A question to begin: when was the last time you sat down and read Exodus? Have you ever read it before? And no it doesn’t count if you watched “The Ten Commandments” or the “Prince of Egypt” lately like I did. I recommend a second or maybe a first look because when you read Exodus you’ll find the magnum opus of the Jewish conception of God’s mighty acts of deliverance. The rest of the Old Testament looks back at the event as such and reminds the covenanted people of God, the Hebrews, that God called them for a special purpose and saved from oppression to see that purpose through. The New Testament hearkens to this story often too, with the various early church writers connecting humanity’s deliverance in Christ to God’s mighty works in Egypt.
So yeah,we can say that the Exodus is kind of a big deal.
And even with all the high drama that goes along with such a story of huge amazing spectacle and high stakes; plagues and pillars of fire, and empires, and a migration of people, there is room for smaller dramas that unfold while Moses guides his people. In Chapter 16, which we read today, we have one of my favorite examples.
It’s one of my favorites because it, like many points in Exodus, is so delightfully frustrating. You see, Chapters 14-15 are taken up with describing the very difficult to imagine and expensive to animate parting of the sea and the celebration that followed. Chapter 16 brings that to an abrupt halt with the Israelites’ murmuring complaints.
You see, Israel’s God had done some pretty incredible things. And Israel seemed to get it! Then, it got awkward. Because apparently the food ran out and I imagine that all it took was missing a few meals before the sentiment turned from something resembling a giant tailgate party for Yahweh’s winning team to something resembling the existential angst of a petulant teenager. Empty stomachs led the Israelites to complain to Moses that Egypt at least had food. Never mind all that backbreaking forced labor, culling of the firstborns, and overall nightmare that was Israel’s experience in the first few chapters of the book.
The complaint is ridiculous. Again, it’s frustrating because the congregation of Israel has already started to forsake their redeemed identity. It’s frustrating because almost everyone in the room has done something similar; it galls us because it’s so familiar.
Granted, we may not have scene the seas parted or the Nile turned to blood…but haven’t we seen God do marvelous things? And then, because of our humanity, we just…forget and wander back into the wilderness of unbelief.
And God being slow to anger and faithful, handled it then just like He does for us. He hears the complaint of the people and instead of reacting like Moses probably wanted and shooting lightning at the Israelites, he sends daily provision. He sends bread. Bread from heaven to show his care for the people, but also to remind them that He is absolutely the one raining provision. When we get it wrong, by and large we too escape lightning bolts and in fact our health is offered to us in the form of bread as well.
Maybe I’m being a little ham-fisted in my rhetoric here, but all I could think about this week reading through this passage of Exodus was another passage from St John’s account of the gospel, in the sixth chapter:
“I am the bread of life; he who comes to me shall not hunger, and he who believes in me shall never thirst.”
Just as God sent bread for the Israelites in their time of distress and hunger, God sent his Son to us to save us from the distress of our disordered appetites and our messes. Even more amazing for us, though, is that while the Israelites had to settle for bread on the ground, and some quail, we get access to God himself in mysteries of the incarnation and in the blessed sacrament. In a very real sense, God himself has not just sent food, but has become our life: filling our stomachs, lifting our souls, and renewing our minds.
Ultimately, I suppose it comes back to the heart of we return here every week in the first place. God’s grace visited on his people, and his love for us being stronger than our disposition towards Him. When we’re doing awesome and nothing can seem to touch us: He loves us and offers his presence to cheer and to guide. When we’re in the weeds and our worlds are crashing harder than my MacBook: He loves us and shows us unchangeable and unfailing compassion. When we have a bone to pick with him: He loves us and listens to us as unto the psalmist. When we praise him: He loves us and sends his mighty host to sing along and join us in that principle hymn of all God’s people…Holy, holy, holy.
In a few moments’ time, we’ll begin our rehearsal of a march to the promised land where we can dwell with The Lord together. How are we on the way? It’s an important question to ask this morning because if you’re anything like me, you’ve probably got your share of grumbles and murmurs this morning. But the best part to me is the answer, indirect as it can be depending on our circumstances: do this in remembrance of me. God’s offer of himself and command to remember stands as a corrective to our fleeting memories and vulnerabilities. Just as the Israelites walked through the waters of the Red Sea to escape the chains of Egypt, so can we by our baptisms walk to the altar to escape the constrains of sin. We can receive our daily bread in confidence of his love and provision for us.
All we murmurers, come and meet grace, count our blessings, and keep one another in your prayers.
Sermon preached by the Rev. David S. Bumsted
The Church of the Redeemer
Sarasota Florida
The fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost
21 September 2014