My Dear Shepherds,
The church we attend includes 11 families from Chin State in Myanmar where Christians have been relentlessly hunted down and murdered by the military. Their relatives report brutal beatings, church services bombed, and hiding in the jungle. One Sunday evening we met to pray that 30 of the immediate relatives of our brothers and sisters, most of whom have been in refugee camps in neighboring countries for 15–17 years, would finally be allowed to come to the United States at our expense.
The next day I read Yahweh’s words to Moses from the burning bush:
“I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out because of their slave drivers, and I am concerned about their suffering. So I have come down to rescue them from the hand of the Egyptians and to bring them up out of that land into a good and spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey . . ..” (Ex. 3:7–8a)
There is the gospel in embryonic form. There, too, is the hope of persecuted believers in every generation as well as all of us whose heartaches are not nearly so dramatic. Not one church exists in the world where that text would not still be good news.
But then, the surprise ending in the following verses: “So now, go. I am sending you . . .” which leaves every sensible recipient of that divine commission exclaiming, “Who am I that I should go?” So God reiterates what he told Moses.
First, “And God said, ‘I will be with you.’” Jesus said so too, “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” Pastoring can be a lonely job for many reasons, one being the lament we occasionally share with Moses, “What am I to do with these people? They are almost ready to stone me.” To which God replies, “I am still with you. I will never leave you or forsake you.”
The LORD’s next assurance was a sign: “When you have brought the people out of Egypt, you will worship God on this mountain” (Ex. 3:12). God’s sign wasn’t the mountain, it was the promise, one we still need amid the bleating of sheep, the grind of the trail, and the threats of wolves. Hebrews continues, “But you have come to Mount Zion, to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem . . ..” I cannot imagine how pastors can persevere who don’t get their bearings in the wilderness from a fix on that Mount.
Sometimes on Friday afternoons, weary of the work and struggling with the sermon, I’d lean back, close my eyes, and listen to the song, “No More Night.” I’d drink deeply from that promise, dab away the tears, and get back to work.
Finally, Moses asked the most important question, “When they ask who sent me, what shall I tell them?”
“I AM WHO I AM. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: ‘I AM has sent me to you.’” (Ex. 3:14)
Moses had protested, “Who am I?” It’s as if God replies, “That’s hardly the point! What matters is that I AM.” From God’s extraordinary name flames his every attribute, promise, and marvelous deed. It is the name we explore and proclaim whenever we worship, pray, and preach.
Shepherds have precarious work, so plant your feet on these promises: “I will be with you. You will worship God on this mountain. I AM has sent me to you.”
Be ye glad!
