Moses, the burning bush, and the Bald Range wildfire

Here’s the good news. The Bald Range wild fire is now held. Hallelujah.

Back home in Summerland most residents have now returned to a new post-evacuation experience of “normal.” Though not all; some are still unable to access their homes or work places. Many are negotiating with insurance companies; others continue to wonder about next steps having lost everything.

As today’s Hebrew Bible reading has us recall afresh the encounter between Moses and God I hear these familiar verses, especially as the burning bush never diminishes casts a pall over my reflection. Poet and artist Jan Richardson’s words take me viscerally to the heart of a very particular encounter. Whether you have faced fire yourself in recent weeks, or not, I am curious how you react. Comments most welcome.

---

Reading from the Hebrew Scriptures, Year A, Proper 17/Ordinary 22/Pentecost +14: Exodus 3:1-15

God called to him out of the bush,
“Moses, Moses!”
And he said, “Here I am.”—Exodus 3:4

It is not always as plain as a burning bush. When a door opens to us, when a threshold appears with our name on it, that invitation and call can sometimes be wildly difficult to perceive at first. In the midst of all the distractions around us and within us, may we keep learning how to clear our attention. May we know what is ours to do, and may we receive the courage to do it. This day, this blessing is for you.

Blessing at the Burning Bush

You will have to decide
if you want this—
want the blessing
that comes to you
on an ordinary day,
when you are minding
your own path,
bent on the task before you
that you have done
a hundred times,
a thousand.

You will have to choose
for yourself
whether you will attend
to the signs;
whether you will open your eyes
to the searing light, the heat;
whether you will open
your ears, your heart
to the voice
that knows your name,
that tells you this place
where you stand—
this ground so familiar
and therefore unregarded—
is, in fact,
holy.

You will have to discern
whether you have
defenses enough
to rebuff the call,
excuses sufficient
to withstand the pull
of what blazes before you;
whether you will
hide your face,
will turn away,
back toward—
what, exactly?

No path from here
could ever be
ordinary again,
could ever become
unstrange to you,
whose seeing
has been scorched
beyond all salving.

You will know your path
not by how it shines
before you
but by how it burns
within you,
leaving you whole
as you go from here,
blazing with
your inarticulate,
your inescapable
yes.

—Jan Richardson
from How the Stars Get in Your Bones: A Book of Blessings

Visit the takenote.ca HOME page for a colourful display of hundreds of other blogs which may interest or inspire you