O Adonaï calls us into the mystery of God’s presence revealed in fire that burns yet does not consume. It is a vision of intensity that illuminates without erasing, a reminder that divine nearness transforms rather than destroys. The antiphon recalls the giving of the Law at Sinai, not as a burden but as covenantal guidance, a rhythm that shapes community and protects dignity. What might seem like restriction is instead a pathway into belonging, a sign that God’s order is not uniformity but a tapestry of voices held together in care. The plea for redemption “with outstretched arm” evokes strength and solidarity, the image of God bending toward humanity not to dominate but to lift. It is assurance that divine power is expressed in gestures of rescue and advocacy, in the embrace of those who feel marginalised. The burning bush becomes a symbol of vivid perception and creative spark, the Law a covenant that honours difference, and the outstretched arm a promise of solidarity. In this antiphon we glimpse a God who is both fire and friend, lawgiver and liberator, whispering that our difference is not a burden but holy ground where God speaks, and that the arm extended is for us, to redeem and to embrace.
Fire. Law. Arm.

One response to “Fire. Law. Arm.”
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Fabulous analysis. I always love the word Adonai, as it turns up all through a Hebrew translation I sometimes use. It’s like having a special first name for a loving God who cares for us all
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