Who the Heck is Moses, Anyway?

In 1999, I was living and working in Memphis, Tennessee as part of a military relocation. As a gifted road-tripper and chronic relocator, I was rather comfy with moves that occurred every 2-3 years with the military.  It brought a fresh change of scenery and brought me cool, new accents what I would try out on my family when I would go home to Minnesota for Christmas.  (“Would y’all like to try my sweet potato casserole?”) This was how my relatives would know that I must have moved again, as all Midwesterners know that casserole is called “hot dish” in Minnesota.

I was always trying to plant some sort of roots in my new towns only if they had but short shoots on them.  It’s easier to grab them and rip them out of the dirt in 24 months when it’s time to go again without crying too much or having too large of a going away party. I would neatly and swiftly pack small apartments up and slip out the door and into the motoring U-Haul in the parking lot. 

As newcomer protocol, I would make a point to locate the nearest Chinese takeout, the nearest dry-cleaner, and the nearest Pottery Barn store.  I was not prepared for the day a patron at the fitness center I was working at asked me if I had found a home church yet.  Not a believer at the time (what I like to call “Jamie B.C.”) I smiled and rolled my eyes when he walked away.  I like to think back now at all of the times God knocked on the door of my heart and I quickly flipped the porch light off and pulled the blinds.

Day after day, this customer would poke his head into my workspace and invite me to his church. I would hide in the ladies’ locker room until I knew he had signed out for the day or I would quickly bend over and tie my shoe behind the counter if thought he might have seen me while he sipped water from the fountain.  I did not want to go to church and I did not want to have to give an answer to why I had no desire to go.  Sure, we could dress me up in heels and a straw hat and send me off to the nearest hand-clapping, foot-stomping gospel church in town, but the heels wouldn’t be high enough nor the straw hat large enough to distract from the baggage a woman like me would drag into a pretty ‘ol church like that. Churches to me, were full of “good Christians” both of whom I was neither. You weren’t gonna find me fainting or Halllelujah’ing any time soon, sista! 

I cannot recall the exact moment I stopped running from the man who kept inviting me to church. I went on a Wednesday as going for the first time on a Sunday seemed way too formal.  It was a casual weeknight bible study before Christmas and the pastor was away at a retreat and his son would be leading the study.  I had never owned a bible and fumbled awkwardly at the back of the pew to dislodge a raggedy bible from the pew pocket to follow along with.  This was over my head!  It was a study in the Old Testament and I was immediately thrown off by the extensively listing of tribes that the pastor’s son had pored over that night.  In looking back, the devil used everything in his stinkin’, rotten hands to scare me into not coming back and drinking the Living Water that was being shared that night.  Somewhere in the study, Moses came up.  I had heard of him before! He was swallowed up by a whale, right?  In my mind, I saw Moses, bearded and wizard-like in appearance, standing next to (or was it in, perhaps) water.  Was he a fisherman? A trick water-skier?  A merchant marine? Wait, I think he was the guy who was swallowed up by a fish.  I might actually be getting this!

When the bible study was over, the pastor’s son had approached me and thanked me for attending the study. He invited me back and then asked me if I had any questions for him.  In complete reluctance, I felt my palms sweating and my cheeks flushing as I searched for a way to make my question lack the stupidity I felt it oozing with.  I was in the house of the Lord here tonight and I worried that my theological question would lack the panache I needed to impress the pastor’s kid with my puny knowledge of doctrine.  I leaned in carefully, inhaled sharply and whispered, “Who the heck is Moses anyway?”  He leaned abruptly away from me and as if I had just spit while talking and said, “For real? You don’t know who Moses is? Girl, are you joking?”  Uh-oh, I could feel my heart beating in my ears and I think my stomach had fallen out of my butt.  I knew it! The pastor’s son laughed and proceeded to call a few others over to inform them that the new dummy in pew six had no idea who Moses was.  It was like being in the front row at a live comedy performance. You know when the comedian says, “How about the lady in the front row in the red sweater?”  And you suddenly realize you ARE the lady in the red sweater.  You know it’s going to hurt temporarily and while you writhe in pain, others will soon be laughing with glee at your screw up, be it not knowing who Moses is or choosing to buy that gaud-awful red sweater in the first place!

From that night on, I had abandoned all hope of finding God on my own.  Despite my academic knowledge and possession of a multitude of occupational licenses and certifications, my knowledge of God and any theology I had was squashed and my hopes of knowing God were deflated like a cheap set of tires. I was too dumb for God.  If I couldn’t even get to know the man who penned the first books of the Bible, how would I ever get to the New Testament where we are introduced to the messiah, the Savior Jesus?  I was a fool and apparently when other babies left heaven bound for earth, they were given a tri-fold brochure on Moses and Old Testament theology as a parting gift that I didn’t get.  It would be my hang-up about Moses that would keep me away from God for another full decade.

Dashboard Confession:  Dear, God, I still don’t really know who everyone in the Bible was or what they mean to the whole story.    Remind me, Lord, that I all I need to know is You and how much you love me. I want to know more of you, I desire you wholly. My knowledge of theology isn’t that of a scholar, but humbly, I know this much:  I love You and don’t ever want to live without you.