Sermon for Sunday, September 3, 2023 || Proper 17A || Exodus 3:1-15

After such a heady and confusing sermon last Sunday, I thought today would be a good time for something completely different. About twice a year, I preach from the perspective of a character in the scripture. Today, I am going to be Moses. Please imagine with me Moses near the end of his life, talking to his protege Joshua, who is fretting about taking on the role of leader upon Moses’s death.

“I will be with you.” That’s what God promised me all those years ago. “I will be with you.” The memory is as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. God spoke to me, called me to my life’s work, and made me that singular promise: “I will be with you.”

You’re probably wondering why that’s the part of the encounter that sticks with me because the rest is so much more fantastical. To answer that question, I need to go back and share what brought me to that moment with God in the first place. It all happened during the years I was hiding out in Midian after fleeing Egypt the first time. When I lived in Pharaoh’s house, I had been so isolated from the suffering of my people. But when I saw it first hand, I found that I couldn’t look away. Proximity has that effect. When you hold yourself at a distance from oppression because you don’t think it harms you personally or maybe it even benefits you, then you never give yourself a chance to confront it for the evil it is.

When I started going out to the work camps, I saw my people suffering under the lash, enslaved to the Egyptians’ insatiable need for building materials. One of the drivers was whipping an Israelite ruthlessly. I intervened and saved my kinsman, but I killed the Egyptian in the process. When word of what I had done got out, I fled into exile. I lived in Midian for a long time in the house of Jethro, my father-in-law.

On that fateful day, I was herding the sheep beyond the wilderness when I came to Horeb, the mountain of God. Something caught my eye, a bush on fire, but the fire was not consuming it. I turned aside for a closer look. I came near to the wondrous sight. And that’s when God came near to me. God came so close to me that I knew what God was saying.* I don’t know if God spoke in some sort of disembodied voice or if God spoke through me in my own voice. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that God and I came close to one another on the mountain, and in our close proximity I knew what God wanted me to do.

It had been a long time since I heard the cries of my people. It was easy to forget their plight when I had escaped, gotten married, and had children – I had a whole new life in Midian. But God brought their cries back to my ears. Once again, God made me proximate to their suffering, and I couldn’t turn away. But this time, God gave me a job. God commanded me to bring my people out of Egypt, to stand before Pharaoh and demand that he let my people go.

You’re worried about taking on my job at this late stage, Joshua? Imagine how I felt on the mountain. I’m a terrible public speaker. I have no stage presence. I speak too softly. I mumble when I’m nervous. Not to mention, I had never lived among my people. Yes, I was born a Hebrew, but I grew up in Pharaoh’s house, the adopted son of Pharaoh’s daughter. How were my people to trust me? Wouldn’t they think I was an Egyptian collaborator? Or worse, some crazy idealist we had no clue how the real world works?

I voiced all these worries to God, summing them up in one question: “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh, and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” That’s what you’re wondering right now, isn’t it, Joshua? You’re wondering who you are that I picked you out of all the people to be my successor. You’ve proven yourself time and again to be ready for this role, but that’s not what’s most important.

What’s most important is that you believe you are not alone in this mission. When I asked God who was I that I should go to Pharaoh, that’s when God said, “I will be with you.” God couldn’t have cared less about my qualifications or my perceived inadequacies. God cared only that I acted out of belief in the promise of God’s presence. Even if I were the best public speaker in the world or the most polished diplomat, none of that would matter if I didn’t believe that God was near, that God was with me and I was with God.

When you’re confronted with a hard task – and trust me, leading this stiff-necked people is the hardest of tasks – you will never be enough if you rely on yourself alone. You don’t need to ask God, “Who am I that I should be able to do this difficult thing?” You need only ask, “Will you be with me, God?” And that’s when God will answer, “I will be with you.”

I will be with you in the calming breath in the midst of a whirlwind of expectations. I will be with you in the weighing of values when you’re making difficult decisions. I will be with you in the hands and hearts of other people as they share your burdens. I will be with you in the quiet place within your own heart where I speak peace at all times. I will be with you, no matter what.

That is the first and firmest promise God makes – to me, to you, to everyone. God is never far away. God is always in close proximity; that’s why God could hear and respond to our people’s suffering all those years ago. God is always in close proximity: breathing new life into us, breaking all the chains that bind us, and blessing us with a love that connects us to eternity. Believe this, Joshua, and your heart will always remain open to the paths God is showing you to walk down.

“I will be with you.” The memory of these words are as fresh today as if God spoke them yesterday. And that’s because God has been speaking this promise into my heart every day of my life. On the mountain by the miraculous burning bush, I finally had ears to listen. This is my prayer for you today: that you open the ears of your heart to hear this promise that God is speaking from your own depths. “I will be with you. Always.”