The book of Exodus isn't too far along when God’s people, the descendants of Joseph, though previously flourishing in Egypt, come now to live under a new Pharaoh of whom we are told “Joseph meant nothing.”
The Hebrews are soon enslaved, and this new Pharaoh, fearing their growing numbers, issues an edict that all boys born to Hebrew women shall be killed. The mother of one newborn responds by placing her infant in a basket and launching it down the Nile, such that it’s spotted by the daughter of Pharaoh.
Raised in the royal courts and now a young man and aware of his true identity, Moses one day sees an Egyptian beating a Hebrew. Moses strikes down the Egyptian, killing him, then flees to Midian, a desert wilderness where he works as a shepherd for some forty years. Meanwhile, back in Egypt, under the ever more oppressive whip of the Egyptians, God’s long-suffering people cry out to Him. That’s how it all begins.
In addition to being a great story, the book of Exodus is a moral document that articulates a profound protest against pharaohs, oppression, and all the clattering might-makes-right ways of the world that degrade and devalue human life. The pushback against these things begins when God, responding to the cries of His people, appears in the midst of a burning bush far out in the wilderness where the exiled Moses is tending his flocks.
Moses said: Now let me turn aside that I may see this great sight—why the bush does not burn up. (And) when the Lord saw that he had turned aside to see, God called him out of the midst of the bush: Moses! Moses!
Notice all that follows—the action, the rescue, the exodus itself—begins only when Moses turns aside. Notice also that God doesn’t actually call Moses until he does.
As we examine the book of Exodus, a question we might take up is how, in a busy, bustling, and ever-changing world, we, like Moses, respond to a God trying to turn us aside toward holy ground for a sacred purpose.
There are commentaries that speculate that perhaps Moses didn’t notice and turn aside from his work and toward the burning bush for a long time—hours, days, weeks, maybe longer. It wouldn’t surprise me a great deal if this was the case, as that’s often what we human beings are like. We miss stuff. We are distracted by all manner of things, so it’s not far-fetched to consider that we might miss God trying to turn us aside all the time.
Researchers who study how and to what we give our attention tell us that people focused on one thing often easily overlook other things. You may be familiar with a video associated with the research on this, about something called selective attention. Rather than revealing the remarkable results of their research, I’ll just refer you here. As you’ll see, the upshot is that we human beings can, especially when we’re distracted by one thing, miss a lot of what’s happening right in front of us. It’s almost comical.
Furthermore, there’s this: American adults average some five hours on our smartphones each and every day, with younger generations exceeding six hours a day. We check our phones an average of over 200 times per day. That’s once every five minutes. While certainly our eyes and attention are our own responsibility, it’s important to realize that virtually every large tech company in the world measures its success by the metric of how much of their user’s time they can capture, hold, and increase during each business quarter of the year. This is to say, there are thousands of tech engineers behind our screens whose job it is to fine tune their algorithms to keep our eyes down, glued to our devices, more and more each day.
As Lent has begun, I’ve given some things up with respect to my phone. One simple thing that helps me do this more effectively is that for long stretches of the day, I turn my phone’s color off. Taking this simple step strips out my device’s invisibly addictive color rewards, while at the same time not-so-subtly reminding me that what I see all around me when I look up, not down, is not only more important but more real, more colorful, and ultimately the place I’ll find a more well-lit world. Maybe even some holy ground. If...I don’t miss it.
God—May we not miss the moments You turn us aside, drawing us to holy ground. Amen.
