Holy Ground
This sermon explores the story of Moses, a man caught between identities, carrying the weight of his past in his body. It reveals how God meets him—not in perfection, but in exile—and calls him by name, inviting him to stand still and recognize his belovedness. Through Moses’ journey, we are reminded that holy ground is not a distant place but wherever God meets us, calling us to belong.
The Glimpses of Grace podcast is a ministry of Grace Episcopal Church in Gainesville, Georgia. We are passionate about supporting the spiritual growth of souls, and we hope these sermons and conversations meet you where you are and enrich your soul as we all continue to make meaning in the world today.
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Transcript
“O God, you are my God; eagerly I seek you;
my soul thirsts for you, my flesh faints for you,
…my soul clings to you.” Amen.
We carry stories in our bodies—memories of joy and sorrow,
of struggle and resilience.
Some of these stories shape us in ways we recognize and take pride in,
while other memories rest beneath the surface,
waiting to be acknowledged…the wounds healed.
Moses’ story is one of such complexity. His life had been one of extremes—
born into slavery, raised as royalty, and ultimately living as a fugitive in exile.
As a young child, we remember that his mother hid him in a basket,
saving her son from Pharaoh’s decree,
only to be found and adopted by the very family
that sought to destroy his people.
Moses grew up in the splendor of Egypt’s palace, learning its ways,
enjoying its privileges, and perhaps even forgetting for a time
the people who had given him life.
But that palace was far removed from the suffering of Moses’ people,
the Hebrew people, whose bodies carried the weight of oppression.
Yet, because of his ancestors’ scars, Moses’ own body remembered…
his body bore the imprint of his people’s pain.
So when he saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew,
something deep within him ignited.
Anger erupted and in a desperate, decisive act of justice,
he struck the Egyptian down and buried the body in the sand.
His place in the palace was shattered
and Moses was set on a path from privilege to exile.
Moses fled into the wilderness of Midian,
where he would learn a new way to listen, to speak, to be.
For the next forty years, Moses lived as a shepherd in the hills of Midian.
The man who once walked in Pharaoh’s courts
now lived in the dust of the desert, tending sheep with his father-in-law.
It was a life of quiet solitude—one far removed from the grandeur of Egypt.
He had likely buried those memories deep in his heart,
trying to forget the painful actions that had led him to where he now was.
The body does not forget.
The weight of his past still lived within him—
A soul torn between identities.
A man caught between worlds.
He had no homeland, no clear identity, no settled sense of belonging.
And that’s where we meet Moses today: there is more to Moses’ story.
He has built a life in exile.
A wife, a family, a job tending livestock.
But he still isn’t home—not in Egypt, not in Midian, not even in his own skin.
And then, in the ordinary rhythms of shepherding, he sees a flame.
A bush, burning but not consumed.
He turns aside—curiosity gets the best of him—
and suddenly, a voice calls him by name:
“Moses…take off your shoes, for your standing place is sacred soil.”
Why take off his shoes?
Shoes are what we wear when we’re on the move, when we are passing through,
when we are not at home.
Moses has spent his life passing through.
But here, in this moment, God is asking Moses to stop. To stand still.
To root himself.
In the body, memory lives deep.
Trauma, loss, displacement, abandonment—
they don’t just vanish when time moves us forward in the world.
The body remembers.
The soles of Moses’ feet have walked palace halls, desert sands, foreign lands.
His body carries the complexities and intricacies of all he has been:
son, slave, prince, fugitive, wanderer, husband, father.
And now, as he stands before God, his body will remember this too—
the feel of holy ground beneath his feet…of home.
Moses isn’t on some pilgrimage to find himself. He hasn’t even called out to God.
He is in the wilderness doing his work.
And yet, God meets him where he is.
God doesn’t wait for Moses to sort out his identity, to figure out who he really is,
to make peace with his past.
God calls him as he is—shadow self and all.
That’s just the way of God.
We don’t have to have it figured out before God speaks.
We don’t have to be whole before God calls us to something more.
God doesn’t erase Moses’ past—
his slavery, his royal upbringing, his failure, his flight.
God claims it. Uses it. Calls him through it.
“I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob”
Not just the God of his ancestors, but the God of his own family—
the family who placed him in the Nile, hoping for a future he could not see.
The God of the past he’s been running from.
The God of every piece of him.
Moses, a man who has belonged nowhere, is finally called by name.
Moses is called to remember whose he is, to whom he belongs.
And in removing his shoes, he is invited to plant himself—
to let his feet sink into the dust of God’s presence, to stop wandering
and start belonging.
Because his calling is not somewhere else. It is here.
Because his identity is not a contradiction. It is a calling.
Because his past is not disqualifying. It is holy ground.
Moses will still wrestle. He will still argue with God.
But this is the beginning—when he lets himself be present,
barefoot before God’s mystery.
And isn’t that where God calls each of us?
Maybe, like Moses,
you carry the weight of a past you don’t know what to do with.
Maybe, like Moses,
you feel caught between worlds.
Maybe, like Moses,
you doubt that God can use someone like you.
But God meets us where we are, to call us to who we truly are.
Not in spite of our past, but through it.
Not in spite of our scars, but through them.
Not in spite of our questions, but right in the midst of uncertainty.
That’s the reality of a journey of faith.
Moses’ story suggests that perhaps holy ground is not a distant place we must
strive toward, but the very ground beneath our feet—
wherever God meets us.
The dining room floor where prayers are whispered before a meal.
The hospital room where tears are shed.
The sidewalk where kindness is shared.
Wherever we stop to listen, to speak, to be—that is where we belong.
Take off your shoes.
Be present.
Stand still.
Because where you are standing is holy ground.
Amen.