Deep Down, You're Not Wrong

Sermon for March 23, 2025
Sermon Series: "Who Am I" -- Week 3: I am precious and worthy of redemption.
Exodus 3:1-15; 1 Corinthians 10:1-13; Luke 13:1-9

We’re continuing our Lenten preaching series this morning, this exploration of “Who Am I?”  So far, we’ve looked at two very different ways of answering that question.  Two weeks ago, we asked, “Who am I?  I am powerless to defeat sin and evil.”  Then, last Sunday, we asked, “Who am I?  I am God’s own.”  And today, we ask, “Who am I?  I am precious and worthy of redemption.”

Well, if you listened to the last two readings this morning, you might think we used the wrong sermon theme this week.  You probably didn’t hear a lot of “precious and worthy of redemption” there.  In First Corinthians, Paul tells a cautionary tale about our spiritual ancestors of the Old Covenant.  “God was not pleased with most of them,” Paul says, and he mentions several examples, with God smiting idolaters and philanderers and complainers.  “These things happened to them to serve as an example” to us, Paul says.  Yikes.

Then, in the Gospel reading, we hear Jesus laying out judgment pretty clearly:  “Unless you repent,” he says, “you will perish” (Luke 13:3).  Jesus tells a parable about a landholder who’s ready to cut down an unproductive fig tree.  The landholder has been waiting for years, and still no figs.  His kindly gardener talks him into waiting one more year before taking the axe to the roots.  OK, Jesus says, but know the clock is ticking.

In other words, actions or inactions have consequences.  And if those actions separate us from God, we should expect the consequence to be punishment.  It’s hard to argue with that, especially as we make our way through this season of self-examination and repentance.  As we heard at the beginning of our worship today, “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us” (BCP 352).

Unfortunately, I think many of us internalize that message about sin differently from the way Jesus and this Lenten season intend.  I think we often hear God not just judging our actions but judging ourselves, at a deep level.  And the result is the difference between guilt and shame.  As writer Brenae Brown puts it, guilt is “holding something we’ve done or failed to do up against our values and feeling … discomfort.”  Shame is believing that we’re inherently “flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging.”¹  In other words, guilt says, “I’ve done something wrong.”  Shame says, “I am wrong, deep down.”  

Our culture doesn’t help us much because it thrives on condemning people as wrong, deep down.  These days especially, we’ve come to a point where we regard our opponents not as incorrect but as bad – nasty and evil.  Not only is that a pretty dark view of humanity but, practically, it also precludes progress.  After all, good people don’t work with bad people, right?  So, what way forward is possible other than conflict if you see your opponent as nasty and evil deep down?

Much of American Christianity doesn’t help us with this either.  I won’t ask for a show of hands, but I wonder how many of us have experienced pastors or churches that left you feeling not guilt but shame – that something’s deeply wrong with you?  Of course, conveniently enough, the antidote for this deep wrong just happens to be offered by the church or pastor doing the shaming, right?  If you do X, Y, and Z – or if you believe X, Y, or Z – you won’t be so nasty and evil after all.  Well, if your church is trying to convince you that you’re really not OK, deep down, then it’s time to find a new church.

So, what might it look like to see people differently?  Thankfully, Scripture gives us a truer, and more complicated, point of view.

Today, we heard the story of Moses and the burning bush.  This is Moses, the liberator of the Israelites, the one who faced down the king of Egypt and demanded, “Let my people go!”  And what we heard today is part of his origin story, the account of his calling from God.  Moses is out there on a desert mountain, tending his father-in-law’s sheep, when he comes across this crazy bush.  The bush is on fire, but it’s not burning up.  It’s just burning.  This catches his attention, and Moses thinks, “I need to go see why.”

When he does, God sets the hook, calling Moses by name from the burning bush.  God notes that there’s something very strange and wonderful happening here on this “holy ground” (Exodus 3:5) and that Moses needs to acknowledge it by taking off his shoes.  Actually, the Hebrew word is more interesting than that:  God tells Moses to “shed” his sandals, like a snake would shed its skin.²  All that is rough, all that is broken – shed it, God says, and stand before me ready to be made new.

Let’s hit “pause” on the story for a second.  Why would God frame it that way?  Why does Moses need to shed the cracked and dirty hide covering his feet?  Because, like all of us, Moses has a backstory.  He isn’t just some shepherd tending his sheep.  Moses was saved, by God and some heroic Hebrew women, when the Egyptian king was trying to destroy the Hebrews by killing their baby boys.  But, ironically, Moses was rescued and raised by the king’s daughter, making this Hebrew slave now an Egyptian prince.  Eventually, Moses grows up and witnesses Egyptian security forces harassing Hebrew slaves; and Moses kills the officer who’s responsible.  Now a murderer and an enemy of the state, Moses flees to the wilderness and takes up a new identity as a shepherd.  But God knows who he is.  God knows Moses was the baby saved for something special.  And God knows Moses has blood on his hands.  So, like all of us, Moses has some things about himself he needs to shed as he stands in the presence of the sovereign of the universe.

So, back to the story:  If you’re Moses, standing before the burning bush, what are you thinking at this point?  You’re thinking, “I’ve been caught.”  You can run, but you can’t hide, at least not from God.  Maybe that fire in the bush is burning for him.  No wonder Moses “hid his face, for he was afraid to look at God” (Exodus 3:6).  Wouldn’t you be?

So, with Moses’ old skin shed and his feet ready for a new path, God gets to work.  “You’re not here for judgment,” God says. “You’re here for an assignment.  Remember the fury you felt at the Egyptian who abused your people?  It’s time to solve the problem,” God says.  “These people of Israel, these people I love – I want to deliver them from their suffering and bring them to a place of bounteous life.”  

And Moses is thinking, “Yeah, go for it, God; bring the heat.  Smite those Egyptians, and conquer Pharoah, and let justice roll down like an ever-flowing stream.”  

But God has a different idea.  It’s not time to call out the heavenly army.  Instead, God says to Moses, “I will send you to Pharoah to bring my people out of Egypt.” (3:10)  And Moses says, “Wait, what?”

*  *  *

After thousands of years of telling, this story may lose a bit of its punch.  But think about this:  The Lord – the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the One who is Being itself – the Lord has sought out and raised up a murdering refugee to be the instrument of liberation for God’s beloved people.  Moses has done nothing to deserve his special assignment.  In fact, he himself knows he has no capacity to pull this off:  He says, “Who am I that I should go to Pharoah and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” (3:9).  You’ve got the wrong guy, God.  You’ve got a guy who deserves punishment, not freedom.  And, yet, you’re going to free me from my prison of guilt so I can go and set your beloved people free?

You know, God never says to Moses, “It’s fine you murdered that Egyptian.”  Moses knows he’s standing in judgment, for God’s judgment is a real thing.  But here’s where it differs from how we usually think about it.  God’s judgment doesn’t say, “Because of what you’ve done, you’re nasty and evil.”  God’s judgment says, “You know you let me down.  You know you missed the mark.  You know it better than anyone.  Don’t do it again.  In fact, act against who you’ve been, and choose to live differently.  Let me set you free,” God says, “so you can bring new life to others.”

That’s what redemption means, actually.  To be redeemed is to be freed from bondage at a cost.  Back in the day, enslaved people were redeemed when they or someone else paid a price that bought their liberty.  God redeems the undeserving Moses so Moses can redeem the undeserving people.  And now, God frees us from bondage, too, even though we haven’t earned it, so we can be instruments of liberating love for others, who haven’t earned it either.

It’s a stunning thing, right?  Despite what I know to be true about myself, God says to me, “Sure, you’ve done wrong.  But that doesn’t mean you’re wrong, deep down.  You are my beloved child,” God says.  “You are precious and worthy of redemption,” God says.  “So, go and live that way.”

1.      https://brenebrown.com/articles/2013/01/15/shame-v-guilt/

2.      https://biblehub.com/hebrew/5394.htm