March 29 Sermon - Water from the Rock

Texts: Exodus 17:1-7, John 4:5-15

I was a fourth grader. Teachers changed all their plans that day to talk to us about what happened. I came home that night to see the newspaper on my parents’ table, with three huge letters filling the page: W A R. It was 9/11.

9/11 was a defining moment for people of my generation: millennials. Millennials were born roughly between 1981 and 1996 and are now between ages 24 and 39. Generation Z - the generation after mine - runs from about 1997 to 2012, so that’s people between ages 8 to 23. One of the main differences between those two groups in this country is whether you remember 9/11. Researcher Jason Dorsey says that “in order for 9/11 to be a generation-defining moment you had to remember it, feel the emotion of it, and the uncertainty of what was going to happen next.” Surely we are now in another generation-defining moment today.

There are many of those moments in the history of our faith. A few weeks ago, I shared one. Does anyone remember? It’s a real question - I’ll unmute.

Yes: I shared the story of the Roman attack on Jerusalem that took place over months, ending in the destruction of the Temple in the year 70 AD. That temple was called the Second Temple. I talked about how the pain and trauma of that story is central to understanding the New Testament. 

I believe the biggest moment for really getting the Old Testament, including today’s story from Exodus, was a similar event which I’ve referenced many times before. The destruction of the first Temple in Jerusalem , in the year 587 BCE, by the Babylonian Empire. The Babylonian Empire was a brutal and violent empire just like Rome would be centuries later. As I tell this story I invite you to paint a picture in your mind. So much like what happened in 70, it began when the people of Jerusalem and the surrounding countryside said enough, and their King - Zedekiah - revolted against Babylon. In return the Babylonian army attacked Jerusalem for 18 or 30 months, depending on the sources. The Bible describes awful conditions and says after the fourth month there was no more bread to eat.

Eventually the Babylonians broke through Jerusalem’s walls and conquered the city. The King’s sons were killed in front of him and he was then blinded and taken captive to Babylon. Jerusalem was plundered, and the Solomon’s Temple was destroyed. The elites were taken to Babylon and only the poorest remained.

With the destruction of the Temple, the people lost their biggest connection to God. Many had believed that certain things could only happen at the Temple, that it was in some very literal sense where God lived. It was the pride of the people and the center of religious life. And then it was gone.

(It helps me put in perspective my own yearning to be back in our building. We will be back. When, I don’t know. But it’s still standing. We will be back).

This was a generation-defining moment if there ever was one, and most of the Old Testament was developed and finalized in its wake. Stories that had been told for generations got written down and rewritten. And in particular, the books of the Torah came together: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. 

Stories like the Exodus story, which we heard part of today, got put front and center. Stories of ancestors who wandered in the desert wilderness far from home, sacrificing and struggling. Stories of a God with a portable home: a God who dwells among the people in the wilderness and not in a house of stone. Stories like these - and not the stories of past wealth and magnificent temples - became key. 

So we read and hear these Exodus stories through the eyes of those who wrote them -- those who had everything taken away from them, who thirsted not only for water but for new ways of being human, reimagining everything from the ground up: their faith, their community, their economy, their culture. All of it.

In today’s story the people were thirsty and they were complaining to Moses about it. And when Moses took it up with God, God directed him to strike a rock with his staff and promised that water would come from it. And, it did. Miracle or a surprise of nature, depending how you see it. The point is their needs were supplied. Moses named the spot Massah, meaning test, and Meribah, meaning quarrel. Why? Because the story says, that’s where “the Israelites argued with and tested the Lord, asking “Is the Lord really with us or not?”

“Is the Lord really with us or not?”

That is the question that rings out in this story. A question I can easily imagine God’s wilderness people asking; a question written down centuries later by God’s people who had lost everything to the Babylonian empire; a question surely echoed by those who centuries later watched the exact same thing happen at the hands of the Romans, a question echoed by people in every place and time when facing down a situation that seems just absolutely beyond what they could ever imagine and just getting real: “is the Lord really with us or not?” 

But here’s the thing about that question: it’s written down at the end of a story that answers the question loud and clear: Yes, the Lord is really with us. That’s the answer that our ancestors came to time and time again: Yes, the Lord is really with us. I’m a pastor and this is church so it’s sort of our job together to find it in ourselves to answer yes to that question, trusting that whatever we individually feel in any given moment we are part of a community and tradition that has found reason after reason to say: yes, in this thing called life, no matter what happens, the Lord is really with us. 

So the question that nags at me now is on the other side of the coin: “will we stay with the Lord or not?” We as individuals, families, church, state, nation. Will we stay with God? Or not? Right now staying with God has everything to do with staying away from people we don’t live with. Staying at home as much as we can if we at all can. Staying with God means donating whatever we can spare -- this last week the church donated 1,200 latex gloves to Plymouth place, and we’ll be handing out gift cards to food pantry guests in 45 minutes or so. Staying with God means choosing to love our neighbors as we love ourselves, sacrificing our freedoms to save lives -- our own, our families and friends, and those we’ve never met. Staying with God means listening to public health experts and following their recommendation. And yes, as with our ancestors it means reimagining everything from how we organize faith communities to how we organize our economy.

And yes, staying with God includes staying home on Easter. I want to be crystal clear: a church gathering in person for Easter worship during this pandemic is not staying with God, it is abandoning the worship of God to worship economic productivity instead, a hollow freedom requiring no sacrifice. For as the Rev. Emily Heath reminds us that “ the first Easter didn’t happen at a church. It happened outside of an empty tomb, while all the disciples were sequestered in a home, grief-stricken and wondering what was going on. So, we’re all going to be keeping things pretty Biblical this #Easter. The good news, though, is what came next. New life happens, no matter what. The more we make sure people are protected, the more we can proclaim the goodness of God’s grace.”

Our ancestors, when facing profound lack of freedom and intense sacrifice, decided to stay with God time after time after time. Not without questioning or complaining. Not with fear or grief. But they stayed with God. They wrote and rewrote stories. They shared with one another. They did what they had to do so their people would survive, old and young, to tell stories of a God who dwells not in a house of stone but among a wandering people, a God who stays with us and invites us to stay with her in return, a God who brings manna from heaven and water from rocks still today, giving us what we need to so that we can do what the world needs us to do. 

We have a lot of choices in this season for who to follow. To stay with. Let us choose wisely. Let us stay with God, protect our neighbors, and look always for new life. Amen.

March 22, 2020 - Manna in the Wilderness

Texts: Exodus 16: 2-4, 9-15, 31-35; John 6:24-35

We are living in hard times. Words don’t begin to say what needs to be said.

However, we are not the first people to live in hard times. And we will not be the last. 

This is a time for us to lean hard on faith. Some of us will find faith an easy companion right now; others will find it hard to come by. One of the joys of being in a faith community is that we don’t all have to have faith at any given time. We lean on each other. We share faith together. 

Together, we have what is called a spiritual heritage. It is many things, including a body of stories that have been told for centuries and centuries. Stories about people, and their joys and sorrows as they moved through life. Stories about people making sense of that which is bigger than themselves: community, nation, God. We will need to lean on that heritage in these times, more than ever before. 

That heritage tells us that our spiritual ancestors endured profound suffering time and time again. One example of this is the wilderness wanderings of the ancient Hebrew people. They had lived as slaves in Egypt, until God called and equipped Moses to lead them to freedom. But before they could get to the Promised Land - a land of milk and honey, a place where every need was met - they were stuck wandering in the desert wilderness for years. For forty years, the story says.

Today we heard a story from the six week mark. Six weeks into their journey. The reality of their situation had set in. And all of a sudden, their previous situation in Egypt didn’t seem so bad. They had reliable shelter and food then, at least. 

We often see things differently looking back than how we feel at the time. I wonder how many of us look back just a couple weeks and think: “gee, I’d trade anything to be dealing with all the stuff I was dealing with then.” There’s a long history of interpreting this Exodus story by being really hard on the people so let us not make that same mistake. After six weeks of wilderness wanderings, I’d be wanting to go home too! Some complaints are worth making. “You have brought us,” they complained to Moses, “You have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.” 

I wonder what complaints you have right now. 

God heard their complaints, and responded, by raining manna down upon them. This odd, flaky substance that had something to do with quails. And the people had no idea what it was. “What is it?” they wondered. And Moses told them, “this is the bread the Lord has given you to eat.”

There are lots of ways to imagine the peoples’ reaction to this story. Were they relieved because they finally had something to eat? Perhaps. I imagine however that they were also grieving. Because this substance on the ground, that they did not recognize, was not what they knew to be bread. It was not the food they knew. It was something completely different. And tradition has generally said it didn’t taste that great. Mixed with whatever relief they experienced was almost certainly grief at yet another reminder of all they had lost. That they may never again taste the bread they knew and had taken for granted.

As it turns out, manna was their food for forty years. They came to appreciate it more. Eventually it became their food. Some died never having tasted the old bread again. And this experience - manna in the desert - this became a defining story for the people of Israel. A story about God provided them what they needed in their moment of deep distress. Interpreters today try to make sense of this miracle in different ways. Some say that the manna was a naturally occurring thing that the people gave God credit for. I don’t think that’s the point of the story. The point is that when the people thought they had lost everything and couldn’t take another step, they discovered something they hadn’t seen before, sustenance to see them through. They discovered manna. Bread from heaven. It was not what they would have chosen. But it was enough to see them through. It was enough.

This story popped up in our gospel reading today among a different group of people looking for something to see them through during the time of Jesus. Jesus had just fed 5,000 people, which is important to remember. He had already met their physical needs. But then he was saying a bunch of confusing stuff about working not for food that perishes but food that endures for eternal life. And the people asked him quite reasonably, how are we supposed to believe you. Our ancestors ate manna in the wilderness. What will you do? And Jesus responded speaking of the bread of God, that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.”

The bread of God, Jesus says, is that which gives life to the world. And that bread is available to us all, regardless of the circumstances in which we find ourselves. That is the true manna, bread from heaven.

And that manna, that bread from heaven is available to you and to me during this time. Our task is to prepare ourselves to see it. It is the sustenance for our journey that keeps us going during times of profound suffering and trauma. For it is in the furnace of suffering that faith is most sharply forged.

Bread from heaven today is

• People volunteering to get groceries for strangers.
• Teachers working to help their students and their own children.
• The wonder of a connection over phone lines and internet signals.
• Dedication of healthcare and grocery store workers
• A moment when for one reason or another you start to laugh.
• Public health officials sacrificing endlessly for the greater good
• It is the love we share with those in our lives
• A moment, even just a second, of calm and peace in the midst of it all

In the days ahead, I will be sharing as many resources as I can with you for living faithfully in these times: for praying and worshiping and grieving, for caring for yourself and others. 

But ultimately we all must learn to see the bread of heaven in our own lives. Maybe you can see it now. But maybe you’re looking around like our ancestors all around and asking “what is it?”. If that’s you that’s okay. Super okay. But, opening yourself up to the bread of heaven, finding what that looks like in your own life circumstances, that is your task for this week. And I know you don’t want another task, but it is the task that will make everything else possible.

Because this is going to get harder, not easier. The Hebrew people first found manna six weeks into their journey, and they needed it every day since then for forty years. Our survival - yes, our survival - depends on finding the bread from heaven in our own lives. On developing the ability to see the gifts of God in weird flaky substances on the ground. 

The good news is the bread of God is here, it is offered to each and every one of us. It is not what we would have chosen, not by a long shot. It is not the same bread we are used to. But it is bread nonetheless, as soon as we learn to discover it. There is hope for weary souls, even in these times. Especially in these times. 

Whatever else my job is now, it is to tell the truth as clearly as I can. And here it is: we are facing a challenge none of us have faced in our lifetime. And, our God is a God who has lived human life with us, who has seen suffering we can scarcely imagine even now. Whatever else God is, God is that mysterious power that allows us to endure, God is manna in the wilderness, God is bread from heaven for you and for me. God is here, and God is for us. May we learn to receive the ultimate gift: “that which comes down from heaven, and gives life to the world.” For God gives us that bread, always and forever. 

Amen.

March 15, 2020 - When Everything Seems to Be Ending

Scripture: Psalm 46:1-7 and Mark 13:1-8, 24-37

If one thing’s for sure, people have been going through hard things for as long as there have been people. I’m going to talk about what’s going on today, but first I want to tell a story from long ago. I invite you, for just a moment, to go back to Jesus’ time with me.

Jesus was near the end of his life. He knew it. His disciples knew it, even if they pretended not to. He had spent a lot of time in the temple arguing with lots of powerful people. He had set people free from physical and mental illnesses, he had reminded them of their worth and dignity, and he boldly challenged the systems of religious and political power that were keeping people down. That’s the story Mark told up to this point, of chapter 13, when Jesus takes his closest followers outside the Temple and begins to talk to them about what’s next.

The story is set around the year 33 AD. But it was written around the year 70. So it’s like watching a movie that was made this year but tells a story of the 1970s. Does anyone remember what’s important about the year 70? [Wait]. Honestly if there’s one thing I want you to remember about the New Testament it is this: in the year 66, the Jewish people revolted against Rome, which was growing increasingly violent and oppressive. At first it worked. The Romans were expelled and a new government was set up. 

This would have been a profoundly hopeful time. But then the Roman emperor sent a general, Vespasian, to fight back. Most of the rebels got pushed into Jerusalem. Then in April of the year 70, around passover, the Roman military surrounded Jerusalem and let people in but wouldn’t let them out. Food and water ran out. Infighting in Jerusalem grew as different factions had different ideas for how to respond. This went on for months, as starvation and misery increased. By August -- I want you to just imagine what those months were like if you can, I’m not sure we can -- by August the Romans had breached Jerusalem’s final defenses and massacred most of who was left. [Image] They also destroyed the magnificent Temple -- which had been destroyed once before about 600 years before. They either took or destroyed everything in it [image], and then built the arch of Titus in Rome [image] in celebration, with panels depicting the siege of Jerusalem.

Don’t let anyone tell you -- that the Roman Empire was good. It was brutal and violent even beyond most so-called “laws of war” even today. There are many who wish to model our country off of Rome. In some ways they have succeeded. As Christians we must always remember that the Romans didn’t just kill Jesus, they brutally massacred our spiritual ancestors. By this time there weren’t Jews and Christians -- everyone was Jewish, and some Jews sought to follow Jesus.

The trauma of all this, the pain and misery, the mental and physical and spiritual illness that came as a result is impossible to capture in words. But here’s why this story is so important beyond just knowing how awful we humans can be: the gospel of Mark was most likely written right before or right after the Temple was destroyed. It was written in the middle of one of the absolute worst chapters in Jewish history. That is the backdrop for the words shared in today’s readings. 

• “Do you see all these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon
  another; all will be thrown down.”
• “When you hear of wars and rulers of wars, do not be alarmed....”
• “For mation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom….there will be famines.”
• “But in those those days, after that suffering…”
• “...when you see these things taking place, you know that I am near, at the very gates”

The first mistake that is so often made in interpreting these passage is ripping them out of their context, ripping them out of the story Mark has been telling, ripping them out of the pain and suffering and trauma of the people Mark is writing among and to, and applying them in some sort of really general way as if “it could happen anytime, anyplace.” That often leads to forms of faith that focus obsessively on just when Jesus will come back to set things right. 

But these words almost certainly reflect a particular historical event. That doesn’t mean they don’t mean anything for us today. That couldn’t be further from the truth. It means that we’re sorely missing the point if we focus all our efforts and energy on figuring out when exactly Jesus will come back and what exactly that will look like. You know, some people believe Jesus already came back in the form of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost. 

However you understand that, the point is this: when it seems like everything is falling apart, when we face circumstances we never imagined and have no idea what to do - that is when God is closest at hands. That is when God is most near to us. Jesus’ promise is that when everything is falling apart is when we should be most attentive to the reality of divine presence all around us. And when we do, we see something else too -- that in the midst of all the pain and fear, God is moving the world towards wholeness. And somehow, someday, this world will fully reflect God’s goodness, and everyone and everything will be made well.

In 1527, the Protestant In 1527, the reformer Martin Luther faced an outbreak of the plague in his community. In response he wrote a letter called “Whether One May Flee from a Deadly Plague,” in which he said these words:

“I shall ask God mercifully to protect us. Then I shall fumigate, help purify the air, administer medicine and take it. I shall avoid places and persons where my presence is not needed in order not to become contaminated and thus perchance inflict and pollute others and so cause their death as a result of my negligence. If God should wish to take me, he will surely find me and I have done what he has expected of me and so I am not responsible for either my own death or the death of others. If my neighbor needs me, however, I shall not avoid place or person but will go freely as stated above. See this is such a God-fearing faith because it is neither brash nor foolhardy and does not tempt God. If you wish to serve Christ and to wait on him, very well, you have your sick neighbor close at hand. Go to him and serve him, and you will surely find Christ in him.”
Beloveds, there is so much we do not know. SO MUCH. There is so much fear and anxiety swirling around right now. I am not the keeper of answers any more than you are. I am grieving what is lost. I am angry at the state of our public health infrastructure. I am praying for families trying to keep their homes from being a pressure cooker. But I want to tell you what I do know:

First is that I love you. Each of you individually, and I love this church.

Being the church together has never been easy but it has always been good. We have been through a lot together. We haven’t always seen eye to eye. But we have held on to one another through the ups and downs of figuring out what it means to be faithful today. And we have grown together. You have taught me so much. I am fiercely committed to loving you as best as I can through this.

More importantly, God loves you and God loves us. And God is close at hand. God is in all those who are helping. God is in all those who are vulnerable. God is as close to us as our very breath. Just take a moment to breathe in - imagine the Spirit filling your lungs. Breathe out - imagine the fear and worry leaving your body, just for a moment.

This is a time for us to express love for one another as best we can. I’m still figuring out what that means, we’re still figuring out what that means. We do not need to have all the answers. Instead, as Jesus said, we must simply keep alert. Pay attention to where the Spirit is blowing, and go that way too. Not alone. Together. For nothing can take away our togetherness. Not a thing.

You are beloved children of God, each of you. And God is truly near. So do not be alarmed. Though the earth should shake, though the mountains tremble, God is near. We are not alone. We live in God’s world. And we have one another.

Thanks be to God. 

Amen.