God Sees…..

God Sees…..

Exodus 3: 1 – 6

Exodus 3: 7 – 12

May 31, 2026

There are moments in life when people wonder about a question they may never say out loud, “Does God actually see what I’m going through?” We ask it when the diagnosis comes back positive. When the marriage feels strained. When the retirement years feel lonelier than expected. When our “best friends forever” are suddenly no longer forever. When anxiety over school, friends, grades, or work keeps us awake at 2 a.m. When the world feels fractured by violence, division, and uncertainty.

Sometimes suffering creates a spiritual question, “God, are you paying attention?”

Exodus 3 answers these questions with remarkable clarity. In one of the most powerful encounters in all of Scripture, God reveals himself to Moses at a burning bush and says, “I have observed the misery of my people….., I have heard their cry….., I know their sufferings….., and I have come down to deliver them.” God sees, God hears, God knows, and God acts.

This is the heartbeat of this particular story. This is the loving heartbeat of God’s interactions with humanity. That heartbeat, that attention, that love may be exactly the kind of God that so many people desperately need today.

We live in a world overflowing with information but starving for compassion. We know what’s trending. We know stock prices. We know sports scores. We know the latest political outrage within seconds. We know judgment. We know cynicism, but far too many of us don’t know unconditional love, grace, and mercy. We live in a world of rhetorical heat, but little light.

We may live in a world of 24/7 information, but far too many of us feel lost amidst the headlines. People can be surrounded by crowds, noise, and activity and still feel lost and invisible. But Exodus tells us something beautiful. The God of Scripture notices.

The story begins quietly enough. Moses is tending sheep in the wilderness. That detail matters because Moses is far removed from the life he once had. Moses had been raised in the household of Pharoah. As an adult, he was a man of influence, education, status, opportunity and – above all – power.

But now? He is a shepherd in the desert. His life feels hidden. He feels forgotten. And maybe some of us understand that feeling. Life does not always unfold according to plan. There are seasons when dreams fade. New technologies emerge, and old careers end. Relationships break, and so life changes. Moses had to have felt that his greatest chapter was behind him.

Then suddenly he notices something strange. A bush is on fire and yet is not turning to ash. The text tells us, “Moses said, ‘I must turn aside and look at this great sight.” This great sight, the burning bush, becomes a holy interruption.

Perhaps that is one way God still works today. God interrupts ordinary life. Not always through literal fire, but instead through moments that we cannot ignore. A conversation with a trusted friend pierces our heart with truth. We feel a pressing burden for someone who is in need. There is a growing restlessness within us that tells us God is not done with us. A time when a sudden crisis forces us to reevaluate everything.

Sometimes God gets our attention by disrupting our routines. Oh, we may fight it. We may do all we can to ignore the threat to our carefully conceived and protected norm. But God is patient. God is relentless. God is faithful.

Moses approaches the bush, and then God speaks. “Moses, Moses.” Notice this carefully, it is so easy to gloss over and miss. Before God gives Moses an assignment, God calls him by name. Because God is personal. God is not some cosmic, impersonal force, floating somewhere out there in the cosmos.

This God, our God, is a God who knows names – our names. This God is a God who knows stories, who knows wounds, a God who knows fears, failures, and hidden griefs. And then comes one of the most powerful, love-filled declarations in Scripture. “I have observed the misery of my people in Egypt.”

The Hebrew language here carries the idea of deep attention. God is not casually glancing toward suffering. God is fully, deeply, personally aware of it.

The Israelites had been enslaved for generations. Beaten down, now oppressed, holding absolutely no political power. Perhaps worst of all, like all those who have been beaten, defeated, and had their noses rubbed in it, they had to be wondering whether they had been forgotten by God. But they had not.

God says, “I see it, I hear it, I feel it, I know what you are going through.” Friends, there is tremendous comfort in being seen, being heard, being known. Not superficially. Not politely.

Not in passing. No, truly being seen, heard, and known.

There are people who walk into church every Sunday carrying burdens nobody else knows about. We are so good at creating a successful façade. But inside we struggle. Those struggles, that pain – each of them has a name, don’t they? Financial fears. Marital struggles. Cancer treatments. Loneliness. Addictions in their family. Quiet despair. People come in, wearing their careful constructed facades even into this place, and they wonder, “Does anyone notice, does anyone understand, does anyone care?”

Exodus gives us an answer to those painful questions. Yes. Yes. Yes, God sees. God sees not only the polished version of ourselves we present publicly, but God also sees the exhausted version, the grieving version, the anxious version, the doubting version that lies beneath the façade. God sees, and God does not turn away.

But God says more. “I have heard their cry.” God hears. That may seem obvious, but suffering has a way of making people feel unheard. Especially prolonged suffering. Israel had cried out for years. Maybe some of them assumed heaven was silent, and perhaps some of us here understand that feeling as well.

You prayed for healing, but the illness continued. You prayed for reconciliation, but the relationship stayed broken. You prayed for direction, but clarity never came. And over time, disappointment can quietly become spiritual exhaustion.

But Exodus reminds us, delayed answers are not the same as divine absence. God heard every cry, every prayer whispered in exhaustion, every groan uttered in grief, every desperate plea spoken in the dark.

Friends, God still hears today. God hears – God is attentive to the prayers prayed in hospital rooms; the prayers prayed beside gravesides; the prayers prayed by parents worried about children; the prayers prayed by children worried about their parents; the prayers prayed by people trying to hold onto faith when life feels heavy.

God hears all of it, and then comes the third word. “I know their sufferings.” That word “know” in Scripture means more than intellectual awareness. It means an intimate understanding.

God does not merely know about suffering. God enters into it. As Christians, we understand this even more deeply because we see the God who enters into human brokenness and suffering in Jesus. Jesus - a Savior who wept. A Savior who suffered. Jesus - a Savior betrayed by friends, rejected by crowds, and nailed to a cross.

Christianity does not offer to us a distant God untouched by pain. Instead, we learn of a God who entered human suffering personally, a God who understands grief from the inside. That matters because many people can tolerate pain better than they can tolerate isolation. What crushes the human spirit is the feeling that nobody understands.

But God says to Moses, just as God says to each of us, “I know.” I know your fear. I know your disappointment. I know your loneliness. I know your exhaustion. I know the burden you carry for your family. I know the ache you cannot explain to anyone else.

God sees. God hears. God knows. But the story does not stop there. Because if God only saw suffering but never responded, there would be little hope. But then God says, “I have come down to deliver them.” God sees. God hears. God knows, and God….. acts.

This is one of the Bible’s defining truths. God is not passive. God moves toward brokenness. Throughout Scripture, we see this pattern again and again. God acts for Noah. God acts for Abraham. God acts for Ruth. God acts for David. God acts for the exiles. God acts through Christ, and, friends, God acts for you.

Often, God acts through people, and that is where Moses in our story becomes uncomfortable. Because after describing the suffering of Israel, God says, “So come, I will send you.”

Moses probably wanted sympathy from God. Instead, he received a calling.

Immediately, Moses begins resisting. “Who am I?” Who am I to make a difference? Who am I to help, or lead, or serve? How can I make a difference? Moses feels inadequate because he remembers his failures.

Friends, maybe that is why God chose him. Some of the most dangerous people I have ever met are people who honestly believe that they are God’s gift to the Session, Deacons, committee, or a team that they are on.

People who know their own weakness often become more dependent on God’s strength.

Notice, God does not answer Moses by praising Moses. Instead, God says, “I will be with you.” Friends, that is the answer; it is ALWAYS the answer!

The power needed to overthrow Pharaoh and lead Israel out of Egypt was never going to come from Moses. It would come from God’s presence. That is still true today. God does not call perfect people. God calls available people. People who are willing to trust Him one step at a time. People, willing to serve even while uncertain. People, willing to love others despite their own imperfections.

And perhaps this is where Exodus 3 becomes deeply personal for us. Because there are still people crying out today. Lonely people. Hurting people. Searching people. People wondering if anyone sees them. And God still responds through His people.

Sometimes God answers loneliness through a phone call – your phone call. Sometimes God answers grief through your compassionate presence. Sometimes God answers injustice through your courageous work. Sometimes God answers despair through a faithful church community.

In other words, the church is called to reflect the character of God. If God sees, we should learn to see people. If God hears, we should become better listeners. If God knows suffering, we should move toward hurting people instead of away from them. If God acts, we should not remain passive in the face of need.

The burning bush was not just a mystical experience. It was a commissioning. Moses encountered the heart of God and was then sent into the world. And perhaps that is the invitation for us as well.

An invitation to become people who notice others. People who slow down enough to see the pain in others. People who offer encouragement. People who give generously. People who embody hope in a fearful world. Because the church is never more beautiful than when it reflects the heart of God.

Friends, the God who spoke to Moses still speaks today. Still calls names. Still notices suffering. Still responds to cries. Still moves toward brokenness. Still delivers. Still heals. Still guides. Still loves.

The same God who met Moses in the wilderness meets us in our wilderness today. No matter what burden you carried into this sanctuary today, hear these words again. God loves you. God sees you. God hears you. God knows, and God is already at work for you. Amen.