IF YOU SAW A BURNING BUSH
Mary Doria Russell is the author of a novel called, The Sparrow. You’ll find the book in the science fiction section of the library, but perhaps it’s really an examination of faith and what it means to question – or even to lose – one’s faith. Anne Edwards is a character in The Sparrow. At one point in the book she comments on out how few people seem to notice God when they encounter him. Listen closely to her words.
God was at Sinai and within weeks, people were dancing in front of a golden calf. God walked in Jerusalem and days later, folks nailed him up and then went back to work. Faced with the divine, people took refuge in the banal, as though answering a cosmic multiple-choice question. That question is this: If you saw a burning bush, would you (a) call 911, (b) recognize God, or (c) get the hot dogs? Anne had decided years before that a vanishingly small number of people would recognize God.
At issue is the failure to recognize God in the day-to-day activities of life. What would we do if we saw a burning bush? Would we recognize the divine? Or would we – like countless others before us – simply take refuge in the banal? In other words, would we break out the hot dogs?
John the Baptist was faced with a similar situation in the passage we read from the gospel according to Matthew. Only John had not come face-to-face with a burning bush. John had come face-to-face with none other than Jesus of Nazareth. Matthew’s portrayal of John the Baptist’s doubts about whether Jesus was the long-awaited Messiah are poignant. He wanted a definitive answer. Was Jesus the Christ or not?
John had been a fiery prophet who proclaimed the Messiah’s coming. John had been a fearless messianic herald who drew crowds and rebuked religious leaders. John had been an eschatological visionary who scoured the banks of the River Jordan with a passionate plea for repentance. Only now John was more like a caged animal – pacing a small cell – wondering if his fire and brimstone had all been for naught. Thus, perhaps desperate for validation of his ministry, of his suffering and of his efforts, John sends a messenger to Jesus to ask him a momentous question: “Are you he who is to come, or shall we look for another?”
Jesus doesn’t give John’s disciples a definitive yes or no answer. Instead, Jesus recounts the deeds he has done. He says to John’s disciples, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight and the lame walk; lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear; the dead are raised up and the poor have good news preached to them. And blessed are those who take no offense at me.”
I can’t help but wonder how John took Jesus’ answer. Jesus outlines an impressive resume, to say the least. Yet it almost assumes that John didn’t know that Jesus was doing those things. What if it was precisely that John did know what Jesus had been up to and it was that which was causing his doubts? Given our knowledge of John the Baptist, we might guess that he was looking for something a little more spectacular. Could it be that the restoration of sight and health and the raising of a few nondescript people from the dead seemed a little too mundane to John? Could it be that he was somehow looking for more?
Well if that’s the case, then Jesus’ response to John’s disciples sounds more like a rebuke than an answer to a question. And then there’s that last part about not taking offense. Could John fail to wonder if that comment was directed at him and his doubts? Taken together, I’d wager that Jesus is telling John that he needs to reconsider his sense of who and what the Messiah really is. John’s problem, judging from Jesus’ response, is that he has not yet recognized Jesus’ actions as messianic because he has not been trained to see these things as indicators of God’s presence. Perhaps John, according to Jesus, needs to stretch his imagination as to what the presence of God really looks like.
The question now is, are we any different? Or, to put it another way, what limitations have been placed on our imagination and expectations? Perhaps that’s one of the reasons the Christian tradition seems to be withering in our society. We fail to see God in the ordinary arenas of life.
Every week, for example, people come to church. They hear the Scripture read, they hear a sermon preached, they sing the hymns and they say the prayers. And, on occasion, they feel as if they have actually encountered God. But do they carry that experience with them out of the church and into their everyday lives? Do they look for God in the ordinary arenas of home and work, economics and politics? Can they imagine that God is using them in their various roles as employee, as parent, as spouse, as friend, as citizen, and as volunteer…to extend God’s love and blessing to all creation? In short, can they see God at work outside of the church?
Listen to this. In January of 2007, The Washington Post videotaped the reaction of commuters to the music of a violin player at a D.C. Metro subway stop. The overwhelming majority of the commuters were far too busy to pay him any attention. A few stopped briefly, and some of them even threw some change into the violin case of the performer. It was no big deal. It was just an ordinary day on the D.C. Metro. Except, it wasn’t just an ordinary day.
The violin player wasn’t just an ordinary street performer. The violin player was Joshua Bell, one of the world’s finest concert violinists. And Joshua Bell was playing his multi-million dollar Stradivarius violin. Three days earlier he had filled Boston’s Symphony Hall with people paying a hundred dollars or more a seat to hear him play the very same pieces. The question The Washington Post reporter asked is simple. “Have we been trained to recognize beauty outside of the contexts we expect to encounter beauty?” Or, to put it more simply, “Can we recognize world-class music anywhere outside a concert hall?”
Perhaps the same is true of us. Can we detect God only when God is surrounded by stained-glass windows, pristine pulpits and organ music? Or have we learned to detect God in the day-to-day events of our lives as well? I’m not so sure we have. Truth be told, ministers may have contributed to this state of affairs. How often do the clergy point to the everyday lives, occupations and opportunities of members of the congregation as examples of God at work? Truth be told, most of our examples of God at work in the world center around the church.
David Miller is the author of a book entitled, God at Work. At the beginning of the book he shares an exercise he regularly uses with groups of congregational leaders. He asks the question, “By a show of hands, how many of you install Sunday school teachers at the beginning of a new program year?” Almost every hand in the place goes up. Then he asks, “And how many of you call the youth group and their leaders forward for prayer during worship before they leave on a mission trip?” Again, almost every hand in the place goes up. Then he asks, “And how many of you, early in April, have all the Certified Public Accountants stand up for prayer during the busiest time of their year?” Typically, not a single hand goes up. Miller’s point is that through this and a thousand other ways we unintentionally signal that the primary place our people can expect to encounter God is at church…and often, only at church.
So here’s the million dollar question. If Sunday after Sunday the sermon has next to nothing to do with life on Monday through Friday – and if week after week we fail to use the hour of worship to help people see God alive and active in the other 167 hours of the week – how long can we expect people to keep giving us that hour when they can find countless other ways to spend it? The answer, I think, is given each week as one more family doesn’t show up to worship.
Matthew doesn’t tell us how John reacted to Jesus’ answer to his question. But we do know that Jesus wasn’t finished speaking. After giving his response to John’s messenger, he went on to say that John was the greatest of the prophets. Why? Because at one point he had recognized and heralded Jesus as the Messiah. And then Jesus goes even further, saying that the least in the kingdom of heaven – that is, every Christian disciple – is greater than John. Why? Because we have perceived in Jesus’ “ordinary” actions the very presence of God.
God is still present in the ordinary, day-to-day events of our lives. Once there was a woman who locked her keys in her car at a mall. Her two-month-old baby was inside. Not having the funds or the time to call a locksmith, she prayed for God to help her. Just then a rough looking man approached her and asked if she needed help. She told him that her keys were locked the car and her baby was in the back seat. In no time the man found an old coat hanger and picked the lock. The woman thanked him and said that he was an answer to prayer. “You’re an angel,” she added. The man replied, “Oh, I’m no angel ma’am. I just got out of prison.” The woman looked to the heavens and cried, “Oh, Lord, you are so wise and good! You sent me an expert!”
Seriously though, we do encounter God in the mundane, run-of-the-mill, day-to-day events of our lives. I see God when a woman volunteers to help a pregnant teenager find a place to live. I see God when a man writes a check for me to give to someone who might not otherwise have a Thanksgiving dinner. I see God when a woman organizes an entire church to fill a food pantry. I see God when a man uses his expertise in tax matters to alleviate an elderly woman’s burden. Do you see God in things like this? They happen every day.
Anne Edwards asked, “If you saw a burning bush, would you (a) call 911, (b) recognize God, or (c) get the hot dogs?” There are burning bushes all around us. We just have to open our eyes …and really see. Amen.
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