Third Sunday of Lent: God’s calling is now

Readings

Exodus 3:1-8, 13-15
Psalm 103: 1-4, 6-8, 11
1 Corinthians 10:1-6, 10-12
Luke 13:1-9 

Reflection

In reflecting over the texts for this week, I was drawn to Moses’s encounter of God and the burning bush. What a moment for Moses—a sacred, unique moment of direct encounter with God. A God who came near and was accessible, not overwhelming or imposing. Wow! God calls to Moses sharing that God hears the struggle and will respond to the struggle… in the now. God does not say God will one day respond or promises a trial- and tribulation-free future; God is present now and will live into solidarity with God’s people now. This is powerfully proclaimed through the simple yet awesome power of I AM. Not I WAS or I WILL BE, but I AM, in this moment.   

Many of us committed to church reform and other justice issues often talk about the future… a future where racism, sexism, ableism, homophobia, biphobia, transphobia, classism, and other dehumanizations are dynamics of the past. Our hopes rest in a future where lived and legal equality are celebrated with and for all people. This is great and I do not want to undermine this hope; I do, however, want to complicate it by adding the need to address the struggle and resilience that is happening right now, in this very moment. How are we experiencing, embodying, and expressing I AM now?   

As I reflected on the readings, I was reminded of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King’s words in the “Letter from Birmingham Jail”: 

First, I must confess that over the last few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in the stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Council-er or the Ku Klux Klann-er, but the white moderate who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I can't agree with your methods of direct action;" who paternalistically feels he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by the myth of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait until a "more convenient season."

Shallow understanding from people of goodwill is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.

[…]

So here we are moving toward the exit of the twentieth century with a religious community largely adjusted to the status quo, standing as a tail-light behind other community agencies rather than a headlight leading men to higher levels of justice.

Moses’s encounter with God and King’s testimony are not about the future but about living into justice and taking action now. It is not enough to just think about God’s kindness and mercy; what are we doing to co-create with God the solidarity of kindness and mercy in our lives and in the lives of others—in this present moment? So often many of us fall into the comfort of abstract thoughts of the future that we neglect the realities of hardship and hope being experienced in the present. We are vocal about the need for systems of injustice to be deconstructed and for the creation of possibilities that are grounded in equity, compassion, equality, and justice, yet are silent about the mistreatment of victims of sexual violence, the growing violence toward trans people of color, the horrific and terrifying experiences of war in Ukraine and in countries in Africa, the growing disparities of joblessness and houselessness in our own communities, and so much more. I own the reality that this is all overwhelming and can be paralyzing; perhaps this is why it is more comfortable to focus on a future where these atrocities are memories.

However, the writers and redactors of today’s readings, the witness of Dr King, and the lives of so many prophetic revolutionaries remind us that our faith calls us to action so that the soil that gives birth to fig trees is healthy. Perhaps we will not be able to experience the kinship of God as we dream and scheme it to be, but that does not mean we cannot experience glimpses of it in this moment. Living into and living out solidarity does not mean we have to lead the masses as Moses did; it means embodying bold yet simple reminders of I AM’s presence with us and among us such as saying thank you to the cashier who has been working throughout the pandemic, or advocating with minoritized colleagues to ensure their voices are not just tolerated but actually fully engaged, or apologizing for microaggressions we perpetuate without explaining or justifying with “it’s just a joke” or “I am learning, you have to be patient.” 

Jesus’s words reflected in Luke’s Gospel are kerfuffling as they speak to the urgency of our situation and the hope that we can hold by planting seeds and cultivating healthy soil in this moment. How are we sharing God’s presence and beloved kinship now? How is our faith breaking the silence of inaction to address injustice today as well as celebrate the resilience, perhaps in ways we deem small but that pack wallops that ripple justice in the most unexpected yet transformative of ways? How are we kindling our lukewarmness to burn brightly, boldly, and fiercely?