Reflection “Standing on Sacred Ground”

By Rev Dr Fei Taule’ale’ausumai

Exodus 3:1–15 and Romans 12:9–21

30 August 2026

 

Talofa lava and greetings to those of you who have joined us on line.

In Pacific cultures we have the two realms of life “tapu” and “noa” as Mircea Eliade  calls it “the sacred and the profane”.  They are separate, they very seldom cross over or overlap.  In Samoan culture we separate earthly things as “mea fa’a le lalolagi” and spiritual things as “mea fa’a le lagi”.  I grew up in a church that was very strict about keeping these two areas separate.  (hei, hei, ho!). not in church etc.

In saying that for some of us we may have experienced the sacred in very ordinary things of life.  In a sick bed, on the death bed of a loved one.  In an encounter with a complete stranger.  (retell the story of King Tuihitea’s tangi and me forgetting the keys).

Our Exodus story finds God in the ordinary the tapu become present in the noa in the form of a burning bush.  Moses is not in a temple. He is not in a church or attending some religious gathering. He is simply going about the ordinary business of his day, tending the flock of his father-in-law Jethro, when something catches his attention.  A bush is burning.

Perhaps at first there was nothing particularly extraordinary about that. In the heat and dryness of the wilderness, fire was hardly unknown. But there was something different about this fire. The bush was burning, but it was not being consumed.

 

Just a little bit of history.  The Original Motto in pre Presbyterian times: It bore the French Calvinist motto Flagror non consumor (“I am burned, but not consumed”).   Our Presbyterian motto is Nec tamen consumebatur, which translates to “Yet it was not consumed.” It was on the lecture falls of my church and every Sunday and I grew looking at that phrase right throughout my childhood.

 

I was christened as a congregational baby then the Congregational church of NZ merged with the Presbyterians in 1969.

 

In 1990, the denomination officially changed its name from the “Presbyterian Church of New Zealand” to the bicultural Presbyterian Church of Aotearoa New Zealand (PCANZ).  The burning bush has taken on a new layer of meaning: the “ethnic flames” of the bush represent unity in diversity. The fire is seen as the Holy Spirit keeping a diverse church vibrantly alive without consuming individual cultural identities.

 

Let’s return to Moses, he sees the burning bush and he says, “I must turn aside and look at this great sight.”  God saw that Moses had turned aside to see, then God called to him.  “Moses, Moses.”  And Moses answered: “Here I am.”  The voice from the bush tells him to “remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.”  God continues:   “I have seen their misery. I have heard their cry. I know their sufferings.”

This is one of the foundations for liberation theology. God is not portrayed as detached from human suffering. God is encountered in relation to the cry of the oppressed with these words.

 

And perhaps that is the first question this story asks of us:

Have we stopped noticing?  How many injustices have become so familiar?

There are injustices which shock us when we first encounter them.

And then something happens.  We hear about them again. And again.

Eventually, what once disturbed us becomes part of the background noise of life.  How many injustices have become so familiar that we hardly notice them anymore?

When we watch the 6’oclock News, how many images of war can we watch before they simply become another item on the evening news?  How many stories of children living in poverty do we hear before poverty becomes a statistic rather than a human tragedy?  People sleeping in cars, families struggling to pay rent, people queuing for food parcels, refugees searching for safety, women living with violence, communities experiencing racism, people excluded because of sexuality or gender identity, before these things simply become part of the landscape?

Perhaps one of the greatest dangers facing us is that we become accustomed.  We adjust.  We learn to walk past the burning bush.

We learn not to turn aside.  And perhaps the prophetic task of faith is to keep noticing what society has learned not to notice.

 

Moses himself knew something about injustice.  He had grown up within the household of Pharaoh, but he belonged to the people who were being oppressed by Pharaoh.

 

Earlier in Exodus, Moses sees an Egyptian beating a Hebrew slave. He reacts violently and kills the Egyptian.  It is an important part of Moses’ story because it reminds us that recognising injustice does not automatically teach us how to respond to it.  Moses sees violence and answers violence with violence.  He opposes oppression, but for a moment he begins to resemble the world he is opposing.

 

And perhaps that is where our Romans reading becomes important.

Resist evil without allowing evil to remake you “Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good.”  “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”

The writer of Romans is not asking us to pretend evil does not exist.

He says quite clearly:  Hate what is evil.  Name it. Recognise it. Resist it.

There are things in our world that should disturb us.  There are systems that should make us angry.  There are injustices that should not be politely tolerated.

And so Romans offers a profoundly demanding way of living:

“Bless those who persecute you.” “Do not repay anyone evil for evil.”

“If your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink.”

Moses will discover that liberation is a long journey.  Pharaoh will resist.

The people themselves will complain.  Moses will become tired and frustrated.  There will be moments when everything seems to be going backwards.  And yet the call begins here:

“Moses, Moses.”  “Here I am.”  God does not ask Moses to solve everything in that moment.  God simply asks him to go.

May be for us that is worth remembering.  We do not have to solve every injustice because we simply cannot.  We cannot carry every burden.

We cannot respond to every suffering.  But perhaps each of us has a burning bush somewhere.  Something we have noticed.  Something that will not leave us alone.  Something that keeps saying:  Turn aside. Look again. Pay attention.

Where is sacred ground today?  We often think of sacred ground as particular places.  Churches.  Cathedrals.  Ancient sites.  Places where generations have prayed.  And they are sacred.  But Exodus gives us a much wider understanding.

Sacred ground can appear in the wilderness. Sacred ground is wherever human suffering is truly seen.  Sacred ground is where someone hears a cry that everyone else has learned to ignore. Sacred ground may be beside a hospital bed. It may be around a kitchen table where someone finally finds the courage to tell their story.

It may be at a food bank.

A refugee centre.

A protest march.

A marae.

A funeral.

A school classroom.

A prison visiting room.

A church meeting where someone who has previously been silenced finally speaks.

It may be beside someone who is lonely.

It may be wherever a person says, “This is what has happened to me,” and another person chooses to listen.  And perhaps sacred ground is not always comfortable ground.

Moses is standing before a bush that will disrupt his life.  God is about to send him back to Egypt to the place he fled, to the system of power he knows, to confront Pharaoh and demand freedom for an enslaved people.

Sacred ground does not always make us feel peaceful.  Sometimes sacred ground unsettles us.  Sometimes it asks something of us.  Sometimes it changes the direction in which we were travelling.

Because once Moses has heard the cry, he cannot pretend he has not heard it.  Once he has seen the burning bush, he cannot unsee it.

And perhaps neither can we.  Where is the bush burning that I have been walking past?  Whose cry have I stopped hearing?  What injustice has become so familiar that I no longer notice it?  What suffering has become simply another statistic? And where might God be saying:  “Turn aside.”  “Look.”  “Listen.”  “This is sacred ground.”

Our Roman’s reading reminds us what we are to do when we get there:

“Let love be genuine.”  “Hold fast to what is good.”  “Rejoice in hope.”

“Be patient in suffering.”  “Persevere in prayer.”  “Extend hospitality to strangers.”  “Live peaceably with all.”  And finally:  “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”  Perhaps that is what it means to stand on sacred ground.  To notice.  To listen.  To refuse indifference.  To resist injustice.  But also to refuse to allow the injustice we oppose to determine the kind of people we become.  To burn but not be consumed.

To stand before the suffering of the world with our shoes metaphorically removed, recognising that wherever human dignity is at stake, wherever a cry for freedom is heard, wherever compassion interrupts indifference, we may already be standing on sacred ground.  Amen.

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