the phrase “grace upon grace” happens.  And it happens in an over-the-top way. Six jars. Twenty to thirty gallons per jar, filled to the brim. In today’s production standards, that would be a thousand bottles of wine. Not the cheapest, but the best wine. And at the end of the celebration. Extraordinary.

What I have figured out in these years since my family and I first visited Perisso’s Vineyard is that, while we first came for the wine, we have continued to come for the relationships. It is in the ordinariness of our friendship, our relationship with Seth and Laura and my family, that we have experienced deep abundance--the extraordinary in the midst of the ordinary. 

It’s the same for us here. We might come seeking the extraordinary. We might come seeking the miracles. Yet, we find it in the ordinary. In the grace of our day-to-day lives. In the grace of our day-to-day relationship with Jesus and one another. In the grace of Jesus’ death and resurrection and ascension and the promise of ours. Grace upon grace upon grace. Abundantly. In an over-the-top way.

Come. 

Come and see. 

Experience the extraordinary in the midst of the ordinary. The divine in the midst of the human. The grace upon grace upon grace. Abundantly. For you and for me and for everyone. In Jesus.

Amen.

Preached January 14, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
2nd Sunday after the Epiphany
Readings: Psalm 104:14-16; John 2:1-11

Called to Be

Moses was keeping the flock of his father-in-law Jethro, the priest of Midian; he led his flock beyond the wilderness, and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. There the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire out of a bush; he looked, and the bush was blazing, yet it was not consumed. Then Moses said, “I must turn aside and look at this great sight, and see why the bush is not burned up.” When the Lord saw that he had turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, “Moses, Moses!” And he said, “Here I am.” Then he said, “Come no closer! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” He said further, “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” And Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look at God.

Then the Lord 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, and to bring them up out of that land to a good and broad land, a land flowing with milk and honey, to the country of the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Amorites, the Perizzites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites. The cry of the Israelites has now come to me; I have also seen how the Egyptians oppress them. So come, I will send you to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt.” But Moses said to God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh, and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” He said, “I will be with you; and this shall be the sign for you that it is I who sent you: when you have brought the people out of Egypt, you shall worship God on this mountain.”

But Moses said to God, “If I come to the Israelites and say to them, ‘The God of your ancestors has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ what shall I say to them?” God said to Moses, “I am who I am.” He said further, “Thus you shall say to the Israelites, ‘I am has sent me to you.’” God also said to Moses, “Thus you shall say to the Israelites, ‘The Lord, the God of your ancestors, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, has sent me to you’:

This is my name forever,

and this my title for all generations. 

Exodus 3:1-15 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you, from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

Anything, but ordinary. This has been our theme this summer as we’ve worked our way through the stories of Abraham. Of his son, Isaac. Of Isaac’s son, Jacob. Of Jacob’s son, Joseph. And last week and today, Moses. A descendant of this entire line. Saved from sure death, as we heard last week, by the midwives, Shiprah and Puah, and by the persistence of three other women--Moses’ sister, his mother, and a princess, the  very daughter of the Pharaoh who sought to kill all of the Hebrew male babies.

It is anything, but ordinary.

In the years between last week’s story and today’s story, once again, much has happened. Moses, a Hebrew by birth, taken into the Egyptian royal household, into the Pharaoh’s own family--Moses as grown up.

In the same time frame, the subjugation and slavery of Israel by Pharaoh, by the state, has continued and has likely gotten worse. One day, as Moses is out among the Hebrews--his people--he sees this. The forced labor of his kinfolk. In fact, he sees an Egyptian beating a Hebrew. One of his own people. 

Moses is grieved by it. Perhaps it was to alleviate his own guilt for escaping the painful experiences of his people. Or perhaps Moses identified with them in their oppression and sought to take action, to do the right thing. Or perhaps it was a complex mixture of motivations that are part of the human experience. Whatever the reason, Moses responds by killing the Egyptian. And by burying him in the sand so no one knows.

Except for one thing. The next day, when Moses seeks to intervene in a dispute between two Hebrews, one of them says, “Who made you a ruler and judge over us? Do you mean to kill me as you killed the Egyptian?” Moses then realizes that the murder he committed was known. And soon he is on the run from Pharaoh, who finds out about it and seeks to kill Moses.

Moses flees. Eventually he settles in Midian. He marries and has a son. As Moses is making a new life for himself as an alien in a foreign land, things continue to get worse for his people still enslaved in Egypt.

In Exodus 2, verse 23, we read that “the Israelites groaned under their slavery, and cried out.” That “out of the slavery their cry for help rose up to God.” And, in verse 24, “God heard their groaning, and God remembered his covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. God looked upon the Israelites, and God took notice of them.”

God heard. God remembered. God looked. God took notice.

It is hear that today’s story begins. Moses is shepherding his father-in-law’s sheep. He leads them beyond the wilderness onto a mountain. To Mt. Horeb. Also known as Mount Sinai, the place where God gave Moses the ten commandments. 

Moses is walking along the mountainside with the sheep when, out of the corner of his eye, he notices something odd. A bush burning. 

Now, normally, this wouldn’t be that odd--that there would be a fire burning in a bush. It was a semi-arid climate. That there was a brushfire wasn’t unusual. What was unusual, though, was that the bush was never consumed by the fire. It never burnt up. Moses looked and then he took notice. And, then, he went to investigate.

When God saw that Moses had turned aside to see, God calls to him. “Moses! Moses” God says. Moses responds, “Here I am!” Then, God says, “Come no closer!” God tells him this is holy ground. That Moses should take off his sandals. And, then God helps Moses remember. “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob.” Immediately, Moses hides his face. Because, he remembers. He knows that this is the God of his ancestors.

I’ve always been intrigued by these few verses and, particularly, how odd it is that God tells Moses to take off his shoes. To go barefoot on this holy ground. To walk on this holy place with his ordinary, dirty, sweaty bare feet. It reminds me of when I moved back to Minnesota and how common it was for house guests, even strangers, to be told to take off their shoes when they came in out of the cold, out of the wintry, snowy mess outside. I’m sure the invitation was a way to help keep the carpet clean. That’s why it seems like such an odd request for God to make of Moses. Didn’t God want to keep this place holy? And clean?

I wonder if when God told Moses to take his sandals off, what God was really saying to Moses was be real. Be a regular person. Because as we continue to read on, this is how Moses is. Normal. Regular. Like you and me. When God lays out a plan for Moses--that God has seen God’s people and how miserable they are in Egypt. And that God has heard their cries and knows how much they are suffering and has decided to do something about it and to recruit Moses to help God do something about it. Well, Moses doesn’t act with the awe and the reverence that we would expect. In fact, Moses acts pretty normal. Pretty regular. LIke you and I probably would.

“What the heck are you talking about? I’m not ready to sign onto this plan of yours! And here’s my list of reasons!” All of a sudden, Moses’ “Here I am!” becomes his “Who am I?”  “Who am I that have the ability to do this? Who am I that I should lead Israel out of Egypt?” And then, Moses asks, “Who are you? Who are you that they will believe me and follow me?”

Perhaps the reason that God asks Moses to remove his sandals is because God wants Moses to be himself. To remove all pretense. To be vulnerable and fully open to what God has to say. And, yes, to question and challenge God. To wonder how God has chosen him. To wonder how God has chosen us.

We do that, don’t we? Like Moses, when we see that burning bush in our lives and we turn and take notice and hear God’s call for us, we wonder, don’t we? Who am I? Who are we? That God should be calling us to help. To help relieve the suffering and oppression in our world. Who are we? What abilities do we have to do what God is calling us to do? 

And, then, to say, “Are you serious, God?”

The images we saw on television this past week from the towns and cities along the Gulf Coast were devastating, weren’t they? Hundreds of thousands of homes flooded. Businesses devastated. First responders inundated with thousands of 911 calls. Tens of thousands without electricity. Chemical fires burning. And a death toll at 47 and growing. Devastating.

And, yet, people heard the call. The call to do something. To help. Ordinary people. Helping their neighbors. Bringing their small boats and rescuing others in need. Story after story after story of people helping other people. With no regard for race, for ethnicity, for immigration status, for gender, for all of those things that can be used to so easily divide people. Ordinary people doing what is anything but ordinary.

When Israel was suffering, God looked and took notice. God could have acted alone. Or God could have chosen anyone else for the job. But, God specifically selected Moses. There must have been something about Moses, with all of his flaws, with his gifts, with his unique abilities. Perhaps God wanted Moses to simply be. To be himself and nothing else. Moses. Called to be.

Each of us called to be. To be who we are and nothing else. As ordinary as that is. As unique as that is. We have been selected by God. We have been freed from shame and brokenness by Christ. 

We have been called to be. To be who we are, in our world, working together with God to free all those who suffer, to free all those who are enslaved by leaders who seek to enrich themselves or gain more power, to free all those who are oppressed by systems that continue to keep them down. You and I are called to be. 

As Moses was, as Joseph was, as Jacob was, as Isaac was, and as Abraham was, we are called to be.  Ordinary. And yet, anything, but ordinary! 

Praise be to God!

Amen.

Preached September 3, 2017, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

13th Sunday after Pentecost

Readings: Exodus 3:1-15; Psalm 105:1-6, 23-26, 45b; Romans 12:19-21; Matthew 16:21-28.