Message Delivered at Christ Church

The Weekend of February 23rd & 24th

TEXT:  Exodus 17:1-7

Delivered by Paul A. Johnson

 

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              So the people of Israel are in the wilderness.  They’ve been at a place in the wilderness called “Sin” (which is not the same Hebrew word used for moral failure—it’s not that kind of “sin.” This Sin is a place name, meaning “clay.” It’s just a place.) They’ve been at this place called Sin, and then they leave as the Lord commands them, and come to a place called Rephidim.

              No one knows where, exactly, Rephidim was.  The tradition places it in the southern portion of the Sinai Peninsula.  Regardless of where it was, here’s what happens there:  There’s no water, and the Israelites are thirsty.  So there’s a problem.

              Now let me give you a little bit of context for this story.  Here’s what’s happened so far.  The Book of Exodus begins with the people of Israel as slaves in Egypt.  They’ve been slaves in Egypt for centuries.  And it’s a horrible thing to be a slave.  No freedom when one’s a slave; no choice; pretty much, it’s all work, all the time, until you die.  In fact, maybe death is the only thing to look forward to when one’s a slave.  There is searing cruelty, and bondage, and pain, and hopelessness.  No one ever wants to be a slave, and that includes Israel in Egypt.  And that’s what they are.

              But we all know what happens.  The Lord hears the cries of his people, calls Moses to lead them, sends ten plagues upon the Egyptians until Pharaoh lets them go.  And then, when that dirty, double-crossing Pharaoh goes back on his word, here’s what the Lord does:  He parts the Red Sea; makes it so that all the people of Israel can escape and get to the other side; and he saves them from the Egyptians.

Now, you’ve heard that story before, and it’s a big story.  It is the essential story of Israel.  It is what’s celebrated in the Passover.  It is the primal story of salvation for the Jewish people, even today.  And early on in the Christian tradition a clear parallel was drawn between the life-saving action of Easter and the life-saving action of the deliverance from Egypt. 

It might be that there could be a more powerful sign that God delivers than the parting of a sea, exactly when it needs to be parted, so that the people can be saved, but I’m not quite sure what it is.  There are subtle hints in the spiritual life; there are times God whispers.  And sometimes, there are clear signs; and the presence of God is so strong you can taste is.  Parting of the Red Sea—that’s more the latter than the former, and why this story is so important.

Now what God has promised Israel in this act of deliverance is a land of milk and honey, but that’s not where they end up first.  The first place they end up after crossing the Red Sea is a place called Marah, and they complain that the water there is bitter.  And then, they end up in that wilderness called Sin, and complain that there isn’t enough food.  They wonder out loud whether it wouldn’t have been better to remain slaves in Egypt with full stomachs rather than starve in the wilderness.  And both times, God solved their problem, first making the water drinkable at Marah, and then giving them manna from heaven.

              So that overall, God’s record to this point in Exodus is pretty good.  I think we can mostly say that God has produced to this point, and in a quite compelling manner.  Red Sea parting; bad water made good; food falling from the skies.  The Lord has saved Israel, more than once.  More than once, the Lord has shown up, been among them, and met their need.

              So it leaves one wondering a bit…that when the Israelites face this problem here at Rephidim, why do they complain so much?  Why are their words to Moses “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?” Hasn’t the evidence to this point been that God will do for them what needs to be done?  It sort of makes sense according to how the story has progressed that they would instead say something like, “Moses, we’re thirsty, and there’s no water.  But that’s okay.  You just go talk to the Lord for us, and it will be fine.  Because it’s been fine every other time.”  Leaves one wondering a bit…considering their experience, how could they ever believe that God would not be with them?

              But sometimes, that’s what life is like; sometimes, that’s how we are; sometimes, our pasts can hold us tight; and we are, of course, just simple and fallen human beings.  Memories die hard, and fear is both merciless and powerful.  And trust, which seems to be something we are born with; something that is natural to children; is challenged by failure and disappointment and hurt so that it becomes something we have to learn again, and sometimes again and again.  Sometimes, that’s just the way it is.

A while back I made an acquaintance with another priest, who now serves a church in North Carolina.  He’s about ten or fifteen years older than I am.  We got to know one another in some continuing education we did together last year.  He served in Vietnam.  I can’t remember whether it was one tour of duty, or more than one.  But he was over there, and he fought on the front lines.  And he came back home, and he got married, and he had children, and he was ordained, and started serving in a church.  His life was as reasonably secure and common as any of ours. 

But he could not control the memories of what he had experienced.  When he slept, his dreams were often the same kinds of dreams we all have.  But sometimes, there were nightmares that only a few of us would understand.  Sometimes, the nights were sleepless.  And during the day, there were short tempers, disjointed thoughts, and anxious moments.  He had been brought through it; his body was safe; all the externals of his life were as common as most of ours.  But deep in his soul, the trust that all was well…that, he said, took more time and demanded more effort than he expected.

Because sometimes, it’s like that.  For few of us to that extent, but for all of us to some extent. 

So it is that these stories in Exodus like the ones I talked about, and the one we read today, keep coming because we need to keep hearing them.  They tell a truth about us, and they tell a truth about God.

Truth about us in that sometimes the wounds of life are deep.  May we be kind to the person next to us today, because it may be that there is some deep and hidden hurt there.  Sometimes the wounds come from outside of us, sometimes we wound ourselves, and sometimes we just aren’t sure where they come from at all.  We just know they’re there.

Truth about us in that though we are under Christ, sometimes the memories of our enslavement to something other than the love and mercy of God are difficult to shake, and hold on to us.  The Israelites were enslaved to the Egyptians, but some of us also know a different kind of enslavement…to addictions; or to unhealthy relationships; or to false loves; or to behaviors we know are harmful to ourselves and others, but we just can’t stop.  We are not slaves to any earthly power, but we can be slaves to our own illusions.  It isn’t just Israel that’s been in bondage.

Truth about us in that sometimes, faith that God will get us through isn’t always easy.  Sometimes we’re thirsty, and aren’t convinced the water will break through the rock.  Trusting that the Lord will show up, and take us through the trial—whatever the trial might be—isn’t without challenges.

Truths about us…

But also, truths about God.  Truths about God in that the Lord does not turn away, and does not leave us to dry up.  But sends to us living water.  Truths about God in that the Lord gives us freedom from our bondage, but then also stays with us in the wilderness of our own lingering doubt and fear.

Truths about God in that if you heard what I said earlier, this is the fourth time in Exodus that Israel has been in trouble; the fourth time they have mumbled and complained; but it is also the fourth time that God has shown up.  And it won’t be the last time.  Here’s what happens next in Exodus.  The Hebrews are threatened by a people called the Amalekites.  And what the Lord does is show up again, and save again.  Because show up and save is what God does, and keeps doing.  That’s what these stories from Exodus want us to know.  Sometimes the showing up and saving are as obvious as water coming from the rock when we’re thirsty.  And sometimes, it’s more subtle.  But our cries do not go unheard.  Like our ancient friends, we may wonder out loud “Is the Lord among us, or not?” And the consequence of that wondering isn’t that God turns away or scolds us (note that the harsh words in this story come from Moses, not God), but that still God comes, and God acts.

Truths about God in that no matter the wounds; no matter the difficulties; no matter whether we find faith easy or difficult; no matter if our prayer is a shout of joy or a stinging complaint; no matter whether we live boldly today or had a hard time getting out of bed--this God is trustworthy; and on our side; and with us; and does not leave us…and that means for ever and ever.  Amen.

I want to share with you a poem I came across this week.  I think it fits, but I’ll let you decide.  I don’t know who wrote it, but it’s kept coming back to me this week during my pondering of this story about human fear, and God’s steadfastness; about how hard it sometimes is to trust God, but God’s promise to be among us, and show up, and deliver.  When something keeps coming back, I try to pay attention to it.  This poem kept coming back, and it goes like this:

I prayed for strength that I might achieve;

I was made weak that I might obey.

I prayed for health that I might do great things;

I was given infirmity that I might do better things.

I prayed for riches that I might be happy;

I was given poverty that I might be wise.

I prayed for power that I might have the praise of others;

I was given weakness that I might feel the need of God.

I prayed for all things that I might enjoy life;

I was given this life that I might enjoy all things.

I received nothing that I asked for, and all that I hoped for;

My prayers were answered.  I am most blessed.

Israel complained, and demanded water, and that’s what they got.  Sometimes the water bursts forth from the rock, and sometimes it’s more like this poem.  But the lesson here isn’t that God always gives to us what we always want, but that certainly God does give to us.  The lesson isn’t that God can’t put up with a little complaining.  It’s that even when complain to God is all we ever do, the Lord still listens.  The lesson here isn’t that we are destined to remain captive to our past, but always through Christ we are made free.  The lesson isn’t that our faith and trust must be perfect, but that God honors both even when they are something far less than that.

Those are just some of the lessons.  So it is that we hear a little story about what happens in a lonely place called Rephidim…to be reminded, one more time, not simply of the small truths about us, but of the greater truth about God.  That wherever, and whenever, and however we ask “Is the Lord among us or not?”—whether it be in the wilderness, or the comfort of our living room—the answer is always “yes.”