The God of Exodus 3 is a God who sees, who hears, and who responds. This same God sees, hears, and responds to the pain in our lives. Our most painful secrets and most secret scars are not a secret to God. The most painful surprise of our lives is not a surprise to God. God saw it coming, all along. And God comes, as Carlo Carretto says, like the sun in the morning—when it is time. He comes to us and he tells us that he wants to take us to a better place.
What is this “better place”? In the lives of the Israelites, that “better place” is easy to name—it’s an actual place—a land flowing with milk and honey—the Promised Land. We’re much removed, you and I, from the setting, the way of life, of the Israelites. But God came to bring them into a place of freedom, and we can echo along with the apostle Paul, “Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom” (2 Cor.3:17). In our lives, we’re likely not talking about a change of location, although sometimes that may be the case. In our lives, we’re talking about a place where we can hear the tender voice of God. In our lives, we’re talking about submitting ourselves to a Person whose power is not abusive, but liberating. The “better place” is, for us, wherever the Spirit of the Lord is, and wherever the voice of Christ draws us to his love.
Neither the voice of taskmasters nor the voice of God is abstract. The voices of the taskmasters have come from somewhere or someone concrete in our lives. There are faces, names, experiences, deep disappointments, seasons of depression, dreams ripped asunder, that we can tangibly remember as part of our story. Our taskmaster may just be the person we look at when we look in the mirror. The voice of the taskmaster is not abstract. The taskmaster wears skin. In the same way, the voice of Christ is not abstract. It’s important for us to recognize that so that we do not feel alone. The voice of Christ is not abstract. It’s important for us to recognize the tangible ways in which Christ is speaking into our lives. It’s important for us to pay attention. Theologian Henri Nouwen offers us this advice:
Keep looking for people and places where the truth of God’s love for us is spoken.
Keep looking for people who remind us of our deepest identity as the chosen, dearly beloved child of God.
Celebrate that chosenness constantly and say “thank you” to God for choosing us. Say “thank you” to the people who remind us of that.
Christ wore skin 2,000 years ago, and Christ continues to wear skin. As Paul says, the Christ IN US is the hope of our glory (Col.1:27)—and when we give ourselves over to Christ’s transforming work, we are being made into his image (2 Cor. 3:18). The body of Christ is still present—in the Body of Christ—in a beloved community of people who can speak to us words of healing, grace, and love.
Who is the Christ—or Christs—wearing skin in your life? Who are the people who remind you that God longs to take you to a better place?
“I’d know that silhouette anywhere,” Burt tells Mary Poppins. It’s a statement that indicates that just seeing Mary’s shadow was enough for him to recognize her. Can you see God’s silhouette in the lives of those who love you? In my life, it’s my old preaching professor from seminary—a dark-skinned man with a long coat and a big hat standing in the frame of a door on a winter evening. I know his cologne; it lingers. I hear his laugh; it’s mirthful, playful. Can you hear God’s voice in the voices of those who are FOR you? I hear my professor’s voice: “I will be with you on the highest mountains and in the deepest valleys.” I hear his delight in even the smallest facets of who I am—“you are a lover of words, you are like a doctor opening people up for the purpose of helping them heal.” I can name a few of those people in my life. Who are those people for you? Draw close to them because in doing so, you are drawing closer to Christ. These are the people—the tangible wearers of skin—that God is using to bring you to a better place. These are the people God has given to us to journey with us into the hard place, the wilderness.