O Adonai

O Adonai, ruler of the house of Israel, who appeared to Moses in the burning bush, and gave him the law on Sinai, come!  Stretch forth your arm to redeem us!

You, Adonai, manifest your presence in fire.  This frightens us.  Fire destroys what we have built, scorches forests and crops, melts, suffocates, and leaves in its wake a blackened waste.  Are you then our destroyer?

But the bush is not consumed.

You, jealous God, shook the mountain as your people shivered.  Shall we shut you away in the Old Testament and try to forget you, relic of an unenlightened past?  Or, shall we remove our shoes and stand barefoot on hot and holy ground?

Why is the bush not consumed?

You, fiery Lord, saw your faithful servants thrown into the flaming furnace.  Why are there four men walking in the flames, the fourth with the appearance of a Son of God?  Why is their hair not singed, nor their garments spoiled, nor is there even a whiff of fire about them?  They are singing.  In Dante’s Purgatorio the fire-walkers also sing.  It is a song of mingled penitence and praise, to a God of mercy whose love burns them clean.  Those in the furnace have hearts aflame with love for the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob, and so their bodies are not burned.

The bush is not consumed because it has already been cleansed.

You, Jesus, high priest, came to bring fire to the earth, and how fierce your desire that it be kindled.  You would salt us with fire to cleanse and heal and consummate the sacrifice.

You, Jesus, Messiah, baptize with the fire of the Spirit.  We each receive a tongue to sing of the scorching love and excruciating mercy of God.

You, Jesus, Son of the jealous God, came to draw all people to yourself.  You are not our destroyer but our healer.

Have mercy on us, and come.