Around last Christmas, I had a series of unfortunate events related to my car and the parish of Westhill. One Monday night in Advent, I was going home along that narrow, winding road between Westhill and Blackburn. At one point, I had to swerve towards the left-hand side of the road to avoid a collision with an oncoming vehicle. I heard a loud bang but carried on anyway – it was too dangerous to stop and inspect the car there and then. Strangely, a quick inspection on my arrival didn’t show any damage. Only the following morning did I discover that I had lost a part of my wing mirror cover. About two weeks later, on my return from Westhill, on the A96, a stone hit my windshield and produced a “lovely”, semi-oval crack from the top to the bottom. That made me feel dejected, as it had never happened before in my 30-year-long driving career. Having had the windscreen replaced, two weeks later, I heeded a Westhill parishioner’s sage advice to travel home the longer route via the Aberdeen bypass, where I got another hit on the windscreen that chipped it and then developed into another crack which has been slowly expanding since then. Clearly, there was a pattern… Was God punishing me for my many sins? Or was He trying to tell me something? Or maybe it was just bad luck condensed into a short period of time?
The Bible is full of encounters with God by various individuals. They are often presented as quite spectacular, sometimes fear-inducing events or visions. The most remarkable is that they include a clear message from God or a conversation between God or his angelic representatives and the individuals in question. The latter might not have immediately heeded or agreed with the message for whatever reasons, but at least they knew precisely what was expected of them. If only we could see and hear God talking to us as he did to Moses in today’s first reading: visually appealing and with a clear message that left no room for misinterpretation. Moses didn’t question the idea presented by God. He only sought clarification on details missing from God’s initial pronouncement, like: “‘If I come to the people of Israel and say to them, “The God of your fathers has sent me to you”, and they ask me, “What is his name?” what shall I say to them?’” We can envy such clarity as we are rarely – if ever – afforded such luxury in our spiritual lives.
Let’s stop here and look again at Moses’ encounter in its broader context. He was raised in the Pharaoh’s royal court, surrounded by all its associated luxuries, influence, and power. As a young man, he committed a crime (well-justified in his mind) and became a fugitive. His life in self-imposed exile was a far cry from the glamour of the royal court. As we heard, he was shepherding sheep, not even his own but his father-in-law’s. Unlike in the lush pastures of Scotland, Moses’ job required a lot of crisscrossing the wilderness in search of scarce feeding grounds. He couldn’t distract himself by listening to podcasts, music or audiobooks, as we often do. He had a lot of ground to cover, both physically and – more importantly – in his mind. He lived in exile for forty years; in the symbolic language of the Bible, it meant a long period of trial, test and perhaps even torment. His arrival at the foot of Mount Horeb and spotting an unusual phenomenon (a burning bush) might have triggered his coming to certain conclusions. If we go beyond today’s passage and read the whole story of that encounter, we can see that Moses was far from sure about his abilities, effectiveness, and even willingness to carry out the mission. The certainty with which Moses eventually carried it through became obvious only years later when he looked back and told his story with the benefit of hindsight. It was wrapped in words and images so others could understand and envision what, at the time of happening, was elusive, intangible, imperceptible.
People in biblical times didn’t find it any easier to communicate with God than we do. The reason has always been the same: God’s unconditional love for you and me. Strange? Imagine someone with a vast influence over you telling you their wish. You might dislike it, disapprove or disagree, but out of fear or respect, or to avoid hurt or upset, you fulfil the wish against your better judgment or will. Effectively, you have been forced to do things even if the pressure wasn’t intentional. God, in his infinite and unconditional love, respects to a fault your freedom to decide. We have the Ten Commandments and Jesus’ teachings to know God’s prescription for a purposeful life. But we also have the freedom to reject them without fear of punishment meted out by God. We can see that in today’s gospel when Jesus rejected the popular notion that the violent death of some Galileans or those killed by a collapsed building had anything to do with their immorality. He urged his audience to use such dramatic events to reflect on their own lives and perhaps modify them to be ready to meet their Creator whenever the call would come. Then Jesus offered an alternative vision of God: not of a merciless executioner but of a caring gardener, doing everything in his power to give us a chance.
Going back to my unlucky car… The series of unfortunate events led me to reflect on my life. I’ve come to some conclusions and accordingly made some changes to my life. Eventually, with the benefit of hindsight, I will find out whether I discerned the whole situation correctly. In the meantime, I’m absolutely sure that it wasn’t an excuse to buy a new car or to start a parish fundraiser to fix it.
