By Rev. Russell Daye
St. Andrew's United Church, Halifax

Let My People Go

Exodus 3:1-15

David Wagoner, Lost
Stand still. The trees ahead and the bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to the Raven.
No two branches are the same to the wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.

A young minister climbed into a canoe one fall day some years ago carrying a heart that was both heavy and empty. She had been sent a few months earlier to minister to churches in a remote stretch of land and, while she immediately liked the people, she found the place strange and barren. Deep loneliness had set upon her, and she was struggling to find enough spirit to preach the word, comfort the broken, and offer hope to the troubled week upon week. The coming of the fall colors had only increased her loneliness for, while the leaves of the birch and the ash were beautiful, they were all yellow and gold. She missed the bold maple reds of her home.

Forging down the river with the engine droning behind her and the sky steel gray above, she felt cold settle deeply into her bones. It felt natural. It named the state of her heart. She surrendered to it and to her despair.

Some hours into the journey the swift waters of a rapid brought her out of her funk, and, lifting her head, her eyes were seized by lines of flaming bushes on both sides of the river. Moving into the stretch of water held by sumac shrubs that were burning but not being consumed, the young woman lost herself - her sorrows, her melancholy, her ache. They poured into the walls of crimson that bracketed these few moments of her life. Out of those running frames of colour came a call: 'Let my daughter go! Let my daughter go! Let go from this cage of loneliness and insecurity that young woman who knows how to laugh and weep and sing and love. I call out to fuller life the woman inside the woman.'

Stand still. The trees ahead and the bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
Stand Still.

Moses stood still. He stood motionless upon bare feet, before an Angel burning inside a bush. For some reason, this time the bush had caught his attention, made him turn his head and the man inside the man was released.

There he was, all these things staring into fire: a baby floating inside a tar-lined basket, a prince in the court of Pharaoh, a young man furious with injustice and striking a slavedriver dead, a hunted man on the run with adrenaline scorching his throat, a lover, a father, a shepherd.

Moses was having a 'spiritual experience.' The ground under his feet had become the ground of being; the dirt and stones and sounds and thoughts that framed his life had melted into Spirit and the man inside the man had been let go. Here he was breathing, and feeling, his heart beating with a delicious and terrifying realness.

Why have you come here? Have you come here for a spiritual experience? Have you come here to liberate the man inside the man, the woman inside the woman? Have you come to this place of Spirit to find the You inside you? What would you do if the woman inside the woman came out right here and now? What would you do if that woman who is a baby floating in her mother's womb, who has a teenage heart beating with love for the first time, who is a wise old crone aching at the foolishness of the of the world - what would you do if that woman were released right now? If she stood up before you and took off her shoes? By God, she wants to doesn't she? Can you feel her inside, trying to find her feet?

Why have you come here? I think, ultimately, we come here because we are seeking something. The good news is this: that which we are seeking is also seeking us. The thing inside our selves that we are seeking, the man in the man, the woman in the woman, if you will, is also seeking us. Or perhaps it's that place inside ourselves where we make contact with Spirit which we are seeking. No matter, the good news is the same: that which we are seeking is also seeking us.

That day on Mount Horeb the thing which Moses was seeking found him. It called him to ground. 'Take off your sandals; nothing must stand between you and ground.' Moses must have felt many things during this encounter with the angel, this reunion with self, this intersection with God. We are told of only one thing that he felt: fear. 'Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look at God.' But this doesn't happen right away. He becomes afraid and hides his face only when God starts to describe Godself. 'I am the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob.' When Moses hears these words he says to himself, 'oh no!' He knows what's coming. He knows this is the God of the people he has left behind in Egypt. He knows this is the God of the Hebrews, who are sorely oppressed. He knows this is the God of the many thousands of his kin held in grinding slavery. And he knows what will be on this God's mind.

His spiritual experience is about to take a turn. The man inside the man has been released not simply to live a life that is more meaningful, not simply to achieve greater personal fulfillment, not simply to be more of a spiritual person. The man inside the man has been called out to a mission. The Moses inside Moses has been called out to confront Pharaoh. The Moses inside Moses has been called out to confront the most powerful man in the world, to demand that he let his people go.

What does Moses do? He resists, of course. He says 'hey I'm okay with this spiritual experience, I'm fine with this encounter with the ground of being, but don't let it make claims upon my life. Don't let it disrupt my comfortable life in Midian. Don't send me back to that place of suffering and slavery and murder.' Now Moses knows why he didn't look at that damn bush before. Now he knows why he never let go of the man inside the man before. And now it's too late. He's out, and the path that stretches before him leads all the way to Pharaoh's court.

Why have you come here? For a spiritual experience? To let out the man inside the man, the woman inside the woman? Be careful! For once she's out, once she's on her feet and her shoes are off then she will be called to a place of justice or healing or peacemaking and you will have no choice but to go with her. Your comfortable life in Midian will be over.

And you know that God is calling out the women and men inside us, crying 'let my people go!' You know, you can feel the tension in our bodies, in our social body, in the body politic - you know that God is calling out the women and men inside us, crying 'let my people go!' 'From these cages of deathly comfort, let my people go! From this slavery to security, let my people go! From these prisons of fear, let my people go! There are a lot of Pharaohs to be confronted, so let my people go!'

You work for an oil company, but the man inside you is called to crusade against the development of the tar sands. 'Let my people go!'

You are a Tory. The woman inside you feels compelled to champion the carbon tax. 'Let my people go!'

You are a teacher, with friends in the staff room but the man inside you wants to scream at them, 'stop complaining about the students! We are here for them, not they for us.' You want to bring your school back to its true purpose. You know you'll make enemies. 'Let my people go!'

You are a doctor. The woman inside you has a growing intuition that a number of your patients have suffered sexual abuse. She wants to draw them into a circle of healing but you're terrified to open that Pandora's box. 'Let my people go!'

You have a comfortable life here in Midian but the man inside you wants to run for city council and straighten out that dysfunctional mess. 'Let my people go!'

You are a woman. The woman inside you is falling in love with other women. You're terrified at what this will do to your friends and family. 'Let my people go!'

You are a man. The person inside you is a woman. Let my people go!'

Why have you come here? For a spiritual experience? Arthur Miller said, 'I cannot imagine a theatre worth my time that did not want to change the world.' Does this theatre want to change the world? 'Let my people go!'

Moses asked for God's name. The reply was abrupt. "I will be what I will be. You cannot put me in a box. You cannot say what I will be tomorrow.' It's the same for the You inside you. The truest you, the deepest you, the spark of the diving inside you will be what She will be, what He will be. That's why we're terrified to let them out. But … 'Let my people go!'

Sit still. The pillars around you and the windows above you are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here, and you must treat it as a powerful stranger. Must permission to know it and be known.

Sit still and feel the man inside you rising to his feet. 'Let my people go!' Sit still and feel the woman inside you rising to her feet. 'Let my people go!' Sit still and feel the Body of Christ inside all of us together rising to his feet. 'Let my people go!'