When we imagine the burning bush,
Do we see just that?
A bush on fireÂ
but not consumed?
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Or do we see our world in the burning bush?
The unjust sparking the fires of hatred,
The wicked turning away from the poor,
The liars casting away the stranger at their door –
Yet our world is not consumed.
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Just like the burning bush before Moses,
A voice echoes out of the flames.
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It’s the voice of the crying orphan,
It’s the voice of the stranger unsheltered,
It’s the voice of the widow praying.
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In each voice the cry of our people.
In each cry the voice of the Divine.
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From the burning bush before usÂ
the echo rings in our ears.
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We are not yet at peace;
God hears our criesÂ
with the cries of all the world.
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God is calling out to us,
From this narrow place.
Like Moses let us answer our God.
Let us strive to be a light among the nations.
