Standing on Holy Ground

Preached as a sermon at Croydon Minster at Choral Evensong on the Sunday next Before Lent, 3rd March 2019

Moses, remove the sandals from your feet,

for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.

(Exodus 3.5)

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In many cultures taking one’s shoes off before one enters somewhere

special, set aside and holy

- be it someone’s home, a burial ground or a place of worship -

is perfectly normal.

Perhaps it hasn’t caught on so much in the cooler climes of northern Europe

because having cold feet is a reality not just an expression.

This passage of Exodus isn’t about shoe etiquette

it’s about the awareness of standing on holy ground,

about not trampling on things that are holy (cf Matthew 7.6).

It also draws us to reflect on the

intimate

and yet distant

character of God.

On one hand there is a deep intimacy.

God speaks to Moses by name,

almost as a friend,

‘Moses, Moses’.

To which Moses answers,

‘Here I am’

            ‘Here I am’:

            the refrain of Isaiah, Jeremiah, Mary, the Mother of the Lord,

when they respond to the intimate, holy, powerful call of God.

And there is distance:


‘Come no closer!’

And then the command to Moses

to remove his sandals.

This episode is prompted by Moses,

the shepherd,

leading the flock of his father-in-law, Jethro,

beyond

the wilderness to the mountain of God.

Moses leads the people of Israel

beyond

the figurative wilderness of slavery and

beyond

the actual wilderness of Sinai

into the Promised Land.

Our journey through Lent will take us

beyond the wilderness of fasting and discipline

into the Promised Land of Resurrection

in Christ, the Good Shepherd.

Lent begins in dust and ashes.

Ashes:

the fruit,

- if fruit is the right word –

the fruit of fire.

Moses came across a mystical bush,

on fire

but not turning into ashes.

Little wonder, then, that iconographers have portrayed the Burning Bush

as a type of Christ,

borne in his Mother’s arms.

In that icon is the distance and destructiveness of fire

and the intimacy of Jesus Christ

- in his Mother’s arms -

who comes to share our human experience,

more intimately than we can know ourselves.

For as the prophet Elijah knew

- when he met God on the self-same mountain, Horeb -

the mystery of God is not found in the elements:

not in the mighty wind;

not in the earthquake;

and not in the fire.

It was only the sound of sheer silence

in which Elijah apprehended the presence

of the Holy One, of God (1 Kings 19.11-13).

So we remove our footwear to tread gently in God’s presence.

We remove our footwear

so that we tread quietly, softly, gently,

in order to hear the sound of sheer silence.

We cannot hear God above the clatter of the busy footsteps of our lives.

We remove our footwear

so that we don’t trample on the holy ground of the lives of other people.

We remove our footwear

so that we are in touch with our journey

- sensing the soft and hard ground –

and journeying deeper into the mystery of God’s love.

This coming Lent may our hearts be set on fire

– yet not destroyed –

by the holiness and intimacy of deepening our journey with God.

On the Day of Resurrection two disciples

equally prosaically as Moses

encountered Jesus Christ,

and

having walked along with him,

broken bread within him

reflected,

‘were not our hearts burning within us while we were talking to him on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?’ (Luke 24.32).

Come, my Light, and illumine my darkness.

Come, my Life, and revive me from death.

Come, my Physician, and heal my wounds.

Come, Flame of divine love, and burn up the thorns of my sins,

Kindling my heart with the flame of your love.

Come, my King, sit upon the throne of my heart and reign there,

For you alone are my King and my Lord.

Amen.                                                                                             (Dimitri of Rostov)