Human beings are amazing creatures. We can build skyscrapers, transplant hearts, send people into space, and teach a telephone to recognize our face. But ask us to do something difficult—even something we have dreamed about doing—and suddenly we become extraordinarily creative theologians.
“I would, Lord, but…”
That sentence may be humanity’s oldest hymn.
Moses certainly knew the tune. In Exodus 3, God appears to him in a burning bush and essentially says, “Moses, remember that thing you have cared about most of your life? Remember your people suffering in Egypt? Remember how you once tried to do something about it? Well, I’m sending you.”
You would expect Moses to shout, “Finally!”
Instead, Moses begins producing excuses like a Louisiana mosquito produces relatives.
“Who am I?”
“What if they don’t believe me?”
“What if I don’t know what to say?”
“I’m not a good speaker.”
And finally, when the theological arguments run out: “Lord, please send somebody else.”
That last one is refreshingly honest.
We do exactly the same thing.
“I’ve always wanted to write a book.”
Wonderful. Start writing.
“Well, I really need the right desk.”
So we buy the desk.
“Now I need the right chair.”
We buy the chair.
“Of course, proper lighting is important.”
Six months later we have a magnificent home office, three notebooks, seventeen pens, a new computer—and not one sentence.
Or maybe we have always wanted to get in shape. Monday morning arrives with all the promise of a new creation. Unfortunately, Monday is inconvenient. Tuesday looks better, except there may be rain. Wednesday is Bible study. Thursday feels too close to Friday, and everybody knows you should never begin anything major that close to a weekend.
Next Monday it is.
Church people are particularly gifted at sanctifying excuses.
“Someone ought to visit that person.”
Someone ought to.
“We really need somebody to work with the children.”
Absolutely.
“Somebody should invite that new family to lunch.”
Amen!
Apparently, “Somebody” is the busiest member of every congregation in America.
The funny thing is that we sometimes make excuses about doing the very things we have asked God to let us do.
We pray for an opportunity, and when God provides one, we say, “Not quite what I had in mind.”
We pray, “Lord, use me.”
God says, “All right.”
And suddenly we begin renegotiating the contract.
“Lord, when I said ‘use me,’ I was thinking perhaps in an advisory capacity.”
Moses discovered something important at the burning bush. God never really answered Moses’ question, “Who am I?”
Instead, God answered the question that mattered: “I will be with you.”
That is the hope for all of us excuse makers.
God does not wait for us to become fearless, eloquent, organized, perfectly prepared, ten pounds lighter, completely confident, or free next Tuesday.
God simply calls.
And when our excuses begin piling up, God keeps saying what he said to Moses:
I will be with you.
So perhaps the next time God opens the door we have spent years asking him to open, instead of developing another excellent reason why we cannot walk through it, we might take one trembling step.
We excuse makers may discover that God has already gone ahead of us.
And apparently, he is not nearly as impressed with our excuses as we are.