“When God Calls Your Name” [Following God in Real Life Summer Series #13] - Fr. Pete's Sermon for August 30th, 2026, the Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Exodus 3:1-15 (YouTube link to recording of the sermon and the rest of the service can be found on our home page.)

When I was a kid, from grade school through high school, my United Methodist pastor dad would take the whole month of August off for his vacation every year. Our family of 6 plus an cantankerous Pekinese would pile into Dad’s massive Cadillac sedan and make the journey from Huntington, WV, all the way to the Tidewater area in Virginia, where Dad was from. We’d visit with family and spend most days on the James River at Sunken Meadow Beach cottages.

Oh, it was idyllic for a kid! But the trip seemed to take so long getting there. Nowadays, you can drive that route in 6 hours or so, but back then the interstate highways were still being built—and it took us two days! But the journey was well worth it. Memories that last a lifetime.

But you know, every vacation has that moment when you realize the vacation is almost over. Ugh—that long drive back home meant school would be starting soon, right after Labor Day back then!

​But there’s also something tender and sweet about the end of a journey. Because you look back over where you’ve been. You review the letters your friends mailed you while you were away. You remember what surprised you, what challenged you, what made you laugh, what made you tired, what you learned, what changed you a little along the way. And if it has been a good journey, as those were for me, you don’t come home exactly the same as when you left.

Today we reach the final Sunday of our Summer Sermon Road Trip: Following God in Real Life. We began back in June with Abraham hearing God say, “Go,” without being handed a map. Since then, we’ve traveled through stories of promise, wilderness, laughter, heartbreak, family mess, surprise, struggle, betrayal, forgiveness, and courage. And now, at the end of August, we arrive at one of the greatest call stories in Scripture: Moses and the burning bush.
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It’s worth noticing where Moses is when God calls him. He is not in a temple. He is not in a theological  discussion with religious leaders. He is not asking himself, “Lord, what bold new mission would you like me to undertake next?”

No, Moses is tending sheep. That’s it. He’s doing ordinary work in an ordinary place on what probably seemed like an ordinary day. In fact, Moses may have thought the most dramatic part of his life was behind him. After all, as we saw last week, he’d been born under Pharaoh’s threat—death to all Hebrew baby boys. He’d been rescued from the Nile by Pharaoh’s own daughter. He’d grown up in Pharaoh’s household. He’d killed an Egyptian who was beating a Hebrew slave. Then he fled for his life and settled in Midian.

By the time we meet him in today’s reading, Moses has built a different life. He’s married, has a family, a job, a routine. Whatever he once imagined for himself, whatever unresolved issues he carried about Egypt, his people, and his past, he is now just a simple shepherd in the wilderness.

And then God interrupts. Moses sees a bush that is burning but not consumed. He turns to look at it. Moses doesn’t yet know he is being called. He only knows something strange has caught his attention.

When he turns to the burning bush, God calls to him from within it: “Moses, Moses!” And Moses answers, “Here I am.” That may be one of the most important prayers in Scripture. Simple. Open. Vulnerable. Just “Here I am.” We’ve heard echoes of that answer all summer—from Abraham, from Rebekah, and in other places throughout Scripture. “Here I am” is the language of availability. But with Moses, we quickly discover that availability doesn’t always mean confidence. Hold on to that.

Then God tells Moses to remove his sandals, because the place where he is standing is holy ground. Holy ground! Not because Moses expected it. Not because the wilderness looked impressive. It was holy because God was present.

That theme has been with us all summer. Again and again, people discover God not where everything is clear and polished, but right in the middle of real life. On the road. In the tent. By a well. In the wilderness. In a dream. In a wrestling match. In a pit. In a basket among the reeds. And now, in a burning bush. God is present.

God tells Moses, “I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt. I have heard their cry. I know their sufferings. I have come down to deliver them.”

That is the heart of this story. Before Moses is given a task, he is given a revelation of God’s compassion. God sees. God hears. God knows. God comes down. The call of Moses begins not with human ambition, but with divine mercy.
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And then comes the part Moses was probably hoping to avoid: “So come, I will send you to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt.” Moses, understandably, has questions.

“Uh, God, who am I that I should go to Pharaoh?” I’m not powerful enough. I’m not eloquent enough. I’m not brave enough. I have a complicated past. A wanted man. I have built another life. Surely there must be someone else who can do this thing.

I bet a lot of you understand that feeling. I do. God may not be calling us to confront Pharaoh, but God’s call still has a way of finding us in ordinary places and asking more of us than we expected.

A neighbor needs help. An outreach ministry needs a volunteer or two. A child needs to learn. A hurting person needs compassion. A community needs someone willing to stand with them for justice and mercy. A church needs people who will say, not necessarily with perfect confidence but with open hearts, “Here I am.”

And notice how God answers Moses’ question. Moses asks, “Who am I?” God answers, “I will be with you.” That is not exactly the answer Moses asked for. God does not say, “Moses, let me list your qualifications.” God doesn’t give him a résumé review. God doesn’t say, “You are more gifted than you realize.”

God says, “I will be with you.” In other words, the call does not depend on Moses being impressive. It depends on God being faithful. That has been the good news all summer long.

Abraham heard, “Go.” Sarah laughed. Hagar wept. Rebekah said yes. Jacob made a mess, then saw heaven in an unexpected place, and later wrestled through the night. Joseph was betrayed, then years later found grace enough to forgive. The Hebrew midwives quietly resisted Pharaoh’s cruelty. Moses heard his name called from a burning bush. Different stories. Same God.

The God who calls. The God who surprises. The God who hears. The God who provides. The God who wrestles with us through the night. The God who brings grace out of what once was only pain. The God who remembers when the world forgets. The God who says, again and again, “I will be with you.”

We began this journey in June with God’s call to the unknown. We arrive here at the end of August not with all the answers, but with something better: the quiet, steady trust that God has been with us this whole journey. And that presence will continue forever.

And maybe that’s the real destination of faith. Not certainty. Not a perfect map. Not a life without detours. But trust. Trust that the ground beneath our ordinary lives may be holier than we think.

Trust that God still hears the cries of those who suffer. Trust that God still calls ordinary people into holy work. Trust that when we ask, “Who am I?” God still answers, “I will be with you.”
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So as this Summer Sermon Road Trip comes to an end, perhaps the question is not simply, “Where have we been?” Perhaps the question is, “Where is God calling us next?” Not just Moses. Not just Abraham. Us.

Here at St. Timothy’s. In our homes. In our various ministries. In our relationships. In this anxious and hurting world God loves so deeply.

The end of one journey is often the beginning of another.

So when God calls our name, may we, like these ordinary people who we’ve encountered all summer long, may we have the courage, the humility, and the faith to answer: “Lord, here I am.”

Amen.