Seeing
Exodus 3:1-6
Moses saw a burning bush. It so fascinated him, he left his father-in-law's sheep to see it. It burned was not consumed. It communicated the presence of God. God spoke to him through the bush.
Most of us, when we read or hear this story, immediately think of Cecil B. DeMille's depiction in his film, "The Ten Commandments," wherein Moses (Charleton Heston) turns aside to see a flaming piece of shrubbery that starts talking. But when I was on a morning run a few days ago, I got another insight into interpreting Moses' experience.
Maybe he didn't see a bush literally ablaze without turning to ash--maybe he simply saw a bush as it truly and actually is--a wondrous manifestation of the creative will of God. Maybe he saw a bush ablaze with the sheer force of being alive, full of the presence of God, breathing life through it and in it.
What I saw was a Bradford pear tree in full autumnal glory. It was a cold, rainy, dark morning as I ran. I climbed up a long winding grade, rounded a bend, and there it was. It was on fire with golden leaves that blasted away the gloom and dreariness of the morning. It shone like a beacon. It seemed to pulse with the life within it. My first thought was, "There is the kingdom of God!"
Lately, I have been reading more deeply in books on spirituality by contemporary theologians like Fr. Richard Rohr, the Franciscan teacher on spirituality, and Cynthia Bourgeault, an Episcopal priest who is a strong advocate of the practice of Centering Prayer as developed by Fr. Thomas Keating. They have sent back into foundational texts by Julian of Norwich, the Cloud of Unknowing, and Bernard of Clairvaux, all medieval mystics who set the stage for contemplative sitting as a cornerstone in faith praxis, following the original work of the Desert Abbas and, of course, Christ himself in their emphasis on intentional withdrawal to pray.
Something that runs through the centuries of thought on prayer, meditation, and contemplation as faith practices is, ironically, the emphasis on SEEING.
What they mean is this--God is omnipresent and always present--God is everywhere all the time. In our distracted state of being, we hunt and look for God as if God were missing. The truth is that it is not God who is absent from us, but we who are absent from God. We get lost in the business, busy-ness, and tumult of ordinary living, distracted by cares, frets, worries, obligations, work, family, and on and on and on. We miss everything, trying to focus on anything. Our teachers, though, call us to stop. Pay attention. See.
Out there with the sheep, Moses was finally away from his fears (he was a murderer on the run); his family stress (living with the in-laws had to be stressful, even in 3500 BC); and his own fixation on self (Moses worried a lot about Moses as becomes clear in his dialog with God). But out there with the sheep, he stops--he SEES. There is the kingdom of God in a beautiful, wondrous bush, on fire with sanctity, purity, and holiness simply in being alive through God. He finds God, and even though it turns him on his head, he also finds his purpose, meaning, and life itself as God calls him.
So, do we simply see the world around us, or do we SEE the world as it truly is--the kingdom of God infused with God's creative will?
Moses saw a burning bush. It so fascinated him, he left his father-in-law's sheep to see it. It burned was not consumed. It communicated the presence of God. God spoke to him through the bush.
Most of us, when we read or hear this story, immediately think of Cecil B. DeMille's depiction in his film, "The Ten Commandments," wherein Moses (Charleton Heston) turns aside to see a flaming piece of shrubbery that starts talking. But when I was on a morning run a few days ago, I got another insight into interpreting Moses' experience.
Maybe he didn't see a bush literally ablaze without turning to ash--maybe he simply saw a bush as it truly and actually is--a wondrous manifestation of the creative will of God. Maybe he saw a bush ablaze with the sheer force of being alive, full of the presence of God, breathing life through it and in it.
What I saw was a Bradford pear tree in full autumnal glory. It was a cold, rainy, dark morning as I ran. I climbed up a long winding grade, rounded a bend, and there it was. It was on fire with golden leaves that blasted away the gloom and dreariness of the morning. It shone like a beacon. It seemed to pulse with the life within it. My first thought was, "There is the kingdom of God!"
Lately, I have been reading more deeply in books on spirituality by contemporary theologians like Fr. Richard Rohr, the Franciscan teacher on spirituality, and Cynthia Bourgeault, an Episcopal priest who is a strong advocate of the practice of Centering Prayer as developed by Fr. Thomas Keating. They have sent back into foundational texts by Julian of Norwich, the Cloud of Unknowing, and Bernard of Clairvaux, all medieval mystics who set the stage for contemplative sitting as a cornerstone in faith praxis, following the original work of the Desert Abbas and, of course, Christ himself in their emphasis on intentional withdrawal to pray.
Something that runs through the centuries of thought on prayer, meditation, and contemplation as faith practices is, ironically, the emphasis on SEEING.
What they mean is this--God is omnipresent and always present--God is everywhere all the time. In our distracted state of being, we hunt and look for God as if God were missing. The truth is that it is not God who is absent from us, but we who are absent from God. We get lost in the business, busy-ness, and tumult of ordinary living, distracted by cares, frets, worries, obligations, work, family, and on and on and on. We miss everything, trying to focus on anything. Our teachers, though, call us to stop. Pay attention. See.
Out there with the sheep, Moses was finally away from his fears (he was a murderer on the run); his family stress (living with the in-laws had to be stressful, even in 3500 BC); and his own fixation on self (Moses worried a lot about Moses as becomes clear in his dialog with God). But out there with the sheep, he stops--he SEES. There is the kingdom of God in a beautiful, wondrous bush, on fire with sanctity, purity, and holiness simply in being alive through God. He finds God, and even though it turns him on his head, he also finds his purpose, meaning, and life itself as God calls him.
So, do we simply see the world around us, or do we SEE the world as it truly is--the kingdom of God infused with God's creative will?
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