Celtic Spirituality speaks of "thin places," spots where what is beyond is able to reach what is here and now, and us. I usually think of encounters with God as windows. But as I considered the story of Moses met by God at the burning bush, I was struck by the way that this encounter became a mirror.

Moses was in the wilderness, wandering with a herd of sheep. He was cut off from everything that he had been. Not for the first time. At birth, his family tried to hold on to him. After three months, they had to let him go, let him be claimed by an Egyptian, a princess. He grew and learned in the palace. He was absorbed into the culture and values of Egypt.

Just an aside from the story: as I described him learning a different language, eating different food, dressing differently than his birth family, praying as and when the Egyptians prayed, I thought of the First Nations children removed from their communities in the sixties scoop and since, dropped in White families, knowing their distant heritage, watching it from a far, absorbing White culture, knowing little or nothing about their birth culture. Thinking of Moses, I saw their trauma again.

When Moses grew up, he did not quite belong in the palace--he was not in the line of succession. He could not belong with the slaves either. We know that at some point, this troubled him. He saw an Egyptian overseer abusing an Israelite. He intervened, and killed the Egyptian.He was afraid, hid the body, hoped no one knew. I imagine he was afraid of himself as well, surprised that he could kill someone.

When he learned that some of the Israelites knew what he did, he ran away. He snuck across the Red Sea. He was taken in by a community of livestock herders at home in the wilderness. He learned a new language. He married, had children, found a place to belong. But it was a life cut off from everything that he had been.  

On an ordinary day, he took the animals to Mount Horeb, also called Mount Sinai, looking for food. On the hillside, he saw a bush on fire, but not burning up. Flames without smoke. His attention was caught. He moved away from the path to approach the bush.

As soon as he moved a few steps from the life he had adjusted to, God spoke: "Take off you shoes! This is holy ground."

The next words God spoke reconnected him to his family: "I am the God of your father." Then, God reconnected him with his birth heritage: "[I am] the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob." God chose to ground him in his birth history, to remind him of who he belonged to, who he was.

Moses bowed his head, afraid to look at God. This encounter was a mirror, not showing scars or the shape of his nose, but who he belonged to, who he was.

Then God said: "I have seen the suffering of my people, their cries because of their taskmasters."

Moses must have taken in a sharp breath. He also had seen the suffering of his people. He had heard the cry of the Israelites. But after one act of rash anger, he turned away from that knowledge. God did not forget, and God reminded Moses of what Moses knew. With that knowledge came responsibility.

The two things Moses saw were connected: once he saw who he was, he also knew what he had to do. Encounters where we see ourselves clearly are like this because they situate us in the world. An encounter that allows us to see ourselves clearly also puts us in a context. A moment in the forest where we see the amazing beauty and intricate connections of creation remind us of the creator and help us see ourselves as part of creation. But with that knowledge also comes the responsibility to care for creation.

I have usually thought of thin places, thin moments, as uplifting. Dawn colours on still water bring peace and a sense of transcendence. But I think these encounters are also infused with a vision of the work that we must do.

Cathy Hird lives on the traditional territory of the Saugeen Ojibway