“Then Moses said, ‘I must turn aside and look at this great sight and see why the bush is not burned up.'” – Exodus 3:3

Before the Name, there was the charge.
Before the charge, there was the word of grief.
Before the word of grief, there was the word of heritage.
Before the word of heritage, there was the holy ground.

Before the holy ground, before toes dipped into the Earth,
there was his own name.
Before his own name, before he knew the voice knew him,
there was the voice.

Before the voice, before air waved and wove,
there was the question.
Before the question, before the wonder at strange sights,
there was the vision.

There was the vision, light flickering on the hillside,
flames orange and red, flashing despite the sun,
but somehow still green, still verdant, aglow
with the life of its leaves and its stem.

Before all that followed, curiosity led
a man without nation, a tree without root,
to turn from his path and take a new course,
and just for a moment, plant his toes in the soil.

A poem/prayer based on Exodus 3:1-15, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year A, Proper 17 (22).

The image is Moses and the Burning Bush by an unknown artist (ca. 3rd century) – Dura Europos Synagogue, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=129215196.