Exodus 2:23-25; 3:1-13
Rev. Caela Simmons Wood
First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS
October 3, 2021
After the bush that burned - but was not consumed - there was the sound of God’s name on the breath: yoh-he-vah-he...YHWH.
After the breath came the blazing sun and the bricks that had to be made without even any straw to hold them together. There was the sweat, the blood, the tears.
Later, still, there was a man named Aaron who carried a big stick. There was a King who grew fearful, his heart hardened. And then there was chaos: water turned to blood, frogs too numerous to count, gnats that buzzed, flies that destroyed, livestock sickened, horrible disease, thunder and hail, locusts, darkness that was so very dark it could be felt in your bones, and finally, a horrible silence, followed by the weeping and anguish of parents.
And then the voice of the fearful King, who said, simply, “Go. Rise up. Be gone. Leave this place.”
After the packing, the following the cloud during the day and the pillar of fire at night - after the sea that parted and made way for the freedom-seekers….there was the sound of a tambourine.
Just one at first. And then more. And more.
And - finally - the sound of the women’s voices - clear and strong. Led by Miriam. Voices giving thanks for liberation, for a fresh start, for deliverance.
There was singing and dancing and celebration and joy and hope and new life.
*****
Moses didn’t want to go on this journey. Not really. Back when he was just a guy standing with his toes buried in the dust of that holy ground, listening to the one called I AM tell him the work that was his to do, he protested.
He didn’t want to fight. And who would? Who would want to go through all that pain and fear?
Moses said he didn’t want to fight.
But Moses had also already started fighting. He came into the world fighting. His mother had to give him up in order to keep him. His sister had to put her own safety at risk to watch over him. And he grew up caught between two worlds - the biological child of outsiders, raised in the innermost sanctum of the ruling class.
One day, he saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew, one of his kinsfolk. And, perhaps without even thinking it over much, Moses fought. He killed the Egyptian and then went into hiding.
Maybe this is why he told God he didn’t want to fight. Because he already knew where it could lead. He had already had a foretaste of the blood and pain. No wonder he protested when God came knocking.
*****
Most of us likely have conflicted feelings about fighting, don’t we? Valarie Kaur reminds us that the impulse to fight is “ancient and fundamental….biological.” We are hard-wired to fight. Sometimes we do so to protect those we love. Sometimes we fight alongside those we love. Several folks in our congregation laced up their combat boots just yesterday, holding signs and raising their voices to rally for reproductive rights.
Kaur says, “We must summon the wisdom to discern between threats that are real rather than imagined, and respond in ways that give life rather than deal death. The question therefore is not whether or not we will fight in our lives but how we choose to fight.”
As we complete the first portion of Kaur’s Revolutionary Love Compass, we find ourselves standing with Moses next to that burning bush - contemplating why and how and when and where we are called upon to show up and fight.
Kaur says that if we are truly going to love others - that’s the first part of the compass, which you can see on page 8 of your worship bulletin - if we are going to truly love others, we have to approach them with wonder. Remember that from a few weeks ago? We have to “see no stranger” and say to ourselves, “You’re a part of me I don’t yet know.”
We have to be willing to grieve. With ourselves. With others. We have to show up and sit in the midst of pain, even when it’s hard.
And now Kaur is telling us we have to stand alongside Moses. We have to be prepared to fight for those who are at risk. We have to let our hearts grow large enough that we become willing to risk for another.
Now, Kaur is NOT telling us to act with literal acts of violence. In fact, she makes it very clear that her own life’s calling is to fight through non-violent methods. She uses the image of a warrior-sage. One who is strong to show up and fight AND one who is wise and intentional about what weapons they use in the fight. Kaur reminds us that “every great wisdom tradition in the world - Judaism, Chrsitainity, Islam, Hinduism, and Buddhism - has been used to justify cruelty and violence, or to inspire revolutionary love.”
She chooses love. And we do, too, right? Let’s say together, “We choose love.” (And maybe have some tambourine joy with that, too.) [2]
“We choose love.”
To love someone is to approach them with wonder. Kaur says that “to break another’s bones, to take their life, is to forego wonder. It is to cut off a part of ourselves that we do not yet know. I choose non-violence because it is moral and strategic.” [3]
So when we discern what and who we fight for and how we fight, let’s keep in mind that you don’t have to use warlike metaphors and language and methods. Kaur writes in her memoir about choosing her weapons carefully. One of her undergraduate professors reached out to her as she neared graduation and told her “You have to go to law school.” The professor said that while she didn’t usually tell students what to do, she just couldn’t help herself in this instance. She saw in Kaur a young woman of color with an activist's heart and she said, “If you want to be heard, if you want to be protected, no matter what else you do, you have to get your law degree.” [4]
And so Kaur put on the sword and shield of a law degree and headed into battle. We don’t necessarily find ourselves on literal battlefields with actual weapons, but we gird ourselves with the swords and shields most appropriate to our own time and culture.
As we stand with Moses, staring into that flaming bush that is burned but not consumed, we wonder: how can we keep showing up and fighting for those we love? (which is, who? EVERYONE). Kaur invites us to begin with a simple awareness. Many of us have been trained to suppress our urge to fight. Many of us don’t know how to channel this instinct in healthy ways. She tells us to begin by honoring that natural fight impulse inside of us.
“Think about what breaks your heart,” Kaur writes. “Notice what it feels like to have your fists clend, your jaw close, your pulse quicken. Notice what it feels like to want to fight back. Honor that in yourself. You are alive and have something worth fighting for. Now comes the second moment: How will you channel that into something that delivers life instead of death? Breathe. Think. Then choose your sword and shield. You don’t have to know the answers. You just have to be ready for the moment when the world says: Now.” [5]
As we prepare for our own burning bush moments, Kaur has four important questions to guide us. You might even want to jot these down so you can reflect on them later.
First, she asks us to consider: what is your sword? “What can you use to fight on behalf of others - your pen, your voice, your art, your pocketbook, your presence?
Next, what is your shield? “What can you use to protect yourself and others when the fight is dangerous - your camera, legal counsel, a group of allies, public witness? Your safety matters.”
I’m saving her third question. I’ll come right back to it.
Her last question is: “Who is your sacred community?” Who will accompany you in the fight - see the best in you, fight by your side, and fight for you when you need help?
And her third: “what is your instrument?” She says that in Sikh legend, the warriors carried a small stringed instrument when they went into battle. So that they could “lift their spirits in music, song, and poetry in the mornings before they faced the fire.”
And there we are: back with Miriam and the warrior-sages on the shore of the Red Sea. Tambourines in hand. A song on our lips. Singing and dancing with joyful songs before the God of Love. When they quickly packed up what could fit on their backs to flee Egypt, they took tambourines with them. They knew they would need music to lift their spirits and they trusted that they would be given reason to celebrate.
And so we join our ancestors in the fight for love. Seeking liberation, health, wholeness, peace and justice for all people and all creation. Tambourines and all.
NOTES
[1] See No Stranger by Valarie Kaur, 67.
[2] Ibid., 97
[3] ibid.
[4] Ibid., 92
[5] Ibid., 97
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