Moses

Moses said to the Lord, “Pardon your servant, Lord. I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor since you have spoken to your servant. I am slow of speech and tongue.” (Exodus 4:10)

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I have an awkward relationship with Silence. Some days, I cling to It for comfort. Other days, It clings to me- intertwining Itself into the cords of my throat, stopping voice in its tracks. And it’s then, I find myself understanding the hesitation of Moses, sharing his words,

“Pardon your servant, Lord. I have never been eloquent,”

Have you ever done this? Have you ever had to remind God of how insignificant you are? Of how absolutely wrong God is to have asked anything of you? 

My prayers are often filled with admissions of failure and requests for pardons. And how silly this is. How silly to think I can tell God anything God does not know. How silly to question the mechanics of a creation that I have not made.

And yet.

I continue to approach the altar, with doubts and questions and painful recollections of my abilities. I continue to pull on the sleeve of God, offering my “but’s” as sacrifice,

“But God, I’m not very smart.”

“But God, I’m not very loud.”

“But God, I’m not very talented.”

“But God, I’m not very liked.”

“But God, choose someone else. What about her? Or him? Or them? Or, literally anyone else. Because, I have a list of reasons on why it shouldn’t be me. And I know You think You know me- but I don’t think You do. Because if You did- if You really, really did, then you wouldn’t ask such big things of me.” 

And, God, in His kindness and gentleness, and annoyance, probably, responds,

“If I knew you, you say? Who gave human beings their mouths? Who makes them deaf or mute? Who gives them sight or makes them blind? Is it not I, the Lord? Do you think that I am really so unfamiliar with your list? With your frailties and shortcomings? I’ve seen it. I’ve read your list. You’ve missed a few things, by the way. Like, your stubbornness and anger. I was with you then, for all those months, that you held onto the fire in your heart because your brother had wronged you. I was with you then, for each time you declined his calls and eyed him with disgust. I remember sins you’ve long forgotten. 

Oh, I know you. But do you know you? And I know you think you know you- but I don’t think you do. Because if you knew yourself, like you think you know yourself- 

If You knew just how much Grace has been infused within the essence of your being.  Because for every flaw, there is Grace, Grace, Grace. For every shortcoming, the foundation of Grace is revealed. 

And this is what it’s all about. It’s not about how loud you speak, or how well, or how eloquent. It’s that you speak at all. It’s that your faith in Me, and My presence in You, has space to be seen and proclaimed and celebrated.

Now go; I will help you speak and will teach you what to say” (Exodus 4:11-12).

And so, we go. We go with clumsy feet and shaky lips. But we go nonetheless.