The Burning Bush Series

The Fire of God’s Presence

The Burning Bush

Exodus 3:1-6

“Where can I go from Your Spirit?

Where can I flee from Your presence?

If I go up to the heavens, You are there;

if I make my bed in the depths, You are there.

If I rise on the wings of the dawn,

if I settle on the far side of the sea,

even there Your hand will guide me,

Your right hand will hold me fast.”

Psalms 139:7-10

If God is truly and indivisibly present everywhere, why does His nearness so often feel distant? Why is it that the God who fills heaven and earth can still feel silent to our ears and hidden from our hearts? Scripture tells us we cannot escape His presence — yet experience tells us that we do not always encounter it.

That tension is not unique to us.

The Sons of Korah — Levitical singers, worship leaders, men whose lives revolved around the songs, sacrifices, and rhythms of the sanctuary — gave voice to a cry that still echoes in the soul of every believer:

“As the deer pants for streams of water,

So my soul pants for you my God.

My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.

When can I go to meet God?”

Psalms 42:1-2

These were not strangers to worship, nor outsiders looking in. Their calling was to lead others into the presence of God — and yet their words drip with longing, thirst, and ache. We might assume that those so close to the holy things would live in constant awareness of God’s nearness. And yet they ask, “When shall I come and appear before God?”

Why would men who knew the songs, guarded the sanctuary, and served in the courts of the Lord still cry out this way? Why would they later confess, “Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me?” (Psalm 42:11).

The answer forces us to confront a sobering truth:

God’s omnipresence does not guarantee intimacy.

Many believers today live content with occasional glimpses of God—a Sunday service, a hurried prayer, a passing thought of heaven—yet never truly draw near. We have learned how to remain comfortably lukewarm: close enough to maintain “a form of godliness,” yet distant from the nearness where God’s presence is felt and His grace transforms. And yet this raises an unavoidable question. Would the God who created us in His own image (Genesis 1:26), who placed eternity within the human heart (Ecclesiastes 3:11), and who gave His only begotten Son to atone for our sin (John 3:16), truly design a faith that keeps us at a distance? Scripture answers with a resounding no. God is not hiding from humanity. From Exodus to the Gospels, from the tabernacle to the cross, the invitation has always been the same: “Come near to God and He will come near to you” (James 4:8). The way has been opened — the question is whether we will respond.

This morning begins a new sermon series entitled The Fire of God’s Presence, a journey intended to confront spiritual complacency and awaken within us a holy dissatisfaction — an insatiable longing to draw nearer to the living God. In this first message, we turn to Moses at the burning bush, where we discover that God works through many seasons of our lives and that nothing in His economy is random or wasted. God’s desire has always been nearness, but nearness requires reverence. It is often in quiet, surrendered, holy moments before Him that our identity is clarified and our calling revealed. And it is through faithful obedience — not self-effort — that we come to know God, not merely in theory, but in living reality. If we desire to draw closer to God, we must first surrender the life we cannot keep, in order to receive the salvation and relationship we can never lose.

Moses Life Story – God Works Through Seasons

When a new king arose in Egypt “who knew nothing of Joseph” (Exodus 1:8), fear replaced gratitude. The Israelites had become “fruitful, they multiplied greatly, increased in number and became so numerous that the land was filled with them” (1:7), and Pharaoh viewed their growth not as blessing but as threat. What followed was ruthless oppression. They were enslaved and “worked them ruthlessly” (1:13), and when forced labor failed to curb their numbers, a chilling decree was issued: “Every Hebrew boy that is born you must throw into the Nile River” (1:22). It was into this moment of darkness that Moses was born. When his mother could no longer hide him, she took a papyrus basket, coated it with tar and pitch, placed the child in it, and put it among the reeds along the bank of the Nile (2:3–4). What Pharaoh intended for death, God turned into deliverance. The child was drawn from the waters and adopted by Pharaoh’s own daughter, raised and educated within the greatest empire on earth. Moses grew up with privilege, power, and preparation—trained in leadership, language, and governance.