It’s another ordinary day. Moses is doing what he’s done for the last forty years, herding sheep in the wilderness. There’s nothing exceptional. Just a man, a stick, and some wooly animals. And then, a bush catches fire but doesn’t burn up. And with it, everything changes.
Now pause for a second. Isn’t that how God works? Not with trumpets and fireworks, but in the middle of your Tuesday afternoon laundry, or your commute, or in the ache of an unresolved prayer. Moses wasn’t looking for God; he was looking for a lost sheep. But the burning bush found him.
What makes this passage extraordinary isn’t just the miracle of the bush, it’s what God says next. “I have seen the misery of my people, I have come down to rescue them.” Wonderful! Moses must have smiled at the divine initiative.
And then God drops the punchline: “So now, you go. I am sending you.” You can almost hear Moses choke: “Excuse me?! You’re the Almighty! You just said You came down to rescue them. And now You’re outsourcing the job to a fugitive shepherd with a speech impediment?” It’s like telling a kid, “I’ve decided we need peace between Russia and Ukraine and in the Middle East. So you’ll start by talking to the United Nations tomorrow.” But that’s precisely the divine pattern. God doesn’t act alone. He invites. He involves. He interrupts our wilderness routines and says, “You’re it.” That’s holy ground, not because it’s spectacular, but because heaven has chosen to intersect with earth right there.
Let me tell you a story I read. Years ago, in a remote village in India, in the state of Andrapradesh, a quiet young woman named Pushpa taught in a rural school. She had no degrees in leadership, no political voice, and no money. But she noticed something, many of her students were walking miles barefoot just to come to school. Others dropped out simply because they had no notebooks or couldn’t afford uniforms and meals.
She could’ve just taught and gone home. But one day, she felt something stir, a call she couldn’t explain. She started asking neighbors for used shoes. She cooked extra rice in the morning to feed a few hungry students. She stitched uniforms at night under candlelight.
Soon others noticed. The school grew. Donations came. Today, that little village school has over 1,000 children, a feeding program, and scholarships for girls who would have otherwise married off at a young age. That teachers’ eyes never saw a bush burned, but her heart did, with compassion and courage. I am sure we hear such inspirational stories from around the world, and we have one such our next door in My Brothers Keeper.
Notice this: God doesn’t ask Moses for ability. He asks for availability. And when Moses resists, “Who am I to go to Pharaoh?” God doesn’t answer with a pep talk. He doesn’t say, “You’re amazing, Moses!” He simply says, “I will be with you.” It’s not about who Moses is. It’s about who God is, and the fact that He walks with those He calls.
Some of us feel too old, too wounded, too ordinary, or too messed up for God to use. But remember: Moses was 80. He had failed in Egypt, failed in Midian, and probably thought he’d live and die a forgotten shepherd. But God sees a burning possibility where we see a barren desert.
So maybe today, your bush isn’t burning, but your heart is stirring. Pay attention. Take off your sandals. That diagnosis, that detour, that conversation you’ve been dreading or the conversion you have been praying for, maybe it’s your holy ground. And if you hear a whisper that sounds crazy, “Go, I’m sending you”, don’t panic. Just remember: God never sends someone where He won’t go Himself.
Sometimes, the ground becomes holy not because God shows up with fire, but because we finally stop long enough to listen.