I sit in a steel chair, listening to the rhythm of well intending white shirts and Sunday dresses relate a 4,000 year old text to their morning commutes.
Exodus 3:2 There the angel of the LORD appeared to him [Moses] in flame of fire out of a bush; he looked, and the bush was blazing, yet it was not consumed.
V. 14 God said to Moses, “I am who I am.”
Outside, through the west facing window of the Sunday school classroom, the tiny yellow and green buds, flowers and leaves are emerging from the tips of maple fingers; stirring and tickling the wind-laced sky. The shiny green leaves take their first breaths of warm spring light in an April afternoon.
As I sit, staring at the trees, I wonder if perhaps the great I AM, is better interpreted as WE ARE; for surely God was present in those trees as much if not more than a brick building called a church.
