“C’mon in, take your shoes off, make yourself at home!”
Don’t you love to hear those words? I think it’s rare to hear those words from someone who doesn’t really mean it–it is almost always a sign of at least genuine hospitality, frequently friendship, and do I dare say it? Love.
This is in contrast to those friends who ask you to take your shoes off because they don’t want you tracking anything in on your shoes. No disrespect intended–I have many true friends who ask this of me. But the contrast in inflection remains nonetheless.
Why is it then, when we envision Moses and the episode at the burning bush, that we always imagine God’s booming voice demanding that Moses take his shoes off?
Frequently in the Old Testament, God is portrayed as a “holy,” terrifying presence. When God descended on Mount Sinai, the people responded by telling Moses, “you go talk to that, come back and tell us what He said, and then we’ll do it–but we’re not going anywhere near that mountain.”
But I have come to realize that this is primarily perception. Without our shame being dealt with by the accomplished work of Christ on the cross–we perceive God’s presence as terrifying.
But then that’s exactly the point isn’t it?
Religion requires a buffer between God and man–a system that keeps us comfortably insulated from direct contact.
But if our shame has indeed been dealt with once and for all by the cross, then God is an inviting, comforting, intimate presence. And His holiness, instead of inspiring “reverence,” (read: fear) invites us home?
What if our perception of the burning bush was off? And what God meant was…
“C’mon in, take your shoes off, make yourself at home!”
The End of Religion 