Episcopal Church Foundation Vestry Papers - for leading congregations

This story begins at a time of genocide, when an evil ruler set out to wipe a race of people off the face of the earth. A baby boy was born to them, and though his mother tried to hide him away, a growing baby can’t just keep quiet. In desperation, she floated her infant son in a basket on the big river. The ruler’s daughter found the baby and took him home to raise him in the palace.

Moses grew up in comfort and privilege, insulated from the suffering of the people outside his cocoon. Then one day, as a young man, he began to explore the city outside the palace walls. Men who looked a lot like him were working at hard, physical tasks. Women surrounded by skinny, wide-eyed kids peered at him out of their half-open doors. Soldiers roamed the streets, lording it over the men and leering at the women.

One day Moses saw a soldier beating a laborer for no apparent reason, and he spoke up. “Hey there,” Moses said, “stop that!” “Well, if it isn’t the little prince,” the soldier said. “Better go back to Daddy before things get too rough for you.” Moses started to pull the soldier off the worker, and a fierce fight broke out. In the heat of the moment, filled with anger, Moses didn’t know his own strength. He killed the soldier with his bare hands and stood over the body in horror, shocked at what he’d done.

Then, in a panic, Moses fled the scene. He ran as fast and as far as he could, out of the city and up into the mountains. Finally, at the edge of the wilderness, he met a large family group and went to work for them as a shepherd. Wandering the hills, following the sheep, he pondered how he’d come to leave his comfortable home in the palace and take refuge in this wild place.

The wilderness is dangerous for sheep: besides their natural tendency to wander away from the flock, predators lurk in the rocky terrain. But foremost in the shepherds’ minds was the fear of fire. In a hot, dry climate, with long seasons of drought, a wildfire could be blown up by the wind in an instant. A moment’s carelessness or a random lightning strike could set off a crisis. A shepherd might seem to be relaxing in a meadow, but a whiff of smoke would set them into action.

On a clear morning, with a light breeze stirring, Moses was watching drowsily while the sheep grazed. Then, suddenly, his heart raced as he sensed an alarm. He didn’t smell smoke or see any flames, but he heard the crackling of a fire. Moses leaped to his feet, located the sound and ran to put it out. A bush was burning, so he pulled off his cloak to smother the flames.

But something wasn’t right. As he watched, the bush kept burning, but the branches were not being consumed. There were no coals, and the fire didn’t spread. As Moses stared, a voice called his name from the fire. “Moses, Moses. Take off your sandals. You are standing on holy ground.” After a moment of wondering, he did as he was told.

The next words were even more startling: “I have heard the cries of my people. I have witnessed their suffering.” Way out there, in the remote wilderness, the troubles of the people back in the city were being held close. But why were they being called “my people”? The voice went on: “I need to respond and have made a simple plan. I’m going to send you to relieve their suffering.”

At first Moses was stunned speechless. Then he managed to stammer, “I can’t do that. I’m not good enough. And I don’t even know who you are.” “I Am Who I Am,” the voice replied, “the Creator of all that is. There’s only one thing you need to know: however this unfolds, whatever challenges you face, I will be with you.”

Three profound statements by the Creator: calling Moses by name, witnessing the suffering of the people, promising to be with them no matter what. Those words changed Moses’ life and the lives of his people, forever.

California’s urban wildfires are terrifying, and they’re not acts of God. They’re sparked by carelessness or the power lines we all use or they’re set by destructive people. The sparks ignite brush and trees stressed by drought and the rising heat of our fossil fuel era. They rampage through hills and forests where tens or hundreds of thousands of people have made our homes.

I think it’s possible that, out of these fires, the Creator is calling each of us by name, reminding us that the ground on which we stand and live and drive is sacred. (“Get out of your car—you’re on holy ground.”) I sense the Creator’s compassion for the terror and suffering caused by these urban wildfires, and I believe we’re all being called to respond.

While I greatly admire the courage and skill and faithfulness of firefighters and other first responders, I know that’s not my calling. But these experiences (and by now, the fires I’ve witnessed go back for decades) are changing me from the inside out. There’s no more business as usual—the ways we live on the earth and with each other need to change. How are you experiencing this moment of danger and opportunity? What next step could you take?