2020.08.30 | I Am
“I Am”
Rev. Marvin Lance Wiser
Good morning, Church! I pray that you are well, even though I know it is hard to be thriving in these times. 2020 has thrown some hard stuff at us: COVID-19 and the inequities in our society that it has laid bare; the continued empowerment of white supremacy by our current president and the evils it manifests in our streets and neighborhoods; the dismantling of a already inadequate immigration system; the overwhelming of our dysfunctional healthcare system; climate change and the droughts and wildfires that come with it; even distanced learning. All of which disproportionately affects the poor and people of color. At times it seems all we can do is cry out. And that’s where our story begins this morning.
The book of Exodus is a foundational— the foundational story of God entering into history to deliver the oppressed, in this case the Hebrews, a mixed bunch of immigrants who crossed a boundary river into a new land. Thanks, Herb for reading our passage from Exodus this morning. It’s a remarkable piece of the story where our narrator imagines a God of action. Not some deity affixed to a throne up in the sky or atop a mountain like El is often depicted as in the ancient Near East, but one that is mobile, near, comes down.
Let’s examine together in more detail what we just heard read, an exercise called exegesis, where we “drawn out” meaning from the text. And yes, exegesis sounds a little bit like Exodus, because they are both Greek compound words starting with the preposition ex meaning “out.” Exodos then is composed of ex and odos, meaning “way out”. Latin is similar, where we get our own English word “exit,” ex plus ire: “to go out” which is what we’re looking for in 2020, right? A way out. So this ancient story has particular relevance for us today.
I want to focus in on some particulars. Jumping ahead in our passage, beginning in verse 7 there are a series of 4 verbs describing God’s actions: I have seen, I have heard, I have known, and I have come down.
The first verb, “I have seen,” acknowledges the oppressed state of the people. The second verb, “I have heard,” points to their cries, the laments of the people. The third verb, “I have known,” has as its object, “sufferings.” So, with all three of these verbs God acknowledges and engages the troubles of the people: their oppression, their cries, and their sufferings. The fourth verb is even more active, “I have come down.” God not only knows, but God has physically put Godself in the middle of people’s strife.
So God sees, hears, knows, and moves near. Relating makes all the difference— with God and for us. God here is giving us an example of direct response. We see our neighbors in trouble, we listen to their needs, and we get to know them, and we put ourselves in their place.
The verbs “I have seen,” “I have heard,” “I have known” and “I have come down” are followed by two other verbs: “to deliver,” and “to raise up.” Get ready, this is the climax of the movie, God is going to come down and deliver. . .
But all of a sudden we are caught by an enormous plot twist. Yes, God has come down to deliver and raise up, but not quite in the way the reader anticipates. We aren’t treated to the spectacle of our God’s outstretched hand smiting enemies, rather we hear a simple yet consequential imperative, “Come.”
“Excuse me?” “Say again?”
In one divine imperative, God’s salvific action has become a specific human responsibility. “I will send you.” Those verbs “to deliver” and “to raise up,” God delegates to us.
Gulp. The exodus, the way out, has suddenly become in part a human endeavour. It is Moses (not God) who will meet with Pharaoh, it is the people who march out together, leaving death in the desert. Mere humans are asked to rise up, to carry out God’s intentions.
Through a little bit of exegesis we have learned that deliverance in this biblical account is not passive.
I almost can’t blame Moses for expressing self-doubt, for wanting to pass the baton. I’m sure we’d all feel inadequate before a burning bush that was not being consumed, right? “Who am I?” Moses asks. We ask. “Who am I?” Perhaps lacking finesse, education, authority, connection, money, power, we too exclaim, “There are greater mortals!”
To which God responds, “I will be with you. . . I AM WHO I AM.” “Hayah Asher Hayah.” All these verbs of action that we’ve been examining, lead right up to God revealing God’s name, inutterable it may be, a verb form of “to be.” God is named as Being, with a capital B, the action that begats creating, the one who causes to be, the one who is always becoming, creating new beginnings out of chaos. This God makes possible the impossible, and- plot twist- does so in partnering with creation.
Sure, God could have delivered the people in one swift action, but what we learn from our reading today is that God works in community and through community. God’s in the business of raising people up, not doing all the grunt work for us.
In this history, our history, God calls us, “Come.” Can you hear that divine imperative today? How are we responding? I pray that our response is the original response Moses gave, הִנֵּֽנִיadonai. “Here am I, LORD.”
The “I Am” that God discloses to us in this passage equips us and empowers to carry out divine intentions. Know this:
I am seen
I am heard
I am known
I am valued
I am loved
Therefore, I can rise up, I can help others rise up. We are what we have been waiting for. Hillel in the Pirkei Avot (the Ethics of the Fathers) exhorts us, “If I am not for myself, who will be for the me? But if I am only for myself, what am I?” We are a sent people, sent by “I Am.” Let us keep telling, acting out, and being the story of “I Am” in the face of the Pharaohs of our time, and in the face of forces of chaos that seek to thwart creation. Together we can find abundance, justice, and equity. Together we rise up. Together we make it through, just as then, now in 2020, and beyond. May it ever be so. And together we say: Amen.