In the last few weeks, we’ve followed Jacob as he wrestled God in the mud; we’ve seen Jacob’s son Joseph sold into slavery by his brothers; we were there when, against the odds, Joseph became an important man, forgave his brothers, and moved the family to Egypt; we wept as a new Pharaoh enslaved the Israelites and ordered the massacre of all their little boys, but we rejoiced as Moses was saved from the killing by, of all people, Pharaoh’s daughter.

When we left Moses he had been adopted by Pharaoh’s daughter, and we wondered how she handled that with her father who had ordered all the Hebrew boys killed and was now “Grandpa” to one of them.

Now we find Moses tending his father-in-law’s sheep at Horeb, the mountain of God. How did he go from being the son of Pharaoh’s daughter, a pretty privileged position (I should think), to being a shepherd? We’ve discussed before that shepherds were considered to be very low on the social totem pole, a far cry from being a prince of Egypt. And not only that, but Moses is tending someone else’s sheep — in the middle of nowhere. How did his fortunes change so radically?

Well, Pharaoh wanted all the baby Hebrew boys killed because he was afraid they would become too powerful and it would be impossible to keep them from turning on their Egyptian masters. It turns out that —ruthless murdering jerk that he was — ol’ Pharaoh had pretty good instincts.

Moses, it seems, never forgot where he came from. And one day after he had grown up, he saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew. Moses had probably seen that a thousand times before; slave owners beat slaves; that’s the way it is. Moses had grown up seeing his kinfolk being beaten and abused. Imagine how it felt for him to know that there was nothing he could do about it and, perhaps worse, that he was protected from it because of his status as the unlikely son of Pharaoh’s daughter. Moses lived in one world — Egyptian — and wept for the other — Hebrew. It must have been hard for him, but somehow he managed.

Except on this day. On this day, he chose his world. On this day, something in him snapped. He saw the Egyptian beating the Hebrew, his kinsman, and, as the Bible so graphically reports, “He looked this way and that, and seeing no one, he killed the Egyptian and hid him in the sand.” Pharaoh was right to be worried; now this little slave boy who was supposed to have been drowned had grown up and killed one of the masters.

Pretty soon, Pharaoh finds out, and he tries to have Moses killed. Now, Moses has no intention of leading a movement. He doesn’t go to the leaders of the Israelites and propose an uprising or a work stoppage. He acted impulsively, and now he’s a wanted man, so he flees to Midian.

As soon as he gets there, he sees a group of shepherds abusing some women. We’ve already seen that this is a guy who won’t stand idly by when someone is getting abused in his presence; so, again, he acts impulsively and comes to their defense. He’s a good guy, isn’t he? Moses ends up marrying one of the women and settling down. Hiding out.

Pharaoh dies, but back in Egypt, the Egyptians continue to oppress the Hebrews terribly. God hears their cry, and remembers that they are God’s people. God will act.

So the stage is set. God has the perfect agent: a prince of Egypt on the lamb; an Israelite who has chosen his world, burned his Egyptian bridges, and whose heart breaks for his oppressed kinfolk; a man who will not, cannot, stand idly by and watch injustice. Moses, this man who by all rights should have been drowned in the Nile at three months old, is the perfect person to carry out God’s will. Recruiting him should be easy.

But, of course, it won’t be. Moses is a man who will not tolerate injustice in his presence. That’s an admirable trait. That’s a mark of a good man. But God doesn’t need a good man who will not tolerate injustice in his presence; God needs a great man who will go to the heart of the cause of injustice and won’t run and hide, but will stand firm to stop it.

So, yes, the stage is set. But it is set to answer one question: will Moses be content being a good man who opposes injustice in his presence (and then runs), or will he answer the call to become a great man who stands against injustice everywhere?

The answer to that question will not come easily. We all know the famous part of the story, the part we have in our reading this morning, but, as we’ll see, there is more to it.

Moses is in the middle of nowhere herding sheep. He sees a bush burning, but it doesn’t burn up. Well, imagine you’re out hiking and you see a bush on fire. That alone is plenty to startle you. But this bush burns and burns and doesn’t burn up. Moses says, “I’ve got to check this out.” Duh!

God calls, “Moses, Moses!” And Moses says, “Here I am.” In the Bible, “Here I am” is a typical response of a prophet to God’s call. If you hear God calling you, you’d better think twice before responding, “Here I am.” Because I guarantee you, God will be calling you to be a bigger person, a greater person, than you’ve been. So consider carefully, and if you respond, “Here I am,” hang on! Your life is going to change.

Moses, this good man, says, “Here I am,” and God promptly tells him that he’s being called to be a great man. What does God tell him? Choir, would you please tell these folks what God tells Moses! [Choir sings the refrain from the sequence hymn (648): “Go down, Moses, way down in Egypt’s land; tell old Pharaoh to let my people go.” Let’s all sing it: [repeat].

And Moses, he says, “You know, — nah. I don’t think so.” And so begins a long session of whining, and complaining, and dodging, and assuring God that this won’t work, and “I’m not your guy.” It’s like dealing with a child. Sometimes, it’s like dealing with a church. Sometimes, it’s like dealing with me. How many times when God calls have we heard, or have we said, “That won’t work?” Or, “We’ve never done it that way.” Or, “We’ve always done it another way.” Or, “We tried that one time, and it didn’t work.” Or, “That problem is too big for us.” Or, the one I struggle with most: “I can’t do that! I’m not great enough to do that.”

That’s where Moses starts. “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” he says. (He doesn’t really ask it; it’s not really a question. It’s more of a statement: “I’m not adequate.”) Keep in mind that Egypt is the most powerful empire in the world; Pharaoh is the most powerful man in the world. You can understand Moses’ concern. God’s answer is short, direct, and devastating in its call for trust: “I will be with you.”

Well, thanks, but that’s not going to get it for Moses. “But wait,” he says. “When the Israelites ask me your name, what shall I say?” Dodging. Buying time. God’s answer is very interesting. God tells Moses a name that translators have been arguing about for thousands of years. The Jews refuse to try to translate it; the name of God is too sacred to say. They take the principal letters —YHWH— known as the Tetragrammaton, and substitute “Yahweh.” Other translators give us I AM WHO I AM. Some say the verbs are more dynamic: I AM BECOMING WHAT I AM BECOMING. Personally, I favor a mix: I AM WHAT I AM BECOMING. One thing is certain, when Moses, a good man who is resisting becoming a great man, asks for God’s proper name, God responds with something enigmatic, elusive, and dynamic. It’s as if God is saying, “Look, Moses, I AM WHO I AM. You become who you are to be. You go down there and tell old Pharaoh to let my people go!”

Well, not yet. Moses says, “Suppose the don’t believe me.” God gives him three miraculous signs to perform for them: Moses can turn his staff into a snake and back; he can instantly contract Leprosy and instantly heal it, and he can turn water into blood.

You would think that would do it. But, no! What’s really going on here, the whole time, is Moses’ sense of inadequacy. That’s where he started: “Who am I to go to Pharaoh?” And now, having run out of stalls and dodges, it comes out again. “Oh, my Lord,” Moses says, “I am not eloquent. I am slow of speech and slow of tongue.” (How many of us feel that we don’t speak well enough to represent God?) God just says, “I will be with you, and I will take care of it.”

Again, not good enough. (How often is that assurance not good enough for us?) Moses says, “O, Lord, please send someone else.” “O, Lord, please send someone else.” If that doesn’t sound familiar in your life, I’ll tell you that it does in mine.

Finally, God has had it. “Then the anger of the Lord was kindled against Moses.” Exasperated, God says, “I’ll send your brother Aaron with you. He speaks well, and you can tell him what to say. Now, git!”

And Moses, a good man who is out of dodges and out of excuses and dealing with a God who refused to coddle his feelings of inadequacy, goes. And becomes great.

Another great story. Another refreshing look into the humanity of the biblical heroes.

I’ll leave you with three questions to ponder. I’m asking them of you, but trust me, I ask them of myself:

How does God call you to be great?

And how do you whine, and dodge, and avoid, and stall, and say, “Not me; I can’t”?

And what are you going to do about it?