The story
is told of the Spanish conquistador Cabeza de Vaca who was lost with his men in
the Americas, around what is now the state of Florida. Only four of the six hundred men who set out
on their expedition from Spain had survived from violence, illness, hunger, or
were not left behind as slaves or adopted members of the Native tribes. Cabeza de Vaca talked about welcoming death
as his ship’s navigator asked him to steer, the navigator believing he,
himself, was soon to die. After a
shipwreck, Cabeza de Vaca then himself became a slave of two different Native peoples. Without clothes, he became accustomed to
walking around naked in the scorching sun.
As a result, he and the remaining survivors would effectively shed their
skin twice every year.
Escaping
slavery and heading west, Cabeza de Vaca became interested in curing every
malady, learning the medicinal properties of every plant and herb. As his party traveled, Cabeza de Vaca offered
healing to everyone he encountered. He
therefore became seen as a sacred being, among the indigenous peoples, a
miracle worker—receiving gifts of copper rattles, turquoise, and, in one
village, the offering of six hundred deer hearts. They had been wandering for nine years when
Cabeza de Vaca entered what was called the Village of Hearts—in New
Mexico. In New Mexico came slave-hunting
Spanish conquistadors who acted like Spanish conquistadors do. The Native people refused to believe that
Cabeza de Vaca came from these very same people of killing, slaving, and
greed. Cabeza de Vaca had shed his skin
to become a man of healing, humility, and generosity. The conquistadors were who Cabeza de Vaca had
been when he landed in Florida.
Cabeza de
Vaca may have been lost. But being lost
opened a door for him to become a healer, learn several Native languages, and
identify with the Native people as a transformed person.[1] The wilderness stripped him of all that was
unimportant: his armor, his material
possessions, and an allegiance to the State that should be reserved for God’s
alone. Stripped of all this, Cabeza de
Vaca became a healer.
It was
Gregory of Nyssa, one of the great Church saints, who described the wilderness
as the place of threat, vulnerability, and danger. But it is also the place where we meet a love
we never would have imagined. The God of
the wilderness may not be safe. But She
is good.[2]
The
philosopher Meno asked one of the deep life questions that seems very
appropriate to ask while walking in the wilderness, in the midst of a pandemic,
“How will you go about finding that thing the nature of which is totally
unknown to you?”[3] In the midst of the wilderness, this
pandemic, it feels like we are trying to figure out how to live life in a new
world which seems totally unknown to us.
Right? We don’t even know the
right questions in the wilderness. We
feel lost. And with being lost, comes
this hypervigilance that can be just exhausting. Our souls are on swivels trying to figure out
who we are now.
The word
“lost” comes from the old Norse, los, which is about soldiers falling
out of formation to disband and go home, the truce complete with the wider
world.[4] In los, soldiers fundamentally changed
who they were, fell out of formation, to become civilians in their families,
neighborhoods, and communities. In
falling out of formation came this crisis of identity for armies that also
provided an incredible opportunity for the now-civilians to remake
themselves.
The
Children of Israel leave Egypt only to be seemingly lost in the
wilderness. What the wilderness offers
is a place to be undone—to be stripped of all the false layers that have “made”
us.[5] What the wilderness offers us is the opportunity
to remake ourselves as individuals, as a community, and as a nation. But being lost in the wilderness is
hard. So hard. Moses and the whiners. Sounds like the local 80s cover band, doesn’t
it? For two nights, this week, at the
Dew Drop Inn, Moses and the whiners. But no, it is the title for the sermon this
week.
Too
often we read Scripture with lots of “shoulds” and “oughts.” We come to Scripture with that bias. The Scripture passage we have before us today
is tailor-made for a Christian “I should” or “I ought.” I should stop whining. God will provide. I should stop complaining. God will be there. I do not want to be like one of the Children
of Israel, a grumbler. Even in the worst
of circumstances, when things look dim and bleak, I should trust that God will
provide.
That’s
nice. I’m not so sure, however, that is
real life. And if there is anything Scripture
is about, it is about real life. Now
there is quite a bit to critique in Scripture.
But the stories that are authoritative, are authoritative, are True, in
every age.
Take the
Exodus story. There are Pharaohs in
every age—countries and world leaders who think they are all that and a bag of
chips. There are peoples in every
age—folks who work as slaves without Sabbath or rest, who cry out for
liberation over and against their oppressors.
And in every age, God is working out, willing and desiring, the
liberation and deliverance of these people.
I recently saw a rabbi, Rabbi Jonah Geffen, who posted a social media
picture of his new Co-Vid mask which said, “Resisting tyrants since Pharaoh!” The Exodus story is one of those deep stories
that is True in every age.
The hymn
“Go Down, Moses” is an African-American spiritual because those slaves in our
own country believed, no, not just believed, they knew that the story was
not just about way back when in Egypt.
Those slaves trusted, had faith that the lessons of that story were
authoritative, were True for them in their day and age.
The oldest
tradition within Scripture is the wisdom tradition or literature. Wisdom literature is not about “shoulds” or
“oughts”, but about how life really is.
We commonly hear wisdom literature through proverbs, both Biblical and
non-Biblical: “a stitch in time, saves
nine”; “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”; or “it ain’t over till
it’s over.” Again, that is not about
“you better
do this” or “if you really love God, you ought
to do this.” Those wisdom teachings are
to say, “We’ve done a lot of livin’, a lot of laughin’, a lot of cryin’, and
for right or wrong, this is life.” You
might hear some of that wisdom teaching in some good country western songs by
Patsy Cline or Hank Williams.
Patsy
Cline sings, “Crazy, for thinking that my love could hold you. I’m crazy for cryin’, and crazy for tryin’,
and I’m crazy for lovin’ you.” That’s
not about should or ought. That’s about
how life is with jilted love--just plain crazy.
And Hank
Williams in “Cool Water” sings, “Dan’s feet are sore he’s yearnin’ for, just
one thing more than water . . . cool, clear water. Like me I guess he’d like to rest where
there’s no quest for water . . . cool, clear water.” That is really the wilderness story we have
before us today as told by Hank Williams in his song “Cool Water.” Life is hard.
I’m wishing and hoping that life were more than just wondering whether
I’ll get my next drink of cool, clear water.
Though
later Scripture writers and Christian tradition may have come to look at the
wilderness story with “shoulds” and “oughts” to talk about the unfaithfulness
of the Children of Israel, the original story recognizes that grumblin’ is a
part of moving through and getting lost in the wilderness. Lament and complaint are a strong part of the
Jewish tradition. When a basic necessity
of life like water is at issue, complaint and lament are an essential part of
real relationship with God.
Complaint
and lament are an important part of the prophetic tradition. We begin by demanding the basic necessities
of life from God. God, in turn, honors
our complaint and lament and turns us in complaint against the systems and
structures of injustice.
For lack
of a better phrasing, complaint and lament are about a “come to Jesus” meeting with
God. “Hey!” we shout at God. “Hey, I trusted in you. I took a big risk out here with you. So I expect you to keep your end of the
bargain. I expect a God like you to act
with integrity. Hey. Hey!
Where are you? I am out here in
this mess and you have left me alone!”
And then the prophet turns right around and asks the world to honor the
integrity of God. “Hey! If you said you were the people of God, why
are you, why are we not acting in accordance with the way of God? Hey!”
That is
how life is. We are headed to the place
of promise, the place God is leading us.
But before we can get there, we have to go through this time of being
lost in the wilderness—a place where the landmarks are all different, where
we were fed and nurtured is different, that actual food we eat is different,
the places we depended on for meaning are all different, the way we are asked
to live is different. We are stripped of
our old clothes and stand naked enough to shed our old skin. All of what we knew and was dependable, even
if it was bad, and wrong, and unhealthy is tough on us as it changes. We human beings, particularly faith
communities, are so good with change.
Right? Right? No, not really.
Most all
of us become whiners and complainers. Maybe,
just maybe, in that wilderness the church has stopped playing all those hymns I
used to love and is singing a bunch of those new hymns. Or the church has lost the traditions that it
made it all warm and fuzzy and comfortable for us. “Moses, we want to go back to Egypt,” we
complain, grumble, and whine. We fall
out of formation to become less like an orderly regiment of soldiers to become
more like a seemingly chaotic murmuration of starlings. And in contrast to many church folk, I find
that chaotic murmuration to be not only life-giving but also beautiful.
In the
church Tracy and I served in New Hampshire, I wrote a children’s sermon for my
first Sunday there that had the refrain, “Moses, we want to go back to Egypt.” The Chancel Choir began using this as a mantra
every time the choir director asked them to sing a new anthem or song they
would rather not sing. Somebody would
grumble or complain about how hard the anthem or song was, then it would filter
throughout the rest of the choir, and, finally, someone would smile and start
the refrain that would be finished by the whole choir, “Moses, we want to go
back to Egypt.”
By using
this little refrain, the Chancel Choir gave everyone in their group grace to
grumble and complain, but they also gave permission for the choir director to
try new things. Nobody ever gets to the
promised land without getting lost in the wilderness, risking a journey,
stepping out to try new things, and shedding some skin to be a new person or
people in the promised land.. Perhaps
what it also says is that if we refuse to risk, stop from stepping out, are
unwilling to walk, because we hear grumbling, complaining, and whining, then
maybe we miss out on what God promises, what God has waiting for us. We should acknowledge that a new place, an
unfamiliar place will lead to grumbling.
But the grumbling and whining and complaining should not deter us from
risking a new day and a new way. If we
are cognizant of that, maybe we give permission for us all to move to a new
place.
We know
this Scripture verse is not a morality tale, not about “shoulds” and “oughts”
because when the people do grumble, God does meet their needs. God provides quail, manna, and water from the
rock. God does not punish the people
because they whine and complain. God
actually responds to their grumbling.
Also, if
we get caught up in “shoulds” and “oughts” then we have to cast blame on the
grumblers and complainers, or on those who are perceived to be causing the
grumbling and complaining. Remember in
the story that Moses turns back to God and says, “What am I going to do with
these people?” That’s part of what
happens in the wilderness too. Leaders
in the wilderness do some whining and complaining of their own wondering
whether God has led the people out to sacrifice their hide for doing what they thought
God had called them to do. “I mean, come
on, God, you wanted me to lead them to be a vital, healthy congregation, and
every time I try to lead them in that direction, they build the platform, make
the noose, and schedule the time for my execution!”
In our day
to day lives, growth rarely happens without some grumbling and complaining of
our own. If we can acknowledge whining
as just part of the process, we do not undercut the necessary growth to journey
to a new place and be a new people.
So it is as
we continue to build this new relationship as pastor and congregation. I think the wilderness story is a good one for
us all to remember. You may hear me
whine and complain about how I just cannot get something to move off center,
and I hope you will realize, that comes with the wilderness territory. I may hear you whine and complain, because
this is not how you have experienced the love of God in the past, and I pray I
will be healthy enough, in a good enough place, to know that is part of the
wilderness territory. Hopefully, however,
as we walk in the wilderness together, I have faith that that whining and
complaining will give us each permission to walk in the wilderness, risk, and
step out to a place God has promised all of us.
So let’s
practice, say it with me, “Moses, we want to go back to Egypt.” Let it be known in Jackson, Michigan, as a
people find their way through this wilderness of pandemic—this wilderness that
gives us an incredible opportunity to remake ourselves, to be about the
raw-boned honesty the wilderness of this pandemic demands.[6] Any whining and complaining we may do in this
place will not stop us from the journey God intends for us. We are the saints at St. John United Church
of Christ, people who complain and grumble enough about how the world presently
is so that we all might imagine the way God wants it to be, how God wants us to
be—like Cabeza de Vaca—a more healing, kind, and generous people. We will continue walking even while lost, risking,
and stepping out knowing that God has promised a good and broad land to
us. Amen.
[1]
Rebecca Solnit, A
Field Guide to Getting Lost (New York:
Penguin Books, 2005), pp. 66-71
[2]
Belden C. Lane, Desert
Spirituality and Cultural Resistance:
From Ancient Monks to Mountain Refugees (Eugene, OR: WIPF & Stock, 2011), pp. 27-29.
[3]Solnit, A Field Gude,
p. 4.
[4]
Ibid, pp. 4-5.
[5]
Lane, Desert,
p. 31.
[6]
Lane, Desert,
p. 34.
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