The Burning Bush in my Backyard

Moses saw a burning bush. So do I. I have a burning bush in my backyard.  Its botanical name is Euonymus alatus, but it is commonly called a Burning Bush or a Winged Spindle. It is distinctive because of its square-looking branches and its bright red leaves in the autumn. When all other leaves in my yard are either brown or down, this bush is burning bright.

That brightness is what caught my attention recently. After strong winds and a powerful leaf blower removed all the leaves from my other trees and plants, this bush clung to most of hers. In my imagination it exhibited the characteristic of perseverance. It symbolizes for me an eternal flame.  

Moses’ burning bush was on the slope of the mountain of God, a peak holy to the religion of his father-in-law Jethro, the priest of Midian. At the time Moses was tending his father-in-law's sheep. He had a borrowed flock and a borrowed religion. On that day he took a moment to lean upon his staff for short break. After all, he was eighty years old. He deserved a short rest. 

That is when he noticed a fire that did not go out. Who knows how many years that bush had been burning with the fire of God? Had it been burning ever since he fled from Egypt to escape the executioner? Had it been calling Moses’ name for forty years, but only now Moses had the ears to hear and the eyes to see? 

On this particular day Moses went beyond the boundaries of his daily routine. He stepped off the beaten path and took the road less traveled to “the far side of the wilderness.” That is where he noticed it. That is why he noticed it. He called it an angel of the Lord, but the word angel simply means messenger. Messengers come in all shapes and sizes. That day the message of God came in the form of a bush. 

The burning bush represents the theophanies in our lives. Like Moses we only see them when we step outside the confines of our normal lives. We go beyond the thinking of traditional society and religion. We get to the “end of our rope,” and we let go. We come to the edge of the known world, and then we take one more step ... and arrive at “the far side of the wilderness.”  

That is where God dwells. Call this divine revelation whatever you want. Moses wanted to know this deity’s name, but the Messenger of the bush would not provide one. The Divine would not be labeled. The voice from the bush simply responded, “I am that I am.” From that enigmatic statement the Jews have come to revere the unnamable name of the Tetragrammaton, made up of four Hebrew consonants.    

The burning bush is one of the holiest stories of Scripture. But it is not just an experience of an ancient biblical patriarch. It can be the story of our lives. The burning bush may be experienced at some sacred site, or it may be in our own backyard. As Browning so eloquently wrote: “Earth's crammed with heaven, / And every common bush afire with God, / But only he who sees takes off his shoes; / The rest sit round and pluck blackberries.” 

It is long past blackberry picking season here in New Hampshire. It is even past the fall foliage season. The lowland leaf-peepers have all gone home, awaiting the first snow and open ski slopes. At this time of year – and life - it takes a careful eye to see the fire of God in the landscape of our lives. Sometimes – like it was with Moses - it is only in the autumn of life that we are able to spot our burning bush.  When we glimpse it, may we have the wisdom to take off our shoes, for this is holy ground. 

The Invisible Elder

The older I get, the more invisible I feel. Like the narrator in Ralph Ellison’s classic work, The Invisible Man, I experience social invisibility because of a characteristic that is beyond my control. In my case it is age rather than race. And like Ellison’s invisible man, "I am not complaining, nor am I protesting either." I am just describing the way it is. 

I am not that old. At least I do not think of myself as old. I do not feel old ... most days. But I guess old is relative. I consider old as anyone older than me, and there are lots of people older than me. I see them in church every Sunday! And in Florida! Yet apparently I am old enough to be wearing a Potteresque invisibility cloak in other social settings.  

For example no one asks me “what I do” any longer. It used to be a standard question when meeting new people. Now people presume I don’t do anything. They assume I am retired. I am no longer seen as important to society, except as a consumer. That is why the poor are doubly invisible when they get old. 

In our town I am increasingly known as my grandchildren’s grandpa or my son’s father. They do not remember me as the former pastor of the village church. A boy called out to my wife the other day, “Hello, Jonah’s grandma!” No name was needed. My wife and I are defined by our relationship to visible people.  

I am not always invisible. Last Sunday we visited a new church, just to see what was being preached in the area. The pews were mostly populated by elders. For that reason I was seen. Invisible people can see each other. Several people asked my name and shook my hand. I was even recognized by a couple of people.  

Church is exactly the type of place where all types of invisible people should be seen. That is especially true of people that our society wants to disappear. Like immigrants, LGBTQ folks, people of color, and the homeless. Society wants them to go away. The role of the church in society is to make them visible. 

The New Testament Letter to the Hebrews describes the faith of Moses as “seeing him who is invisible.” The Greek text says literally “seeing the invisible one.” The spiritual realm is by its nature invisible to the human eye. It is not registered by the body’s senses. The mission of the church is to make the invisible visible. 

Jesus told Nicodemus that unless one is born of the Spirit one cannot see the Kingdom of God. The advantage of being invisible is that it is easier to see the invisible, both invisible people and invisible spiritual reality. The Spirit is easier to access when one is unseen. There is less ego to get in the way ... hopefully. 

Of course many old folks have plenty of ego. It is their last defense against becoming invisible. That is why old men of both major political parties wanted to be president this time around. Political office allows one to be seen. People want to be remembered. That is what legacy is all about. That is what celebrity is about. P. T. Barnum said, “There is no such thing as bad publicity.” Both celebrity and notoriety makes us visible.  

We are watching the new Matlock television series starring Kathy Bates as a seventy-five year old lawyer returning to the workforce. In the first episode she says, “There's this funny thing that happens when women age: we become damn near invisible.” That invisibility becomes her superpower in the show. 

Being "damn near invisible" can be a good thing. It can be a spiritual blessing. That is what Jesus’ beatitudes are about. Blessed are the poor in spirit ... Blessed are the meek ... the pure in heart ... the persecuted. Come to think of it, that is what all of the beatitudes are about. It is what carrying the cross is about. Jesus fellowshipped with the invisible. So do his disciples today.