Moses fled Egypt with blood on his hands, trading palace robes for desert sand. He named his firstborn Gershom—"stranger here"—marking forty years of chasing sheep, not glory. His Egyptian education meant nothing in Midian’s wilderness. Yet God watched every step. [45:55]
Midian wasn’t a detour—it was preparation. Moses’ identity as prince and outcast collapsed so God could rebuild him as a shepherd-leader. Heaven’s plans thrive in forgotten places.
You might feel stalled in a "Midian season"—a job beneath your skills, a community that questions your place. Moses’ story says God is shaping you where others see only dust. What name have you given this season? Does it whisper "stranger" or "chosen"?
“When he heard this, Moses fled and became a resident alien in the land of Midian. There he became the father of two sons. After forty years had passed, an angel appeared to him in the wilderness of Mount Sinai, in the flame of a burning bush.”
(Acts 7:29-30, NLT)
Prayer: Ask God to show you His purpose in your current “Midian”—the place that feels like exile.
Challenge: Write down one family migration story (yours or a relative’s) and note where God was present.
For forty years, Moses answered to “Gershom’s father”—a man defined by displacement. Each time he called his son, he rehearsed his foreignness. Yet God used those decades to strip Moses of self-reliance. The desert became his sanctuary, not his prison. [50:52]
God doesn’t hurry Midian seasons. He lets roots grow in rocky soil. What we dismiss as wasted time, He calls holy preparation.
Your “Midian” might be a silent office, a lonely home, or a culture that mispronounces your name. But God still speaks in the accent of your heritage. When have you mistaken waiting for wasting?
“Gershom means ‘a foreigner there,’ for Moses said, ‘I have been a foreigner in a foreign land.’”
(Exodus 2:22, NLT)
Prayer: Thank God for three specific gifts this “wilderness” season has given you.
Challenge: Text a parent or elder asking how God sustained them during a difficult transition.
Moses stood shoeless before a burning bush in Midian—the ultimate “outsider” on holy ground. God didn’t demand he return to Egypt first. Holiness met him in the place of his shame. Flames rose not in a temple, but where Moses buried his Egyptian pride. [53:39]
God’s presence redeems geography. Your kitchen, cubicle, or crowded subway car can become Bethel if He meets you there.
You carry holy ground in your immigrant feet, your hyphenated identity. Where have you let others define certain spaces as “less than”? What would change if you saw your daily grind as consecrated soil?
“Then the Lord said to him, ‘Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.’”
(Acts 7:33, NLT)
Prayer: Confess areas where you’ve doubted God’s presence in your ordinary spaces.
Challenge: Walk barefoot in your home today, praying blessings over each room as holy ground.
Stephen retold Moses’ story while facing stones, proving God’s people thrive in diaspora. The religious elite weaponized his Hellenistic roots, but Stephen declared: holiness outlives temples. Our true citizenship outshines passports. [54:55]
You’re from Christ’s lineage—He left heaven’s throne to dwell in your neighborhood. Your belonging isn’t earned; it’s inherited.
When others ask “Where are you from?” with suspicion, how might you answer with both your earthly story and eternal identity? Who needs to hear they’re citizens of this unshakable kingdom?
“But you are not like that, for you are a chosen people. You are royal priests, a holy nation, God’s very own possession. Once you had no identity as a people; now you are God’s people.”
(1 Peter 2:9-10, NLT)
Prayer: Ask God to help you see one person today through their divine citizenship, not earthly labels.
Challenge: Compliment someone’s cultural heritage, noting how it reflects God’s creativity.
John’s vision of a sea-less earth (Revelation 21:1) whispers hope: borders that split families, languages, and histories will dissolve. The “where are you from?” question dies in the Lamb’s presence. Our hyphenated identities find wholeness in His scars. [01:07:04]
Every diaspora story points to this reunion. Your parents’ sacrifices, your accent, your straddled traditions—all preview the day we feast as one family.
What earthly division weighs heaviest on you? How can you live now as if that sea already vanished?
“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the old heaven and the old earth had disappeared. And the sea was also gone.”
(Revelation 21:1, NLT)
Prayer: Intercede for someone separated from family by borders or conflict.
Challenge: Share a meal with someone from a different cultural background this week.
We gather to celebrate Sabbath and to name the way God meets us in ordinary and displaced lives. We begin with prayer and community updates, then we listen to stories of mission and service that root our life together in action. We hold the Acts text about Moses in the wilderness as the center of the reflection. We trace Moses from palace to Midian, through violence, exile, and a long season of quiet labor, and we notice how the firstborn name Gershom, meaning stranger, marks a life shaped by displacement. We see Stephen retell that story to expose how belonging gets weaponized, how insiders exclude those who carry different accents and histories, and how ethnic and cultural boundaries fail to define divine calling.
We recognize the forty years in Midian as formative rather than wasted. We read the burning bush arrival in the desert as a reversal: the soil of rejection becomes holy ground. We affirm that God does not confine presence to buildings, zip codes, or passports. The divine voice commands removal of sandals in the foreign place, and that command reframes our maps. The immigrant, the resident alien, the hyphenated identity all stand on sacred soil when God appears.
We link that biblical arc to contemporary lives: skilled professionals who start over, elders whose authority gets stripped in migration, and children of immigrants whose identity grows between cultures. We claim that displacement often becomes the crucible that forges leadership, compassion, and mission. We commit to recognizing the kingdom citizenship that transcends legal status and to extending belonging practically, by inviting others to the table and treating every neighborhood as holy ground. We close with a vision drawn from Revelation that ultimate unity removes borders, and we call one another to practice that unity now, by enlarging the space where all people can stand without being asked where they are from.
The religious elite in Jerusalem thought that god only worked in the important places like the temple. They thought that if you were on the periphery, if you were an immigrant in a foreign land, you were outside of god's focus. But Stephen Stephen shows us that god was watching Moses every single day in Midian. God wasn't waiting for Moses to get back to some kind of holy place to start his training. The desert was his training. In the palace, Moses learned how to be the prince. In the wilderness, Moses learned how to be a shepherd. He had to lose his Egyptian title to find his divine calling.
[00:50:54]
(43 seconds)
#DesertAsTraining
Bunnenbush proves that god is not actually a local god. He's a god of the diaspora. He's a god who is accessible to everyone. You don't need a passport. You don't need some kind of of of dub to say that you can enter. There is no qualifier that you need. This god is fully accessible to all whether you are considered here or not from here. He is the god who travels with the refugee. He sits with the immigrant in the waiting room who even finds himself in the ICE detention center who turns the foreigner's land into a sanctuary.
[00:56:21]
(45 seconds)
#GodOfTheDiaspora
So to those who have ever heard or will ever hear the question posed to them, where are you from or where are you from from? Today, I want to encourage you. You can stand with the confidence in spite of feeling othered. You can stand with the confidence of Stephen and the fire of Moses. You are from a lineage of migrants, sojourners, and displaced children of god. You are from a long line of people who discovered that god doesn't live in a single building or a specific zip code. The land upon you stand is holy ground.
[00:57:06]
(43 seconds)
#BelongBeyondBorders
This Asian American and Pacific Islander heritage month, we celebrate the hyphenated identities in you and those around us. Our being from here and there, our being from both or neither is not a mistake. It's actually a divine calling. Our displacement is the very soil where god lights the fire. You don't have to wait for the status to come through. You don't have to wait for someone to declare that you belong. You don't have to wait around for someone to mention that you're meant to be here. The next time you feel out of place or see someone feel out of place, look down at your feet, you're on holy ground. If God is with you, you aren't standing in foreign land, you're standing on holy ground.
[00:59:38]
(61 seconds)
#HyphenatedAndHoly
God didn't tell Moses, hurry up and get back to the palace or or or or go go amongst your people so that you can be amongst religious folk. He says, take your shoes off right here. Remove your sandals here because this is holy ground. You don't need to travel to try and find it. This is holy ground. In many of our homes today, some of us, we we take up our shoes or we even ask people to remove their shoes before they enter our home because it's our sacred space. It's our holy space. It's a sign to say that your home here. Verse 33 in this story, the only person on earth standing on holy ground was the man who didn't even have a country to call his own.
[00:55:30]
(52 seconds)
#HolyGroundAtHome
They ask the stinging question, who made you ruler over us, judge over us? In an instant, Moses' sense of belonging is completely and utterly shattered. He's not Egyptian enough, Egyptian enough for the palace. They will kill him for his betrayal, and he isn't Hebrew enough for the people. They don't trust him because he hasn't shared their struggle. This is the first where are you from from moment. The Hebrews are essentially saying, you aren't from here. You don't sound like us. So who are you to tell any of us who we are?
[00:44:50]
(38 seconds)
#RejectedByBothSides
He's a stranger and as a foreigner, and he may even have some kind of holy idea from God that he's supposed to step out and and be very present for his people, but he is super insecure about even associating with them. Verse 25 tells us that he thought his own people would realize that god was using that him to rescue. Moses assumes his actions will prove his origins, and he thinks that that'd be by defending his community, he will earn his membership card.
[00:43:38]
(38 seconds)
#BelongingIsNotEarned
But look at the crushing reality of verse 27. The man who was wrong in his neighbor pushed Moses aside saying, who made you ruler and judge over us? This is after Moses killed the Egyptian. And the Israelites comes and speaks to him and says this. Moses tries to help. The next day, he his fellow Hebrew Hebrews turn on him. They don't see a brother. They see an impostor. This is a where are you from from moment.
[00:44:17]
(33 seconds)
#SeenAsImpostor
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