A Burning Bush Would Be Nice

A burning bush would be nice. Moses got one, and he wasn’t even a nice guy. He was on the lam at the time, running from a murder rap back in Egypt. So why can’t a nice guy like me get a burning bush every once in awhile?

I want to see God and to know God’s presence. I want to see God in a clear, unambiguous way that cannot be misunderstood or misinterpreted. And there is something about the clarity that a God-fire in the wilderness provides. You see it. You smell it. You hear it. Yes, that is God. No doubt about it.

Only I’ve never seen a burning bush or anything remotely close to it. A well-played pipe organ gives me the shivers sometimes. The turning of the leaves in Colorado can make my lower lip tremble. When my nine-year-old daughter walks down the hall with her coltish, little-girl body, joy prickles my scalp like after a bite of chocolate cake.

In those small moments, God seems very real to me. It’s almost impossible to doubt His presence. But those moments pass, and soon my chin is in my palm again, and I am wondering why I can’t really see God.

I mean really, really see God.

And wouldn’t the burning bush thing be good for God as well? How popular and loved and believed would be the God who provided a burning bush to every longing pilgrim? It makes sense; that’s all I’m saying. It’s a win-win proposition. Where’s the downside?

Satan suggested exactly this kind of thing to Jesus in the wilderness, if I remember correctly. He told Jesus that taking a dive off the temple mount would be a spectacular way to kick off a worldwide ministry tour. If Jesus survived, that is. But surely, said Satan, angels would stop the fall just in time. Jesus would be an instant success. The perfect Messiah. Everyone would see him and believe.

But Jesus took a different tack. He promised us that he would be with us always, even unto the end of the ages. And his presence would be daily and obvious. Right before our very eyes, in fact.

He said that he would be present in the least of things and the smallest of things. Everyday things like mustard seeds, children, and cups of cold water. And he said we will definitely see him in the life of every hurting and needy person who crosses our paths. The presence of God in Christ, right in front of our eyes, every single day.

It’s the sort of miracle you might miss if your eyes are scanning the horizon, looking for smoke or for messiahs who are even now poised on the edge of their temples, ready to take a dive in front of the news cameras.

Can you feel the pull of the Spirit, lowering your eyes to the world in front of you? Can you feel yourself becoming like a child, rolling an autumn leaf between your fingers and locking eyes with the homeless man selling newspapers? Can you feel the tug that pulls your heart away from epiphany and toward service?

Can you?

And isn’t that a pretty big miracle in itself?