Our Failures, God's Promise: In the Wilderness, a Way

Numbers 21:4-9, John 3:14-21

           When my nephew was about 4 years old he came out to visit me in South Dakota.   

            Grandma and grandpa drove him out, he went to Bible School with the children at my church, and we had a good time together.      At the end of the week I drove him back to Minnesota and to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. 

            Which turned out to be an ordeal.  More than I expected.

             It was about a  4 and a half hour trip, but you would have thought it was 40 years in the wilderness. 

            He was sitting in his car seat in the back seat and every couple of minutes he would ask again, how many miles?  (Like he knew what a mile was) 

            Or how any minutes?  (Like he had any real concept of how long a minute was.) 

            Every few minutes the question again, and every few minutes I tried to give him an answer.   I even tried to stop at a Dairy Queen for a treat along the way, and that didn’t seem to brighten his mood. 

            And at one point his little despairing voice cried out, “Oh, I don’t think we’re EVER going to get to Grandma’s house!”

            O Ye of little faith.

            There is so much in this reading from Numbers that is outside of our experience.   Except the complaining. 

            That part we can understand. 

            The Israelites have been wandering in the wilderness for about 40 years now and they are complaining. 

            They don’t like the manna, they don’t think they are ever going to get where they are going, they doubt not only Moses’ wisdom, but God’s.        And this “Murmuring”  --that’s what it is called in scripture”  -- this has been going on for –oh – about 40 years. 

            So they are complaining in the wilderness – but the things that happen next – they are strange, and if we are honest, they probably don’t fit our picture of God.  

            First there are the serpents that God sends. 

            The scriptures doesn’t say that God sends them as a punishment exactly – but that’s what the Israelites understand, and when the serpents start biting them, and they die, they cry out to God for help.              They ask God to take the serpents away. 

            Which (and this is strange too) God doesn’t do. 

            Instead, God says, make a bronze serpent and put it on a pole and when people who are bitten look at it, they will live.

             And that is what they do, and that is what happens. 

            When the people who are bitten look at the bronze serpent on a pole, they are healed.  They do not die. 

            I’m not going to lie – this seems like a strict punishment for complaining, which is something we all do,  sometimes.   

            In fact, if you read the Psalms, there are plenty of laments that sound exactly like complaining. 

            The Psalmist complains about the presence of evil in the world, and that he doesn’t understand God’s ways. 

            “Why do the wicked prosper?  Why am I suffering?  My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”  

            All of these complaints and questions are right there in the Psalms.  The words are there for us to pray. 

            But here in Numbers, when the Israelites complain, they get serpents. 

            And when they turn back to God and ask for help – instead of getting rid of the serpents, God sends another kind of remedy. 

            And I am not even going to begin to say that I understand all of what God might be up to here.

            But remember the covenant.  Remember the promise that God made to them, and that they made to God.  God said, “I will be your God.  Trust me.” 

            And they said, “We will do everything that you say.”  And they don’t. 

            Their complaints reveal ingratitude (We don’t like the food – blech), faithlessness (why have you brought us out here?),

            and  distrust.   But I will give them this:  when Moses tells them to look at the pole with the bronze serpent, they do it. 

            “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of man be lifted up”  -- Jesus says, in the gospel reading. 

            He is speaking with Nicodemus in the darkness.  They are talking about the mysterious things of God, the Spirit of God, light and darkness, life and death, being born anew. 

            These are things that Nicodemus doesn’t understand, even though he is a teacher. 

            And then Jesus brings him back to what has to be a story familiar to him:  remember when you wandered in the wilderness, and you rebelled and complained and did not trust God for your salvation?      Remember the serpents, and how when Moses lifted one up on a pole, and you looked at the serpent, you were healed? 

            When you look to me, on the cross, when I am lifted up, you will be healed.  

            And it must have seemed every bit as strange to Nicodemus as the serpent does to us. 

            I can’t imagine what it must have been like for the people of Israel to look at a replica of the thing that bit them.  Well, maybe I can.

             I’m not a lover of snakes, especially if I know they are dangerous.  That’s one of the things that sort of makes me nervous about Texas.  You have the dangerous snakes here…. Not just the icky, but relatively harmless ones. 

            It had to take a sort of courage – to look at the serpent – and trust – to believe that it would work. 

            And for the early church – to look at the cross must have felt the same. 

            We put flowers on it at Easter time – but the cross did not start out to be a symbol of salvation.

             It was a particularly gruesome form of execution, reserved for the worst criminals.  Look at the cross, and live. 

            Believe that the cross heals you somehow.  It had to take some courage to do that.

            But even more – to look at the serpent on the pole meant that the Israelites had to look at their own complaining, their own mistrust of God, their own failure to live as God’s people. 

            They had to look at the serpent and know themselves.  That takes courage too. 

            “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, so that whoever believed in him may have eternal life.” 

            So that whoever trusts him may be healed.  So that whoever looks to him may live. 

            When we look at the cross, really look – what do we see? 

            We see an act of evil – and maybe we also catch a glimpse of the evil in the world, the suffering that we cause each other, the ways, large and small, that we grieve each other, and God. 

            When we look at the cross, what do we see?  Do we see the ways we have turned our back on God, trusting anything else to save us?  Do we see the one who offered the world healing, life, and forgiveness?

             Do we see both of these things on the cross?

            It is an act of courage to look at the cross.  And see ourselves.

             It is an act of trust to look at the cross – and trust that THERE – in that unlikely place – we will find healing.  And love.  And life.

            I don’t understand why God didn’t just take away the serpents in the wilderness. 

            But he didn't.  He didn't.

 There are serpents in this world,  there are dangers, toils, and snares. 

            And God doesn’t take them away.

            We live in the wilderness – where there is a lot to complain about – a lot to lament about.

            We live in a world where there is suffering and sin, and some of it belongs to us.   We live in the wilderness, but we live with the remedy as well.

            I think of my nephew – in the car – in the wilderness – on the way home.

            And maybe the best we can do is say, like he did, “Are we there yet?” 

            It IS a long journey – but God is with us – and on the way there is manna

            And dairy queen

            And grace

            On the way we can point out for one another and remind each other to look up – to lift our eyes  -- 

            And be healed.

            AMEN

             

           

Sermon for Lent 2: Our Failures, God's Promise: A New Name

Genesis 17:1-7;15-16

  

            Once I posed the question on Facebook:  Does your name have a story?  If so, what is it?  What is the meaning of your name? 

            Of course, this is more than one question, actually.

             I learned in 9^th grade Latin class that my name actually means, “Goddess” – something that impressed me briefly. 

            But as to the story of my name – how I got my name – I am not sure.  It may have something to do with the popularity of the Lennon sisters in the late 1950s. 

            Maybe my parents just paged through the Baby name book until they found a combination that sounded good.  I don’t know.  But what about you? 

            Do you know the meaning of your name?

            I remember a few people who answered the question. 

            One woman said that her name “Ellen” came from the name of the nurse who attended her mother throughout her pregnancy.  All the time they had a different name in mind, but at the last minute, the name “Ellen” just seemed right.

             Another woman said her parents had named her “Ruth” because it was a good solid name, and they couldn’t ever imagine a girl named “Ruth” misbehaving.   She said they may have changed their minds later in her childhood.

            So our names have stories attached to them – and our names have meaning. 

            And this is true as well for the names in the Bible. 

            For example, do you know that the name “Israel” means – the one who wrestles with God?  Jacob’s name was changed to Israel after he wrestled a blessing out of God out in the desert. 

            And “Isaac” means laughter because Sarah laughed when she heard that she was going to have a baby at 90. 

             Abram means “exalted father” – and Abraham – means “Father of a multitude of nations.”

            To us – Abraham is a name that makes sense. 

            But to Abraham, it must have hard to believe.  Or make that – impossible to believe.    Because Abraham had no children.  And he was 90. 

            The covenant with Abraham – and the story of his name – goes beyond this brief scripture reading.  It begins in Chapter 12 when God tells him to go – “to a place I will show you” – and that he would make his name great – which means, that he would bless Abraham with wealth, measured in offspring and property. 

            The promise and the story continues – God promises that his offspring will be as numerous as the stars, he promises that he will be a great nation.  

            At one point, the promise seems so impossible to believe that Abraham and Sarah decide to take matters into their own hands.  Sarah’s slave, Hagar, has a baby for Abraham. 

            But it turns out t that God has something else in mind, another child, through Sarah. 

            It’s a complicated, messy story of trust and doubt, faithfulness and impatience and  cruelty. 

            At one point Sarah is jealous of Hagar and Ishmael her son, and orders Abraham to cast them out.  Which he does.    

            And when Hagar cries out to God in the wilderness, believing that she will die, God comes to her and makes promises to her and her son as well.

             And by the way, the name Ishmael, the name of Abraham’s other son?  It means, “God listens.” 

            Names are important. 

            They tell us who we are, and they tell us who God is for us.  They give us a promise – and they give us a mission. 

            And sometimes it is tempting only to remember the promise.  Abraham will be blessed and Abraham will be a blessing. 

            His name will mean father of a multitude  of nations– and sometimes he believes it – but other times – he doesn’t. 

            Other times he acts like someone who has to take matters into his own hands, who doesn’t trust that God will come through for him, who doesn’t trust what God is already doing through him.   

            Sometimes Abraham is a hero of faith, and sometimes he acts like a coward. 

            But God still makes a covenant with him, God still makes a promise to him – and to Sarah.

            God promises to bless him – to give him descendants and land – and to make him a blessing. 

            And he gives him a new name – Abraham – father of a multitude of nations.”   

            His descendants will be as numerous as the stars.   And they are, you know. 

            The descendants of Abraham are as numerous as the stars.  Three religions claim him as their patriarch. 

            We do, of course the Jewish people do, and the Islamic nations claim Abraham as their faith too.

            Names are important.  They tell us who we are, and they tell us who God is for us. 

            And they tell us our mission too. 

            Our names tell us that we are blessed – and they also tell us that we are a blessing.  

            But sometimes we fail to believe the promise.  Sometimes we fail to trust the mission.

            When we are baptized – for some of us it’s the time we received our names.  I was baptized about six weeks after I was born.  “Diane Marie” – that is the name that my parents gave me.  

             I had a colleague that didn’t think you should say a baby’s name until after they are baptized. 

            But I always disagreed with that because that’s not the most important thing that’s happening at baptism. 

            After all – some people are baptized when they are six weeks, and some people are baptized when they are 4 and some people are baptized when they are 8 or even 18 – or 80.   

            No – the name that we receive at baptism is this one:  “Christ.”  We are given Christ’s name – and our names are written in the book of life.  That’s the promise. 

            We are given the name of the one who suffered – and died – and rose to life – for the love of the world. 

            And the mission?  We, like Abraham, are blessed to be a blessing to the world. 

            We are given a promise that God will never let us go – all of our lives, and into eternal life – we are his.  He knows our names. 

            And we are also given a mission – to be Christ-bearers. 

            There are times, I will confess, that I have a hard time believing that the promise is for ME. 

            But mostly it’s the second thing I doubt – that God could use me to be an instrument of his peace, and grace, and hope. 

            What about you?  What about all of us … Grace church?   We have a name too.

            Names are important.   Ellen.  Ruth.  Abraham.  James.  Ava.  Shelby.  Connor.  Gabriela.  And Grace.  I believe that God has a mission for us.

             I see the children – at the school, but not just at the school – here, among us.  God has sent them to us.  We are not barren.  God has a mission for us – nurturing life,  making sure they know Jesus, the one who is Grace, the one who gave himself for us. 

            So often we fail.  But God’s love is wider than our failures. 

            Look at the sky and number the stars.  See if you can count them.    You’re up there.  We’re up there.  So shall our descendants be. 

            AMEN

For Spencer and Caitlin, on the Occasion of their Marriage

I went to a wedding on Friday, for two people dear to my heart.  I have known Spencer since he was nine or ten years old, when he was collecting coins and taking piano lessons and reading the Harry Potter books.  He won my heart by liking whatever I cooked, and by being interested in almost everything.

I've known Caitlin for just a couple of years, but she has won my heart as well.  First of all, she loves Spencer, and that would probably be enough.  But she is also a woman of both substance and style, vivacious and earnest and funny.

Their wedding was an expression of the individual personalities and their relationship:  full of music and original style, held in a funky old warehouse.  Everyone came as themselves, no one simply playing a part.  The officiant struck a balance of warmth and originality.  Of course, the bride and groom wrote their own vows.  There were tears.  There was dancing.  The word "unique" came to mind.

I am glad about that.  I am glad that this wedding was unique, but I am also glad that, in the midst of all of the special and unique words that I heard, I also heard a few that resonated, a few that I recognized from other weddings, words about faithfulness, words about staying together in sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live.

Caitlin and Spencer, I celebrate your uniqueness, and this unique expression of your commitment to each other.  I celebrate your style, your music, the light that I see behind your eyes, and when your eyes meet.  But I also celebrate the promises of marriage, promises that are not unique, but which have been made by millions of couples for eons and ages.

It takes courage to get married.  I think it has always been so, but maybe not always for the same reasons.  It takes courages to pledge your life and your love to another unique person, to say, "from now on, we are in this together.  It takes courage to get married, if for no other reason than that vow you make, "till death do us part."  You love, and someday you will grieve.

Caitlin and Spencer, I celebrate your style.  I celebrate your music, I celebrate your love for each other. But most of all, I celebrate your courage.  You stand in a long line of people who have taken the leap, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live.