When we imagine the burning bush,
Do we see just that?
A bush on fire
but not consumed?
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.
Just like the burning bush before Moses,
A voice echoes out of the flames.
It's the voice of the crying orphan,
It's the voice of the stranger unsheltered,
It's the voice of the widow praying.
In each voice the cry of our people.
In each cry the voice of the Divine.
From the burning bush before us
the echo rings in our ears.
We are not yet at peace;
God hears our cries
with the cries of all the world.
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.
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