Commentary on Exodus 3:1-15

The narratives that open the book of Exodus are trying to sort out, among other topics, questions of identity. By the end of Genesis, Jacob’s son Joseph had found prosperity and power in Egypt, but then a new king of Egypt arose “who did not know Joseph” (Exodus 1:8). Thus, the book starts with the implicit question, “Who is this Joseph?” The “who is” questions continue, both directly and indirectly: Who is this Moses, that he should go to Pharaoh to demand the Hebrews’ freedom? Who is this God, apparently silent for so long, who now hears the cry of his people in bondage?¹ Who is this Pharaoh, that he should aspire to the power of the God of Israel?

The “who is” formulation, which appears in our passage in Exodus 3:11, carries some of the same implications in Hebrew that it does in English. “Who am I” can indicate basic forgetfulness or an existential reckoning, but it can also mean “What authority do I have to do this task? What standing do I have for this job? What is it about me that makes me the one needed in this moment?” When Moses says, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh, and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” (Exodus 3:11), he wonders what qualifies—or dooms—him for such a quest.

Notably, God does not answer Moses’s question. Or perhaps we could say that God does answer the question, but not with the kind of answer we or Moses would expect: “[God] said, ‘I will be with you; and this shall be the sign for you that it is I who sent you: when you have brought the people out of Egypt, you shall worship God on this mountain’” (Exodus 3:12).

“Who am I?” asks Moses. “I am with you,” answers God. Moses’s identity, authority, and existence all come from the persistence of God’s presence with him. Earlier in Exodus, Moses’s bona fides had been established through narrative details that emphasize his Hebrew lineage on the one hand, and the access he has to Egyptian power on the other. He is the son of two Levites (Exodus 2:1–2). He is born during Pharaoh’s genocide of the Hebrew boys, but he is saved by the actions of both Hebrew and Egyptian women: his mother and sister, and Pharaoh’s daughter (Exodus 2:3–10). He exhibits loyalty to his fellow Hebrews (Exodus 2:11–15) but is mistaken for an Egyptian when he first meets Reuel’s daughters at the well (Exodus 2:19).

“Who is Moses” appears to require a complicated answer. Here at the burning bush, though, Moses’s identity and qualifications are distilled down to the only thing that ultimately matters: God is with him.

At the same time, God is known through God’s relationship with Israel. God first introduces himself to Moses by saying, “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob” (Exodus 3:6). Then, after God has responded to Moses’s “who am I” question, Moses has a “who are you” question: “If I come to the Israelites and say to them, ‘The God of your ancestors has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ what shall I say to them?” (Exodus 6:13).

God again gives a perplexing answer—“I am who I am” (Exodus 6:14)—that nonetheless echoes the idea of enduring presence established in verse 11. But then God continues: “Thus you shall say to the Israelites, ‘The LORD, the God of your ancestors, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, has sent me to you’” (Exodus 6:15). In the exodus narrative, God’s identity is continually rooted in God’s ongoing covenant relationship with Israel.

As for Pharaoh? His name is never known, only his title. He is another tyrant, representative of all, replaceable with any other. He will have his own questions: “Who is the LORD, that I should listen to him and let Israel go? I do not know the LORD, and I will not let Israel go” (Exodus 5:2). The rest of the exodus account will be introducing Pharaoh to YHWH. When all is said and done, Pharaoh will know the God of Israel through God’s exercises of power in the plagues and, ultimately, in the drowning of Pharaoh’s army in the sea.

The flashy part of this week’s reading is, of course, the burning bush. But the burning bush is neither the heart nor the point of this text. Instead, just like God’s answer to Moses’s “who am I” question, the burning bush calls Moses’s attention—and ours—to the revelation of the God of Israel, who remains the center of this narrative.

Who is this Moses? The one whom God accompanies to accomplish God’s purposes. Who is this Pharaoh? A demagogue and tyrant whose power will never match that of the living God of Israel. And who is this God? The God of our ancestors in the faith; the one who was, is, and shall be; the one who is always with us.

Notes

1. I use pronouns for God in this essay for smoother prose, and I choose masculine ones to better reflect the original Hebrew. However, the depiction of God in the exodus story is just one testimony—reliable but incomplete—for the character of God and does not convey the totality of all God is, gendered or otherwise.