GRUMBLING IN THE WILDERNESS
A Sermon preached by the
Rev. Randle R. (Rick) Mixon
First Baptist Church, Palo Alto, CA
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Text: Exodus 16:2-15
When I was 6 years old my family moved from Kansas, where my father had pastored for 15 years, to sunny southern California. We lived in Chula Vista, just south of San Diego, near the ocean. We spent a lot of pleasant time at Silver Strand State Beach, playing in the sand and the surf with friends and families from 1st Baptist Church. There was wave jumping and body surfing and sand in your swimsuit; there were weenie roasts and toasted marshmallows and songs around the driftwood bonfire. We transplanted Kansans loved our days at the beach.
But as you know, much of California is really desert or semi-arid land that has been reclaimed through irrigation. The family farms and agribusinesses of the Central Valley are always vulnerable to the paucity of rainfall, the depth of the Sierra snowpack and Colorado River water. Much of the nation’s produce is dependent on a complex water management system that makes this desert bloom.
Just east of San Diego is Anza Borrego State Park. The sand of the Silver Strand rises directly from the Pacific Ocean; Anza Borrego’s sands are desert sands. Perhaps they were the ocean floor at one time, but now they are hot and dry. There were people in our church community who also liked to spend time at Anza Borrego and my father would have happily taken us to join them on occasion. I’m know we did once or twice in the 5 years we lived in that area. But it only took one trip for my mother to know that it was not a place she wanted to visit. She has never handled heat well anyway and she saw nothing in the vast expanse of sand and rocks that was attractive to her. She was not drawn to this little section of God’s universe, so we did not spend much time there.
I guess this information sticks in my mind because of what was lost through my mother’s, somewhat justifiable, griping about the desert, because of what we missed by not spending time there. People would come home from spring visits in the desert and tell about the amazing wildflowers that forced their way up from the arid desert floor, providing unparalleled color spots. They would return with tales of the wild life and photographs of the play of sun and cloud on rocks and sand that were truly magical. My mother just couldn’t see it, and, truth be told, I myself would choose the beach over the desert nine times out of ten, though I suppose I’d put a getaway by a mountain stream ahead of either.
The encounter of my family with the desert pales mightily in comparison to the folks in this morning’s text. Theirs was a far more challenging encounter with the desert than that of a day’s outing or a weekend getaway. They had fled into the desert in a dramatic escape from slavery in Egypt with high hopes of returning to that land promised them by God, a land of abundance, security and peace, a land of freedom and possibility, a land flowing with milk and honey. They had followed their leader Moses - sometimes joyfully, sometimes hesitantly, sometimes reluctantly. Remember the circumstances of their leaving involved miraculous plagues that had disrupted life in Egypt and softened Pharaoh’s heart in order to obtain their release. They had seen the waters of the Red Sea part so that they could walk over on dry land and then they watched the sea close ranks over the army of Egypt. God had reassured them, “Oh Mary, don’t you weep, don’t you mourn. Oh Mary, don’t you weep, don’t you mourn. Pharaoh’s army got ‘drownded.’ O Mary don’t you weep.”
Whatever their initial commitment to this journey, once started they were all swept along by the power and majesty of God’s movement in their midst. The fiery pillar led them by day and the luminescent cloud by night. There was little time for reflection or complaint. They were all caught up in the wonder of their Exodus, the joy of their liberation, the promise of their future. No time really to consider the consequences of their escape or to contemplate the journey that lay ahead. “On my journey now. On my journey now. Wouldn’t give nothing for my journey now.”
But the Exodus story is a very human one and it doesn’t take long before the characters start to grumble and complain. “Who’s in charge here? Where are we going? How will this flock ever be fed and watered, wandering out here in the Sinai desert?” The muttering and grumbling was small at first, mostly just the usual complainers - those who saw the grim side of every situation and had trouble believing that God would invest leadership of the whole nation in a fool like Moses. What qualified him to lead anyway? Hadn’t he been raised in the Pharaoh’s court? Could they even trust him? Oh, and then there was his disappearance after the murder of the Egyptian overseer. Where had he been all those lost years and what had he been up to? Some say he worked as a shepherd. Hardly qualifications to lead a people. Really, could they trust that God had a hand in any of this?
It was true that Moses had had the fortitude to confront Pharaoh - and there were the plagues and the parting of the sea. But that was all history now. They had barely begun to journey on when the question started rippling through the assembly, “What has he done for us lately?” Three days journey into the wilderness and the grumbling continued to grow. They couldn’t find any water and they were getting thirsty. They finally found an oasis - only to discover that the water was bitter. “And the people complained against Moses, saying, ‘What shall we drink?’” It was all on Moses shoulders and “He cried out to [God]; and [God] showed him a piece of wood; he threw it into the water, and the water became sweet.” Not only did God take care of their thirst, She said, “If you will listen carefully to the voice of [God], and do what is right in [her] sight, and give heed to [her] commandments and keep all [her] statutes, I will not bring on you any of the diseases that I brought on the Egyptians; for I am [God] who heals you.” (Exodus 15: 22-26). On the whole it seemed like a pretty good deal. They behaved well and God would take care of them. Sure enough, their next stop was the oasis at Elim where there were “twelve springs of water and seventy palm trees; and they camped there by the water.” (Exodus 15: 27b)
Eventually, though, they had to journey on. By the middle of the second month the complaints had come back stronger than before. In fact, they had grown to crisis proportions. “The whole congregation of the Israelites complained against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness. The Israelites said, ‘If only we had died by the hand of [God] in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots and ate our fill of bread; for you have brought us out into the wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.’” First water, now food. This time Moses doesn’t even have to plead. God had already heard their grumbling and said to Moses, “I am going to rain bread from heaven for you…” (Exodus 16:2-4a) and we get the wondrous story of quail in the desert and manna in the wilderness, the little birds that inhabited the land and the magical bread that covered the desert floor like morning dew, “the taste of it was like wafers made with honey.” (Exodus 16:31) It wasn’t exactly what they expected but it was sufficient for the needs of all the people.
Unfortunately this is not the end of the grumbling. Exodus will report two more water crises before it concludes. The rowdy crowd will confront poor Moses again in a nasty, quarrelsome mood, “Give us water to drink.” Moses beside himself, his own faith perhaps slipping, will see clearly that this is not an easy people to lead. The job is clearly too big for one man. They do not want to take responsibility for their share of the covenant with God. They want to be taken care of - now. They want access to one of those “easy buttons” advertised on TV. Oh, right! Just like they’re not likely to find that “greener grass” out here in the desert, I imagine the TV reception isn’t too good either. They seem to have no active memory of what it feels like to be a slave. They have lost their dream of the Promised Land. The past and the future fade in the desires of the moment. Of course, water and food are essential to life, but has God not provided for them over and over and over again? Oh people of little faith.
Still God stays with them. Perhaps this is the crucial question we ask ourselves over and over as we journey – Is God among us or not? If not, why not? Have we taken a wrong turn? Have we been too busy grumbling to hear the still small voice; to preoccupied to see the pillar and the cloud of presence? How can we miss God who is ever present, regardless of our circumstances, and ever ready to care for us?
In the same way that I probably overstated my mother’s objections to the desert, I may be overstating the Israelites’ grumbling about the wilderness. Theirs was a monumental and difficult journey. The text goes on to say that they spent 40 years wandering in this wilderness before they got home. It doesn’t say for sure whether or not they went grumbling all the way. We can only guess.
Is there good news in this ancient text for us as we journey? I am sure at moments our life together seems like wilderness wandering. Where are we going? Is God with us? Are we with God? What are we being asked to leave behind – some of which we treasure, some of which we have already begun to forget the pain it caused us? What are we journeying toward? Is there a “land of milk and honey” at the end of our journey?
What is needed here may be to discover new ways of being church, of journeying together, ways in which we trust and care for one another, in which we are the church, the people of God, a royal priesthood, bearing witness over and over to how God has been good to us, cared for us, brought us out of bondage and given us real hope for a redeemed future. Times have changed significantly and I am glad to see that this band of wilderness wanderers seldom falls into grumbling, at least as far I know. For the most part you have not looked to me or any other leader to take on your responsibilities. In fact, leadership these days may be whole lot less about a powerful patriarch like Abraham or Moses or David and much more about communities of solidarity that have learned to live together and grow together and work together and witness together. Leadership for such a band may look highly unconventional, be grounded in relationship and involve people who will walk with you, side by side, rather than out in front. Maybe that was a source of the grumbling going on in the wilderness. The Israelites didn’t have their priorities right. They put too much on Moses’ shoulders and failed to understand that this was THEIR journey. It was their bondage that was broken, their future that was promised, their opportunity to step out in the face of danger and daunting challenges, to find their way home. And God would be with them, every step of the way.
May we claim the journeys we are on as our own – even when they are difficult. May we continue to step up and step out, moving with God, who may not always seem so obviously present, but surely is. May we be willing to wait for a while when we need to, pausing to center ourselves and find where God is actively present in our lives and along our pathway. May we turn to God when we feel lonely or lost or disconnected. May we let go of any grumbling we feel rising in our throats and open ourselves to see the beauty of the desert and the beauty of the journey. May we care for one another, for our neighbors, who may also be our enemies, and for all of God’s creation. And may our sense of God’s presence grow as we travel. May it sustain us and heal us and empower us and bring us to all the places we need to be – bitter and sweet, wet and dry, challenging and joyful. In the end, may we find our way home to that Promised Land that flows with milk and honey to live with God forever. Amen.