From Exodus ….
The Lord said to Moses, “Come, I will send you to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt.” But Moses said to God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh, and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?”
(From the Daily Office Readings – Exodus 3:10-11 – March 24, 2012)
So here we are, the fugitive murderer is getting his commission to return to Egypt and speak truth to power, and he responds with a question probably every human being ever born has asked at least once, “Who am I that I should do this?” ~ A sense of inadequacy seems to inform Moses’ the question, “Who am I?” He’s been hiding out in Midian for forty years; he’s taken on a whole new identity as shepherd and husband and father. Now he is challenged by God’s commission to engage the deepening complexity of understanding himself. ~ It makes perfect sense for Moses to seek a deeper sense of himself in this situation. Whenever we are called to a new role in life it seems eminently prudent to become more aware of one’s thoughts, feelings, hopes, and fears, to take an inventory of one’s abilities, talents, skills, and knowledge. But just as the Moses who stands before the Burning Bush is not the same Moses who came to Midian as a fugitive from Egyptian justice, so the Moses who will confront Pharaoh and lead the Hebrews across the desert will not be the same Moses who is just now being commissioned by God. Human identity is an on-going process. The self constantly changes; it is perpetually being reframed, reorganized, rethought. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer once confronted this question in a poetic essay:
Who am I? They often tell me
I stepped from my cell’s confinement
Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
Like a squire from his country-house.
Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
Freely and friendly and clearly,
As though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
Equably, smilingly, proudly,
Like one accustomed to win.Am I then really all that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
Struggling for breath, as though hands were
compressing my throat,
Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
Tossing in expectation of great events,
Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?Who am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
And before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am Thine!
(From Christianity and Crisis, March 4, 1946)
And therein lies the answer to Moses’ question and to ours. The important question is not who we are, for that changes from day to day, from task to task. The important question is whose we are, for we are God’s and that never changes.
One candidate has been married three times and divorced twice (cheating on the first two spouses before each of those divorces). Another strapped his dog to the top of his car and drove several hundred miles while on vacation, and seems to change his position on everything depending on his audience. The incumbent was fathered by a Muslim foreigner, attended a church pastored by a fire-brand preacher, and worked as a (sinister stage whisper) community organizer. These incidents in and facts from their pasts are seen by many as disqualifiers, reasons they should not serve as the leader of their people. None of them, to my knowledge, killed a man and then hid the body like the guy in today’s reading from the Hebrew Scriptures. ~ I find it amusing the mental and exegetical gymnastics some commentators go through to excuse Moses this breach of the Sixth Commandment (“Thou shalt not kill”) which, of course, was yet to be given (probably the best defense Moses has, retroactive application of a law being frowned on in most civilized cultures). I believe the text saying that “he looked this way and that” describes a furtive looking about to make sure he wouldn’t be seen, but I’ve read commentaries suggesting that Moses was simply looking for a supervisor to come discipline the wayward Egyptian. There’s even a venerable midrash to that effect (see Midrash Exodus Rabbah 1:29). I’ve also heard a preacher suggest that Moses simply spoke to the Egyptian with a “voice of command” and the poor man died of fright! Seriously! My unspoken response to that homiletic assertion: “Yeah, right!” ~ Let’s read the text honestly. He made sure no one was watching; he killed a man; he hid the body. And then he ran away, holed up with the yokels in Midian, worked as a shepherd, married the boss’s daughter, and stayed there for 40 years! (As a fugitive, he puts Dr. Richard Kimble’s run to shame!) It’s then that he encounters the Burning Bush and is commissioned by God to liberate the Hebrew slaves from Egypt. A murdering fugitive who’s been on the run and in hiding for four decades is chosen by God to lead God’s People. ~ So what does this tell us about God, God’s choices in leadership, and our own processes for selecting of leaders? Does it not suggest that God forgives past foibles, even pretty serious ones, and sees potential in even the least likely of candidates? Does it not suggest that God is not simply forgiving but incredibly forgiving? ~ As I recall, many of us have memorized a prayer which, in its most modern interpretation, includes this petition: “Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.” I’m not entirely convinced that a politician’s sexual pecadilloes and divorces, or another’s insensitivity to animals, or another’s aggressive social activism are sins against me (or all of us), but assuming they are, if we are honest in saying that prayer, shouldn’t we forgive them and move on? Now, I have to admit that I’m not good at this. I’m politically partisan and when some past sin of the other party’s candidate comes to light, I take inordinate delight; schadenfreude should by my middle name! But I am also aware that I need to work on getting rid of and passed this. I truly do believe that we should focus on our current leadership needs and not on potential candidates’ past mistakes, even as I find that personally difficult to do. I believe that because that’s what God, speaking from the Burning Bush, seems to have done with the fugitive murderer named Moses.
On nearly every Sunday for more than the past two decades I have repeated these words of Jesus quoted by Paul, the “words of institution” in the prayer called The Great Thanksgiving. I have said them at weekday services of the Eucharist, at funerals, at weddings, at retreats, and at conferences. Not only have I said them, but I’ve heard them at Masses where others have presided. ~ I will probably be criticized for sharing here two “pet peeves” about the Eucharist, and I’ll be the first to admit that doing so is probably not in the spirit of the rest today’s reading from Paul’s letter in which he condemns judgment and division. Nonetheless, I share with you here my annoyance at the way people read the Great Thanksgiving. 
The simple answer is that fasting is going without some or all food or drink or both for a defined period of time. An absolute fast is abstinence from all food and liquid for a period of at least one day, sometimes for several days. Other fasts may be only partially restrictive, limiting particular foods or substance. The fast may also be intermittent in nature; for example, Muslims fast during the daylight hours of the month of Ramadan which is intended to teach Muslims patience, spirituality, humility, and submissiveness to God. Fasting as a spiritual practice is common to all major religions. Mahatma Gandhi once noted:
I’ve always been troubled by St. Paul’s “adoption” language. I suppose I’m influenced by one of my favorite authors, the Victorian Scot George MacDonald who, in one of his Unspoken Sermons, absolutely bridled at this notion of “adoption”. MacDonald’s problem with “adoption” is that it suggests that God is not our father to begin with. MacDonald wrote, “Who is my father? Am I not his to begin with? Is God not my very own Father? Is he my Father only in a sort or fashion – by a legal contrivance? Truly, much love may lie in adoption, but if I accept it from any one, I allow myself the child of another! The adoption of God would indeed be a blessed thing if another than he had given me being! but if he gave me being, then it means no reception, but a repudiation.” How awful to find in words meant to build up one’s faith the exact opposite effect! Better to seek an alternative translation of the obscure Greek than to be turned away from God by a poor interpretation! ~ In the New Revised Standard Version of Scripture, the word adoption appears five times, all in Paul’s epistles. Nowhere else. The original Koine Greek in all five occurrences is huiothesia, a word Paul seems to have made up! I am given to understand that the word is a compound one which literally means, “to place as a son.” One Greek lexicon defines it as meaning “to formally and legally declare that someone who is not one’s own child is henceforth to be treated and cared for as one’s own child, including complete rights of inheritance.” Perhaps Paul’s meaning might have been better expressed if this made-up word were interpreted as “inheritance” for surely in this passage that is the point he is making and emphasizes in the next few verses saying we are “joint heirs with Christ.” This seems also to be his meaning in Galatians 4:5 and in Ephesians 1:5, and one could argue that it would make even better sense in the other two occurrences in this letter, Romans 8:23 and 9:4. ~ Not everyone, of course, finds the term so off-putting. Archbishop Desmond Tutu found it reassuring: “God loves us. There is nothing we can do to make God love us more and nothing we can do to make God love us less. Our adoption is forever. We are all God’s children.” Certainly, this is the sense we find in Peter’s First Letter. Peter does not use the “adoption” motif, however; he instead uses the same metaphor Jesus used in the conversation from which comes the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel reading for today, the Fourth Sunday in Lent (John 3:14-21). In John 3:3, Jesus tells Nicodemus a man must be born again to see the kingdom of God. In First Peter we find the born-again metaphor of John’s Gospel combined with the inheritance argument of Paul: “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who according to his great mercy has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to obtain an inheritance which is imperishable and undefiled and will not fade away, reserved in heaven for you, who are protected by the power of God through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.” ~ So whether it is by adoption, or by inheritance, or by being born again, or by whatever other metaphor one finds meaningful, our relationship to God, the relationship of a child to a father, is eternal and (as we are reminded in the Epistle from today’s RCL selections for the Eucharist) “it is the gift of God.”
This conversation comes after a confrontation with the Pharisees and scribes who criticized Jesus and the disciples for not washing their hands before eating (and some commentary from Mark about washing food from the market and “cups, pots, and bronze kettles”). Jesus said to his critics, “You have a fine way of rejecting the commandment of God in order to keep your tradition!” (Mark 7:9) ~ Jesus is here addressing the rabbinical (as opposed to biblical) laws called the mitzvot d’rabbanan (“commandmens of the rabbis”). These are additions to the laws that come directly from Torah. These rabbinic laws are still referred to as mitzvot (“commandments”), even though they are not part of the original 613 mitzvot found in Scripture. They are considered to be as binding as Torah laws. The mitzvot d’rabbanan are commonly divided into three categories: gezeirah, takkanah, and minhag. ~ The names of these divisions give us a clue to their origins. Gezeirah derives from the Hebrew root word for “separate”; these rules are considered a “fence around the Torah”; they prevent obedient Jews from even getting close to violating the Law. Takkanah derives from a root word mean “fix” or “remedy”; these are revisions of Torah ordinances that no longer satisfy the requirements of the times or circumstances (arguably, these revisions can be deduced from and do not violate the Torah). Minhag means “customs”; these have developed for worthy religious reasons, not from reasoned decision-making, and have continued long enough to become binding religious practices. ~ We Episcopalians have plenty of all three types in our own denominational practice. We have general and diocesan canons; we have policies and by-laws; we have “the ways we’ve always done it.” ~ When we try to build “fences” around sacred things, I have a suspicion about what we are doing. Anglican history tells us that Archbishop William Laud started the Episcopal “altar rail” tradition by ordering that fences be placed around altars because he was afraid Puritans would allow their dogs to urinate on them! I think that’s iconic of what the mitzvot d’rabbanam and our own canons, by-laws, and “we’ve always done it that ways” are about – Fear! We are trying to protect that which we originally valued from that which we fear, even though we may not be able to name the source of our fear. And it is to that unnamed fear that Jesus speaks in his follow-up conversation with the disciples. Fear, irrational, unreasoning, often unnamed fear, is powerful and when it takes hold of the human heart a lot of evil can result, “for it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come.” It was, I believe, out of fear that the Pharisees had concentrated so much on the externals of religious practice. So intent were they on the fences, remedies, and customs that had grown up around the Jewish faith that the internals of faith, that which was originally valued, had been forgotten or even avoided. ~ The collect for this Saturday in the third week of Lent includes a petition that God keep watch over the church because it is “grounded in human weakness and cannot maintain itself without [God’s] aid.” No human weakness, I think, is greater or more powerful than irrational, unreasoning, and often unnamed fear. And there is no greater remedy for fear than the the love of God and God’s offer of freedom in Christ.
