Yours, O Lord, is the day. Yours also is the night.

Yesterday we had Christmas brunch at our President's house. The warm hospitality of Dr. Husbands and Becky, and their generous spirits, give me continued hope and role models for how Christian lives are lived out in the warmth of encouragement, blessing, and fellowship for greater causes the Lord has called us to.  Both of them model this, and the executive team received a liturgical devotional book titled "Every Moment Holy".   I started reading it and have been glued to it, and the author Douglas McKlevey's words from one particular liturgy for the "One who works the night shift" spoke to me in my quiet time this morning. Having, in the past, managed teams globally after a day job at night, this resonates somehow... though the prayers are so good they could work for all laborers, day or night. Both belong to the Lord :) 

Yours, O Lord, is the day. Yours also is the night. 

While others have moved through
The work of the day, I have slept, keeping a counter rhythm
as the bustled hummed around me. 

Now, as the day declines and I rise,
Bless the rest I have had, O Lord,
and multiply its effects in my body,
For I am weary, and the fog of sleepiness seems always to hang about me. 

The edges fray, O Lord, for I am one
who keeps time in two worlds:
a hand in the day,
a hand in the night, 
circling, circling.
The evening is as morning to me, and the morning marks the dawn of the night. 

But all hours you are with me.
At all hours, you are at once working and resting as you rule over your creation.
Somehow, by the mysterious working of your Holy Spirit, let me be at work and also
at rest in you this night. 

O Christ Our Light, 
all hours belong to you.
You made the sun to rule the day and the moon to govern the night. 

Help me to find an ally in the moon-
that light that shines because it mirrors
a greater light. May my own life reflect,
however partially, you, O Light of the World. 

Often, work is itself a mirror,
reflecting to me something about myself
I would not otherwise notice.
Help me to see myself more honestly,
both my strengths and my weaknesses,
and to trust that you are at work in my life
As I work this night. 

Yours O Lord,m is the day,
Yours also is the night. 

And I pray you would meet me, O Lord,
As you often meet your children,
in the night hours:

Under a dark sky, you gave
Abraham your promise
All night long, Jacob wrestled with you to receive a blessing. 
Nicodemus came to you under the cover of darkness,
Lord Christ, seeking to know you better.
And you, Jesus, labored in prayer through the night
and knew the loneliness of those hours:
       "Watch with me," you said.
Even you had to steel yourself for the work
That was yours to do. 

And so, I join the company of those who have gone
before me into the labor of the night hours,
which is also the vigil.
May my work be prayer, and in and through it
May I keep company with you, Lord Christ?

Be with me and my beloved ones (my insert)
O Christ, for the work of this night.
Bless them and keep them.
Make your face shine upon them.
And be gracious to them.
Turn your face towards us and give us your Shalom.

I lift to you the work ahead, that which is known, 
and that which is unknown to me. 

There is nothing that comes tonight (or this morn/day)
That is a surprise to you; all is known to you.
So I entrust myself to you, Lord God:
Heart, soul, mind, and strength. 

I trust you with those I love, from whom?
I am absent as I work. Bless their day or sleep that they enjoy,
Keep watch over them while I am away. When they feel afraid 
or are gripped by worry for my well-being
and are tempted to imagine the worst,
May your Spirit minister comfort, like
a warm hand on their back. 

And when we feel the pain of aloneness begotten by our opposite schedules,
May we find a way to turn toward one another, reach through the fatigue, and
show each other loving attention and gentleness. 

Grant me then the grace to be ware of your faithful presence: You who are always at once working
and resting as you rule over your creation.
And when the daylight comes,
Help me receive from your sleep, I need.
to wake at nightfall (or in the morn), and again
keep watch with you. 

Yours, O Lord, is the day.
Yours also is the night. 

Amen Amen  

May this prayer be a blessing to you as it has been for me. Dr. Sam Kurien

The Ancient Enemy: What Bondi Beach Reveals About a Battle That Never Ended

 The Ancient Enemy: What Bondi Beach Reveals About a Battle That Never Ended

The images from Bondi Beach stopped me cold. Jewish families celebrating Hanukkah—the Festival of Lights—were attacked in broad daylight in Australia. Not in some conflict zone. Not in a dark alley. On a beach, in December, in one of the most cosmopolitan cities on earth.

We're witnessing something that defies purely sociological explanation.

Antisemitism is surging globally, and while hatred against any people group demands our complete condemnation and swift action, there's something uniquely persistent about this particular hatred. Something that has survived every civilization, every century, every attempt at eradication. As someone who studies patterns and root causes, I've come to believe this isn't merely a matter of cultural inheritance or political positioning. There's a spiritual dimension operating here that transcends rational analysis.

An Old Story Made New

This morning in church, the reading came from Exodus 17, and I couldn't escape the parallel. The Amalekites attacked the children of Israel as they emerged into the wilderness—specifically targeting the weak and vulnerable at the rear of the procession. Then came a second assault at Rephidim. This wasn't opportunistic raiding. This was systematic hatred aimed at annihilation.

God's response reveals something profound about His character: He declared He would wipe out the memory of Amalek from under heaven. The Almighty—patient, merciful, slow to anger—drew a line. There are forms of evil that provoke divine judgment precisely because they prey on the defenseless.

But here's what strikes me about this account. The battle wasn't won by Moses alone on the mountain, or Joshua alone in the valley. Victory required partnership—warriors fighting, intercessors praying, and Aaron and Hur holding up weary arms when Moses could no longer sustain them himself. God orchestrated triumph through collaboration, not isolation.

The Consequences of Incomplete Obedience

The story doesn't end in Exodus. It never does.

Centuries later, King Saul received explicit instructions to finish what Israel started—to eliminate the Amalekite threat completely. He failed. He spared King Agag, who fled to Shushan in Persia. Fast forward again. Haman the Agagite—a direct descendant of the king Saul should have executed—rises to power and engineers a plot to exterminate every Jew in the Persian Empire. The seed of Amalek, preserved through disobedience, became an existential threat once more. This is the pattern that haunts me: mercy extended to evil that refuses transformation becomes mercy weaponized against the innocent. God's patience creates space for repentance. When that space is exploited rather than honored, the consequences compound across generations.

The Vulnerability Factor

There's another thread in Exodus 17 worth examining. Just before the Amalekite attack, the Israelites were complaining about thirst. Their hearts had shifted from grumbling to contending—from frustration to pride. It was precisely in this moment of spiritual vulnerability that the enemy struck. I've seen this pattern in organizational leadership, in personal struggles, in spiritual warfare. The enemy doesn't attack when we're strong and vigilant. He waits for exhaustion, for distraction, for the moment when our defenses drop and our hearts turn inward.

The wilderness wasn't just a geographic location for Israel. It was a crucible that revealed what was inside them. And it's in our own wilderness seasons—when physical, emotional, or spiritual resources run thin—that we're most susceptible to attacks we'd otherwise deflect.

The Cost of Silence

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, writing from the heart of Nazi Germany, understood something about complicity: "Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act."

Martin Luther King Jr. echoed this insight from a different vantage point: "The ultimate tragedy is not the oppression and cruelty by the bad people but the silence over that by the good people."

Both men paid for these convictions with their lives.

The battle against antisemitism—and against hatred in all its forms—isn't fought only by those on the front lines. It's fought by those who refuse to look away. By those who speak when silence would be easier. By those who, like Aaron and Hur, position themselves to strengthen weary arms.

Raising the Banner

Exodus 17 closes with Moses building an altar and naming it *Yahweh-Nissi*—"The Lord Is My Banner." Then comes this declaration: "The Lord will have war with Amalek from generation to generation."

This isn't fatalism. It's clarity. Some battles persist across ages because the enemy's hatred endures. The question isn't whether we'll face this ancient adversary. The question is whether we'll stand.

Edmund Burke reportedly said, "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." Whether those exact words were his or not, the sentiment has proven true across every generation that's been tested.

The Jewish families on Bondi Beach weren't asking for special treatment. They were lighting candles and celebrating their heritage. They were doing what their ancestors had done for thousands of years, despite every attempt to stop them.

Our response—intercession, advocacy, solidarity, and refusing the comfort of silence—isn't peripheral to our faith. It's the substance of it. God invites us into partnership with His purposes, and those purposes have always included defending the vulnerable and standing against darkness.

The Lord is still my banner. And this war continues from generation to generation.

The question is simply this: which side of the battle line will we stand on?

Thoughts this Sunday morning - 

Shalom

Dr. Sam Kurien

Grace: More Than Forgiveness

 Grace: More Than Forgiveness

I love the hymn "Amazing Grace." I'm sure millions do. There's a reason it has endured for over 250 years and crossed every cultural and denominational boundary imaginable. John Newton wrote it from the wreckage of his own story—a former slave trader who encountered a mercy so profound it rewrote his entire identity. The opening line captures something we all instinctively know: grace found us when we were lost, blind, wandering. It saved us.

But here's what strikes me every time I sing it: Newton didn't stop at forgiveness. The hymn moves forward—grace that taught his heart to fear, then relieved those fears. Grace that brought him safe thus far, and grace that will lead him home. Newton understood that grace wasn't a one-time rescue. It was an ongoing empowerment, a presence that carried him through every season that followed his conversion.

We often reduce grace to a transaction—God overlooking what we've done wrong. And while that's gloriously true, it's not the whole story. Grace isn't just God's unmerited favor. It's His empowering presence that enables you to become the person He sees when He looks at you.

The Father doesn't just forgive your failures and walk away. He provides grace—His actual power and enabling—to help you live from your new nature and grow into your full identity in Christ.

This is why Paul, when pleading for relief from his "thorn in the flesh," received a response that reframed everything: "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness" (2 Corinthians 12:9). God wasn't simply tolerating Paul's struggle. He was meeting it with something more substantial than removal—His own empowering presence in the midst of it.

Here's what I love about God's heart: Grace isn't just about getting what you don't deserve. It's about receiving supernatural ability to do what you couldn't do in your own strength—to love like Him, respond like Him, and live like Him.

Peter understood this when he wrote that God's divine power "has given us everything we need for a godly life" (2 Peter 1:3). Everything. Not most things. Not a good start. Grace isn't God handing you a moral framework and wishing you luck. It's God supplying the very capacity to live what He's called you to.

When you face situations that feel beyond your capacity, remember: Grace isn't just God being nice about your limitations. It's God providing His unlimited resources to meet your need in that exact moment. The writer of Hebrews invites us to "approach God's throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need" (Hebrews 4:16). Grace shows up precisely when and where you need it most.

The beautiful reality: You don't have to try harder to be a better Christian. You get to receive more grace—more of God's empowering presence—and let His strength become your strength. Paul discovered this paradox and embraced it entirely: "I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me" (2 Corinthians 12:9). Your inadequacy isn't a barrier to grace. It's the very condition that makes grace possible.

Newton spent the rest of his life as a pastor and abolitionist, advocating fiercely against the very trade that had once defined him. That's what grace does—it doesn't just pardon who you were. It empowers who you're becoming.

But Newton’s story doesn't end with his own transformation. In 1785, a young parliamentarian named William Wilberforce—brilliant, ambitious, and newly converted—was wrestling with whether to leave politics for ministry. He sought counsel from the aging Newton, now in his sixties and nearly blind. Newton's advice changed history: stay in Parliament. Use your position. The same grace that had redeemed a slave ship captain could empower a politician to dismantle the entire system.

For the next twenty years, Wilberforce fought relentlessly, enduring ridicule, exhaustion, and repeated defeats. Newton's influence and mentorship sustained him through the darkest seasons. When the slave trade was finally abolished in the British Empire in 1807—nearly six decades before America would follow—Newton was on his deathbed. He lived just long enough to see the first fruits of what grace had begun in his own broken life.

Think about that. The grace that saved a wretch like Newton didn't just transform one man. It rippled outward—through friendship, mentorship, and persistent encouragement—until it toppled an empire's economy of human trafficking. Wilberforce himself would later reflect that without Newton's pastoral care during his crisis of calling, he might have abandoned the very platform God had given him.

This is the compounding nature of grace. It doesn't stay contained in the person who receives it. It overflows. It empowers. It shapes history. The Puritan Thomas Watson captured this beautifully: "Grace and glory differ very little; the one is the seed, the other is the flower; grace is glory militant, glory is grace triumphant." Newton and Wilberforce lived out grace militant—fighting, persevering, enduring defeat after defeat, sustained not by their own resolve but by a power greater than themselves. The same grace that meets you in your weakness today is glory in seed form, already at work, already pressing toward its full bloom.

Kingdom Routine for today: When you feel overwhelmed or inadequate, pause and ask: "God, what grace do You want to give me for this situation? How do you want to empower me to respond from your nature instead of my limitations?"

Grace isn't just God's kindness toward your past—it's His power for your present and future.

Shalom,

Dr. Sam Kurien

Meditating on "Joy"

 When my daughter Abigail was born, I did what many fathers do—I researched her name. In Western contexts, Abigail is often translated as "Father's Joy," which is beautiful enough. But the deeper etymology tells a richer story.

Abigail comes from two Hebrew words: Avi (father) and Gael (joy). The meaning isn't "Father's Joy" as in something the father possesses. It's "Her Father is Joy." Yahweh is Joy. Joy isn't a character trait He possesses—it's who He is.

That distinction has stayed with me.

I'm writing this from Southeast Asia, where I've traveled to visit my father in South India. He's 91 now, facing the realities that come with age—health challenges, the slow loss of muscle mass, the quiet indignities of a body that no longer cooperates the way it once did. Watching him navigate this season has stirred something in me. In the midst of the anxieties that accompany these visits—the weight of distance, the uncertainty of time, the ache of watching a parent grow frail—my mind keeps returning to this question of joy. Not as an escape from what I'm feeling, but as an anchor through it.

Some Thoughts on Joy

Joy isn't dependent on your circumstances being perfect. Joy is the supernatural gladness that comes from knowing you're deeply loved, never alone, and that God is working everything together for your good.

This is why James opens his letter with what sounds like madness: "Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of various kinds" (James 1:2). He's not suggesting we enjoy suffering. He's pointing us to something deeper—that trials produce perseverance, and perseverance shapes us into people who lack nothing (James 1:3-4). Joy becomes possible in difficulty because God is doing something through it.

The Father doesn't withhold joy until your problems are solved or your life gets easier. His Joy is available in the midst of challenges because it flows from His unchanging character and His delight in relationship with you.

Peter understood this paradox intimately. Writing to believers scattered by persecution—people who had lost homes, livelihoods, and safety—he describes them as those who "rejoice with an inexpressible and glorious joy" even while suffering grief in all kinds of trials (1 Peter 1:6-8). How? Because they loved Someone they hadn't seen. Their joy wasn't anchored in circumstances but in a relationship with the living Christ.

Joy isn't about pretending everything is fine or forcing a smile through pain. It's about accessing the deep, unshakeable gladness that comes from your secure position in God's love. Peter calls this inheritance "imperishable, undefiled, and unfading" (1 Peter 1:4). No trial can touch it.

Here's the beautiful reality: You can experience genuine sorrow about circumstances AND supernatural joy about your relationship with God at the same time. Joy doesn't cancel out human emotions—it provides a foundation underneath them. Peter's audience was grieving (1 Peter 1:6). James acknowledged the weight of trials. Neither pretended the pain wasn't real.

When life feels heavy, joy reminds you that this isn't the end of your story. When circumstances feel overwhelming, joy points you to the God who is bigger than any situation you're facing. James promises that those who persevere under trial will receive "the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him" (James 1:12). Peter assures us that the genuineness of our faith—tested by fire—will result in "praise, glory, and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed" (1 Peter 1:7).

Kingdom Routine for today: When joy feels distant, ask God: "What brings You joy about our relationship right now? How do you see this situation I'm facing? Help me access the joy that comes from being Your beloved child."

Joy isn't the absence of difficulty—it's the presence of God's gladness in every season.

Shalom,

Dr. Sam Kurien

The Perilous Hope of a Works-Based Heaven

President Trump recently commented that he was trying to "get to heaven" and that his efforts to end the war in Ukraine would be one of the reasons. While many were quick to point out the flawed theology of his statement, it highlights a deeply concerning and widespread belief, even among many who identify as Christians: the dangerous idea of a works-based salvation.

The shocking reality is that this view is not an outlier. As John Stonestreet of the Colson Center notes in a recent Breakpoint commentary, citing a 2020 American Worldview Inventory, nearly half of all Americans believe that if a person is "generally good" or does enough good things, they can “earn” a place in Heaven. This is a dangerous theological drift, a complete abandonment of the Gospel of grace for a false gospel of human effort. This troubling trend is fully consistent with other beliefs infiltrating the church. According to the annual "State of Theology Study" from Ligonier Ministries and LifeWay Research, a majority of evangelicals deny the doctrine of original sin, a belief that completely undermines the need for a savior. A staggering number also believe that God accepts the worship of all religions, a direct contradiction of Jesus's own exclusive claim in John 14:6: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”

We must remember that the hope of heaven is not based on what we do, but on what Christ has already done. The Bible is clear on this. Ephesians 2:8-9 tells us, “For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.”

---

A Story of Humble Admission

The Hapsburgs, a family that ruled over a large portion of Europe for centuries, had a powerful funeral tradition that beautifully illustrates this very truth. While often cited as an ancient rite, the famous three-knock ceremony, where a master of ceremonies is denied entry to the crypt for the deceased's royal titles and accomplishments, is a more recent addition. It was first publicly performed in its modern form for the funeral of Empress Zita in 1989 and then again for her son, Otto von Habsburg, in 2011.

At the funeral procession, the master of ceremonies would knock three times on the doors of the Capuchin Church, where the Imperial Crypt is located. From within, a Capuchin friar would ask, "Who desires entry?" The master of ceremonies would first read a long list of the deceased's imperial titles and dignities. The friar would reply, "We do not know him." The master would knock again, this time listing the deceased's great political and academic achievements. "We do not know him!" the voice from within would repeat. Finally, after a third knock, the master of ceremonies would state the truth: "A mortal, sinful man." Only then would the doors swing open, allowing the body of the once-great ruler to be laid to rest.

This humble ceremony, though a more modern tradition, serves as a powerful and timeless metaphor for the Christian belief that our earthly titles and accomplishments, no matter how great, are ultimately meaningless before God. Our only hope for entry into His presence is through a humble recognition of our sinful nature and reliance on His mercy. As Romans 3:23 says, "for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." The true hope of heaven is not found in our works but in the finished work of Jesus Christ on the cross. It is the Good News that Babylon Bee so accurately, and non-satirically, captured in their headline: “God Agrees To Let Trump Into Heaven If He Repents Of His Sin And Trusts In Jesus Christ Alone For Salvation.” This is the only path. The only hope. It is grace alone, through faith alone, in Christ alone.

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Sources:

• Stonestreet, John. "President Trump and the Hope of Heaven." Breakpoint, Breakpoint.org.

• Ligonier Ministries and LifeWay Research. "The State of Theology Study."

• Various historical accounts of the Habsburg funeral rituals, specifically those of Empress Zita (1989) and Otto von Habsburg (2011).

• Various Bible verses from the books of John, Ephesians, and Romans.

• Image created with DallE

Walking in your Calling - Is actually unveiled as you walk with Him

We live in a world overflowing with books, articles, TED Talks, and—yes—even blog posts like this one, all urging us to “find our purpose,” “live our calling,” and “make a dent in the universe.” It’s a message relentlessly echoed by thought leaders, preachers, influencers, and armchair philosophers on social media. While some of their wisdom has merit, the sheer volume often leaves the modern-day pilgrim overwhelmed, confused, and discouraged. I am not discounting either when God also calls certain people to singular purposes/calling miraculously for the saving of many - Joseph, Moses, Paul the list in history is long as well... but for the majority of us its not often easy to find our calling as we go through umpteen transitions in life be it mini, micro or macro level shifts. 

During my quiet time this morning, I found myself drawn to Psalm 81, particularly verse 10:
"I am the Lord your God who brought you out of Egypt. Open wide your mouth and I will fill it."

We all experience our own versions of Egypt—seasons of wilderness, disorientation, or pain. And yet, it’s in these very places that God draws near. He brings us out, fills us, sustains us, and walks with us—if we allow Him to. The key isn't striving for purpose but participating in His work through surrendered partnership.

This reflection led me to consider the culture we’ve created around "calling." We often chase it like a career objective, a singular mission, or some grand impact we’re meant to have. But what if calling isn’t about a job title, a platform, or making a mark that the world recognizes?

What if we’ve missed the point?

Don’t get me wrong—I’ve read the books, followed the steps, and admired the wisdom of those who’ve gone before me. Their guidance has shaped parts of my journey. But tonight, I find myself longing for something deeper: to live and breathe in such a way that God’s nature flows through me—wherever I am, in whatever role or season I find myself.

The Father’s plans aren’t about perfect decisions; they’re about perfecting intimacy. His desire is for a relationship, not performance. As we walk with Him, He slowly forms our convictions and builds our character—sometimes through leaps forward, sometimes through the humbling process of unlearning.

Here’s the quiet revelation I’m sitting with tonight:

Calling unfolds as we walk with God. Not as we strategize, optimize, or overanalyze our way into significance.

Every season, every role, every misstep and relationship—whether “right” or “wrong”—becomes sacred ground where the Spirit teaches us His ways and reveals the image we are being transformed into. I think of Eustace from C.S. Lewis’s Voyage of the Dawn Treader—his transformation was slow, painful, but necessary. The scales had to come off before he could become who he truly was.

I’ve wrestled often with the agony of significance, and I admit, it’s mostly self-inflicted—comparison and competition can do that. But here’s the freeing truth: I’m not behind. I’m not late. I haven’t missed my calling.

I am a child of God, right where I need to be.
Partnering with Him.
Becoming the kind of person who reveals His heart.

So maybe the better question isn’t “What is my calling?” but rather:
“Lord, how can I partner with You today?”
“What aspect of your character do you want to form in me now?”

Holy Spirit, help me represent Your heart in this season—faithfully, humbly, and fully.
Let me love Jesus the way the saints and beloved ones before me did.

Shalom and blessings,
Dr. Sam Kurien

Thoughts in this Lent Season - John 13

 In the Gospel of John, chapter 13, Jesus washes the feet of His disciples before celebrating the Passover. He had long desired to share this meal with them one last time before going to the Cross to fulfill the Father’s will—to reconcile us to Himself. It wasn’t just the physical pain that weighed on Him, but the deeper anguish of being separated from the Father for the sake of humanity. He was about to take on betrayal, sin, and shame—not His own, but ours.

As I read this passage again, I felt transported back into that upper room. Jesus, fully aware of what was coming, poured out His love on the disciples one more time as He gently washed their feet. In those verses, I felt the love of the Savior anew—and I was reminded of how deeply I need His love again. I need His washing, His cleansing, and above all, His Holy Spirit to strengthen me—to love Him with all that I am, with power and resilience when I’m faced with the same choice: to choose Him above all the other loves that compete for my heart and so easily lead me into betrayal.

Peter loved Jesus passionately, yet in the moment of testing, he failed. Our Lord knew how fickle our human hearts are without His strength and our partnership with Him in prayer.

Abba Father, come again and renew in us the fresh faith, hope, and above all, the love that the saints before us had—washed and wrapped in the love of the Son of God—so our hearts are no longer orphaned. Train us by Your Holy Spirit to resist the schemes of the evil one. Your promise, Your truth, and Your integrity in what You have spoken are our only weapons of warfare. They lead us into joy—joy that disarms the enemy’s tactics, even our own, throughout this desert journey of life.

Let Your joy permeate us. Let it bubble up in every part of our being so we may stand firm in our faith.

Amen Amen SDG

Theophany - I AM who I AM revelations form Exodus 3:1--15

Recently, a friend asked for a few thoughts on a passage he was preparing for a homily based on the famous theophanic encounter Moses had with

Exodus 3:1-8 and exodus 3:13-15

Thoughts: 

• Moses had to step into his curiosity to see an incredible sight on the mountain of God (Horeb) - the burning bush not being consumed, which we know as the “Burning Bush encounter.” 
• God’s presence is always a Holy encounter—dangerous, but you will live instead of dying because He is Life. 
• The bush was consumed, yet it did not die, as Christ’s presence was in the bush, calling out to Moses to set him on a purpose: to participate in the redemption of His people. 
• When you step into His presence and seek His presence and set your face in seeking Him- You are first invited to the awareness of His Holiness (God asks him to remove his sandals as he stood on Holy ground) and into His intimacy. This positions you in the invitation that launches you into your purpose and calling.
• Stephen’s speech recounts this encounter of Moses seeing the One in the burning bush— in the New Testament, Acts 7:30–34 recounts this event during Stephen’s speech before the Sanhedrin:

“After forty years had passed, an angel (Jesus) appeared to Moses in the flames of a burning bush in the desert near Mount Sinai. When he saw this, he was amazed at the sight. As he went over to get a closer look, he heard the Lord say: ‘I am the God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.’ Moses trembled with fear and did not dare to look.” 

Our life pursuits should center around the passion of seeking Him and His presence, not just for searching for our purpose; it is a byproduct of our Being with Him and being in Him. The Love we Loved and the intimacy our Lord seeks—for He sent His only son on the cross to launch humanity’s greatest rescue and redemption mission. Beloved, He is worthy of our hearts’ attention, tenderness, and the government of our lives. 

Moses encounter of Jesus in the burning bush is also the pivotal revelation of Yahweh’s holy name I AM who I AM. A.W Tozer talks about the “is ”-ness of God. He is the ever-present God. With Him, there is no beginning and no end. He just is. The rabbis feared out of reverence to write his holy name. 

This touches on a rich theological moment—Moses’ encounter with God in the burning bush (Exodus 3)—a profound theophany and a foundational revelation of God’s name and nature. Here’s a fuller explanation, connecting it to A.W. Tozer’s reflections and Jewish reverence for the divine name:

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The Revelation of “I AM WHO I AM”

In Exodus 3:13–14, Moses asks God, “Suppose I go to the Israelites and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ Then what shall I tell them?” God replies:

“I AM WHO I AM. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: ‘I AM has sent me to you.’”

(Exodus 3:14, NIV)

This moment is pivotal in Moses’ life and the biblical narrative because God reveals His eternal, self-existent nature. The Hebrew phrase used is “Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh,” which can be translated as:

• “I Am Who I Am”

• “I Will Be Who I Will Be”

• “I Am the One Who Is”

This indicates God’s absolute being—He is not contingent on anything or anyone. He is uncaused, uncreated, eternal, and always fully present.

⸻

A.W. Tozer and the “Is-ness” of God

In The Knowledge of the Holy, A.W. Tozer reflects on God’s self-existence and unchanging nature. He writes:

“God has no origin… Origin is a word that can apply only to things created. God is ‘is.’”

Tozer emphasizes the “is-ness” of God to underline that God is always present, active, and complete. There’s no becoming with God—only being. This contrasts with human existence, which is constantly changing, growing, aging, or fading. God alone simply is, forever, “I AM.”

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The Holy Name and Jewish Reverence

In Jewish tradition, the revealed name—YHWH (Yahweh)—became God’s sacred, ineffable name, known as the Tetragrammaton. Out of reverence and awe, rabbis and scribes never pronounced the name aloud. Instead, when reading the Scriptures, they would say “Adonai” (Lord) or, in some contexts, “HaShem” (The Name).

This reverence extended to how they wrote the name:

• Scribes would go through ritual cleansing before writing YHWH.

• In many texts, they substituted it entirely with “Adonai” to avoid accidental misuse.

• Some modern Jewish traditions continue this by writing “G‑d” instead of “God.”

This fear wasn’t rooted in superstition but in a profound recognition of the sacredness of God’s being and name—an acknowledgment that this is not just a name but the vssence of the one who IS.

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Jesus and the Burning Bush Connection

When Jesus says in John 8:58,

“Before Abraham was, I AM,”

He is not just making a chronological claim but identifying Himself with Yahweh.

The crowd understood the weight of this statement, which is why they picked up stones to kill Him (John 8:59). Jesus was invoking the divine name revealed to Moses, declaring His eternal existence and unity with the Father.

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In Summary

• Moses’ encounter with God in the burning bush reveals God’s eternal self-existence.

• The name “I AM WHO I AM” signals a being who is unchanging, ever-present, and complete.

• Tozer emphasizes that God’s nature is pure “is-ness”—He simply is.

• The rabbis’ reverence for God’s name reflects a deep theological awe, protecting the sacred from casual or profane use.

• Jesus later directly connects Himself to this “I AM,” confirming His divine identity and continuity with the God of Moses.

Jesus: The I AM

Scripture: John 8:58

“Before Abraham was, I AM.”

• Jesus doesn’t just echo the name—He claims it.

• This reveals the oneness of Jesus with Yahweh and His eternal nature.

PRACTICAL APPLICATIONS of Exodus 3:13–14

1. Rest in God’s Constant Presence

“I AM” means God is always present—not past or future only, but right now.

How to apply:

• In anxiety or uncertainty, remind yourself: “God is here.”

• Practice breath prayers: Inhale — “You are.” Exhale — “With me.”

The cause of our breathing is actually “YHWH.” Yahweh is the cause of our breathing and very existence because His spirit gives oxygen to our lungs. 

• We Begin our day with: “God, I know You ARE with me today—present in every moment. Present in my every breath that I can take.”

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2. Trust in God’s Sufficiency

“I AM” implies whatever you need, God is.

How to apply:

• When you feel inadequate, say: “God, You are enough—even when I’m not.”

• Make a list of your current needs or fears, and beside each one, write:

• “God is Provider”

• “God is Peace”

• “God is Wisdom”

• “God is Strength”

Replace my small “I” with the God who says - I AM. So when I feel and tell the voices in my head and heart - I am not enough replace it with I AM THE GOD WHO IS ENOUGH FOR ME, or (when I believe the lie I cannot provide) replace it with - the truth. 

I AM THE GOD WHO IS MY PROVIDER

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3. Respond to God’s Calling

Like Moses, we may feel unqualified. But God doesn’t call the qualified—He qualifies the called.

How to apply:

• Say “yes” to that nudge to serve, lead, speak, or help—even if you’re scared.

• Remember: The call of God comes with the presence of God.

He doesn’t say “Go” without also saying “I will be with you.” (Exodus 3:12)

He is so faithful that He is a God who Leo equips you to carry out your calling. When we steep our hearts in this awareness and gratitude, weincreasingly enjoy His presencee. 

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4. Worship with Reverence

God’s name is holy. His presence is sacred.

“Take off your sandals”—remove distractions, come humbly.

How to apply:

• Before you pray or read Scripture, pause. Acknowledge: “This is holy ground.”

• Create moments of silence in your day just to sit with God—not to ask, but to revere, adore. We have an adoration chapel for this very reason. Still, we can create for ourselves spaces in our house, in nature, at our favorite hiking places, or maybe our secret vacation spot..wherever it might be, come in the posture of your love and adoration to be at his feet. We see Mary doing this in the scriptures, and Jesus commends her for having made the better, might I say, the best choice. 

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5. Embrace Your Identity in Light of His

Knowing “I AM” shapes who I am.

Our identity is defined not by our self-awareness (which is good to a certain extent) but by seeking Him, when our identity radically changes or transforms. Psalm 139 King David asks God to gaze into him so he is not just novel.

Gazing and thinking about himself. David shows us he wants God to come to him. I love how one of the new translations (TPT) says it ; 

“God, I invite your searching gaze into my heart. Examine me through and through; find out everything hidden within me. Put me to the test and sift through all my anxious cares. See if there is any path of pain I’m walking on, and lead me back to your glorious, everlasting way— the path that brings me back to you.”

Psalms 139:23-24 TPT

How to apply:

• Instead of defining yourself by what you’ve done or what you lack, define yourself by who you are:

• “I am loved by I AM.”

• “I am sent by I AM.”

• “I am not alone—I AM is with me.”

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Reflection Prompt or Journal Entry Idea:

• Where in my life do I need to remember that God simply IS—present, enough, and holy?

Notes:

A theophany is a visible or tangible manifestation of God to human beings.

The word comes from the Greek:

• “theos” = God

• “phaino” = to appear or show

So, theophany literally means “God appears.”