The Temptations of Milk and Honey

Deuteronomy 8:11-20

October 16, 2011

William G. Carter

Take care that you do not forget the LORD your God, by failing to keep his commandments, his ordinances, and his statutes, which I am commanding you today. When you have eaten your fill and have built fine houses and live in them, and when your herds and flocks have multiplied, and your silver and gold is multiplied, and all that you have is multiplied, then do not exalt yourself, forgetting the LORD your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery, who led you through the great and terrible wilderness, an arid wasteland with poisonous snakes and scorpions. He made water flow for you from flint rock, and fed you in the wilderness with manna that your ancestors did not know, to humble you and to test you, and in the end to do you good. Do not say to yourself, “My power and the might of my own hand have gotten me this wealth.” But remember the LORD your God, for it is he who gives you power to get wealth, so that he may confirm his covenant that he swore to your ancestors, as he is doing today. If you do forget the LORD your God and follow other gods to serve and worship them, I solemnly warn you today that you shall surely perish. Like the nations that the LORD is destroying before you, so shall you perish, because you would not obey the voice of the LORD your God.

We continue our way through the desert. The way is barren. The journey is treacherous. The road is unpaved. Israel has left slavery in Egypt. Pharoah is long out of sight. The familiarity of affliction is replaced by the fear of the unknown. The people of faith are on their way to a Promised Land, even if they cannot yet see it.

            No wonder the people of Israel told these stories. No wonder the Christian church kept these stories and told them as well. The life of faith is a pilgrimage away from dark shadows of slavery and moving toward the place of great promise. We put Pharoah in our rear view mirror and leave behind the places of pain. We strain to see what good land God preparing just out of sight.

            Just a few verses before our text, Moses reminds us of the goal:

The LORD your God is bringing you into a good land, a land with flowing streams, with springs and underground waters welling up in valleys and hills, a land of wheat and barley, of vines and fig trees and pomegranates, a land of olive trees and honey, a land where you may eat bread without scarcity, where you will lack nothing, a land whose stones are iron and from whose hills you may mine copper. You shall eat your fill and bless the LORD your God for the good land that he has given you.

            Now, that’s a destination worthy of our hope! Elsewhere that’s called “green pastures, still waters.” It’s where we want to move, where we want to go. Like those advertisements that come from the travel agents. I don’t know where you want to go, but I have seen pictures of where I would like to travel: the ice-blue fjords of Norway, the sunshine-drenched fields of Tuscany, the great pine forest, the purple mountains. Sign me up, Moses, I would like to go.

            I don’t know if the description of the Promised Land was the carrot on the stick to keep God’s people on the move. Maybe so. Flowing streams, abundant harvests, figs, pomegranates, olives, and honey; that sounds so appealing. All the bread you can eat. All the wine you can drink. That’s quite a sales pitch! And the tag line comes right out of Psalm 23: “You will lack nothing.” That’s enough to keep Israel moving for forty years!

            But no sooner does Moses say it when he adds a cautionary word: when you get there, he says, don’t forget about God. When your belly is full, when your money is multiplied, when you move into the big house on the hill, do not forget about God. That is the warning. And it’s a pretty good warning.

            You see, it is one thing to be tempted in Egypt. When you are enslaved, you are tempted to forget your dignity. The hours are long, the tasks are heavy. Every ounce of energy is directed toward carrying your great burden and getting through the day. It is all you can do. Life is not your own in Egypt. You are shackled to the forces that keep you down. Slavery demeans you. It pushes you to serve without benefit or blessing. The temptation is to start believing that is all there is.

            It is one thing to be tempted in Egypt, and it’s another thing to be tempted in the wilderness. In the wilderness, confusion sinks in. You don’t always know if you are headed in the right direction. The pillar of fire, the column of smoke – those are helpful, if not a bit vague. When you are in the wilderness, you may be free but you might not have everything you need. Temptation comes in the shape of worry, of fear, of doubting that there really is a Promised Land. People find themselves in the wilderness of illness and worry if they will ever feel better. Or they stumble into the wilderness of unemployment and doubt they will have anything to eat. It’s better than Egypt; at least you are free. But you are tempted to doubt that God is paying attention.

            There is temptation in Egypt and temptation in the wilderness. But today Moses warns of temptation once we reach the Promised Land. In the Promised Land, you might never notice how your soul is at risk. “Take care,” he warns. “Take care that you do not forget God.”

            David Goetz lives outside of Chicago in perfect suburban town. How does he describe it? “Seven-year-old birthday parties in which the party favor your son scores on the way out costs twice as much as the gift he brought; the one-ton SUV in the driveway; the golden retriever with a red bandana romping with two children in the front yard; the Colorado winter vacations; the bumper sticker trumpeting ‘My daughter is an honor roll student at Hubble Middle School.’”[1]

            He and his family go to the perfect church. The worship services are lively and there’s always a lot going on: another study group, another stint on a church committee, another year as the youth coordinator, another mission tip to a Third World country. All of these are good things. The church has good music. The people look just like him. It’s everything you want in a church. Just one thing missing: God.

            Everybody is running so fast, doing so much. Sometimes he looks around and wonders, “Why are they here? Why are they really here?”

            You know, it’s a pretty good question. I have lost count of how many letters of recommendation I have written for college applications, honor societies, and the like. All these kids climbing the mountain of success, many getting into the university of first choice – which is at least two hours away from here. Maybe they return at Christmas, slap me on the back, and say, “What are you still doing here? You ought to move to Boston!”

            A few of them come back to get married in the old home church. They come in early, introduce me to the people they love, talk about their dreams. We joke and laugh and catch up. Then I ask the question, “Where are you going to church?” Silence. Awkward silence. I smile benignly and wait them out. “Well, Rev. Bill, we can’t find a minister like you…” (That’s code language for “We haven’t looked very hard.”)

“But after we get married, and settled down, and pursue our careers for a while, we hope to have children. Maybe we can bring them back to get baptized here. Wouldn’t that be great?” I will look at them with love, and wonder, sometimes out loud, have they forgotten God?

            It can happen. Moses knew it can happen. Moses knew it is possible for a parent to drive kids home from soccer, pass by a church, and one of the kids says, “Mom, what’s that building?” She says, “It’s a church.”

The daughter says, “What’s a church?” Her brother says, “That’s where we have to go on Christmas Eve before we can home and open packages.”

And she says, “Oh, I love Christmas! I already have a lot of things on my list.”

Is that far-fetched? No. According to the latest demographics that I have seen, on this given day, twenty-two percent of the people who live in this zip code are going to a church or place of worship. Twenty-two percent; used to be higher.

The really interesting thing is about forty-three percent tell pollster George Gallup that they attend church every week. I wonder why twenty-one percent of the people are lying. Maybe they feel guilty. Of course, that doesn’t even touch the fifty-seven percent who don’t go and don’t care. When asked about his lack of church attendance, one man confessed to the news reporter, “I outgrew the need for all of that.” Now he stays home . . . to worship himself, I think.

You know how many narcissists it takes to change a light bulb? One. He holds the light bulb upside down and the world revolves around him.

            Is this good for us? Is this healthy for us? In a world where people scream at one another on news shows in order to make their point? In a nation where elected officials would shut down their offices rather than pursue the public good? What they are saying is, “It’s all about me.” “Look at me.” “Give me my fifteen minutes of fame, and then give me a million dollar book deal to tell my story…and then give me a ghostwriter since I don’t know how to write.”

There is something toxic about a society that focuses only on money, stuff, busy-ness, and achievement. I say this because it’s true. In one recent year, I knew four young adults in our community who spent time in drug and alcohol rehab. There were probably many more, but families tend to be quiet about this sort of thing. I began to wonder, what is it about affluence that could be so deadly? Are Mom and Dad too busy to be attentive? Are Junior and Missy too over-programmed? Is there moral pollution in the air?

I came to believe it is something far deeper. These kids live in a world on Red Bull and amphetamines. Everything is jacked up and fast. Nothing is pondered as they avoid boredom and race on to the next hollow pursuit. They are given trophies for activities where they merely show up, not because they actually competed and won anything. They are told to keep busy, just like their parents. Our world over-amplifies their individualism, telling them to proclaim their self-importance rather than give themselves to any matter of actual significance.

And then they come to know, at the center of it, that the money, the stuff, and the busy-ness are hollow pursuits. That creates despair. In one last desperate attempt to fill the holes in their souls, they dump in whatever substance they can find. This is what they do, when they have so much.

“Don’t forget about God.” This is Moses’ warning. Even if you can’t see God, stop and remember that so much of life comes as a gift. That’s how the good things come to us – as gifts, as gifts worthy of deep thanks. The first door to a deep faith is the door of gratitude. We walk through it as we affirm how little of life begins with ourselves.

We remember, too, that wherever we locate ourselves – whether enslaved in Egypt, wandering in the wilderness, or enjoying the Promised Land – that we never outrun the need for a Power greater than ourselves. That this Power is personal, and that it is good – these are potent revelations. True wisdom begins with an awareness of how small we are and how great God is. God’s greatness is in caring for each of us in our smallness.

            In the church, this is the truth to which we point. God is greater than us, more loving and forgiving than us. And that’s good news. This is what gathers us as a church. This is the heart of a faith that can grow.

            Now I understand that growing your faith is not quite same as serving on a committee. Committees have their purposes. They teach us patience, they help us develop skills in forgiveness, and sometimes they even get things done. All of this is good. For these reasons alone, everybody should serve on a committee.

But we have to always keep in mind that the church, at its heart, is about God. We learn about God, we talk about God, we try together to join God in doing the work that God most wants to get done in the world. And God is at the center of it. Right in the middle of all things! We must never forget this or take it for granted.

For the last few meetings of our elders, I have tried out a suggestion that I read in a book. If the church is focused on God’s business, then it has to discern what God wants the church to do. So instead of saying, “All in favor, vote by saying ‘aye,’” I started asking, “All who believe this to be the will of God, say yes.” It’s been a hoot. All of sudden, the action on last month’s financial statement becomes a matter of holy purpose. Or the decision to give money and volunteers to assist flood victims becomes something that we really think God wants to get done.

It’s not a gimmick. It matters deeply that we perceive God to be active in the most mundane of daily matters, that we trust we are here because God was here first.

These days, rather than ask that blushing couple from Boston, “How did you meet,” I might be more inclined to ask, “How do you think God brought the two of you together?” I ask and let them squirm. Usually they don’t squirm very much at all, and seem delightfully surprised that somebody asked the question.

We live in a time when so many forces would squeeze God out of our lives. There can be no more important work than pausing right in the middle of things to ask where and how we have seen God in the moments of each day. Do you ever do this? The ancients called it the prayer of “examen,” the prayer often at the end of day when we examine our lives for traces of grace.

God’s love is largely unseen when it happens, but simply stopping to ask the question can train us to remember God, the living God, the God who brings us out of slavery, the God who leads us through the barren places, the God who is significantly more important than all the gifts of a Promised Land.

Whatever else you do, says Moses, don’t ever forget about God.

(c) William G. Carter

All rights reserved

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[1] David Goetz, Death By Suburb: How to Keep the Suburbs From Killing Your Soul (San Francisco: Harper San Francisco, 2006) 5.

The Factory in Our Hearts

Exodus 32:1-14

Ordinary –

October 9, 2011

When the people saw that Moses delayed to come down from the mountain, the people gathered around Aaron, and said to him, “Come, make gods for us, who shall go before us; as for this Moses, the man who brought us up out of the land of Egypt, we do not know what has become of him.” Aaron said to them, “Take off the gold rings that are on the ears of your wives, your sons, and your daughters, and bring them to me.” So all the people took off the gold rings from their ears, and brought them to Aaron. He took the gold from them, formed it in a mold, and cast an image of a calf; and they said, “These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!” When Aaron saw this, he built an altar before it; and Aaron made proclamation and said, “Tomorrow shall be a festival to the LORD.” They rose early the next day, and offered burnt offerings and brought sacrifices of well-being; and the people sat down to eat and drink, and rose up to revel.

A few years back, we took a confirmation class to Wall Street. There were no protestors that weekend, but there was a soup kitchen. The Saturday morning was spent providing a morning meal to an assortment of street folks who dropped by. Some had not slept yet and others had not yet dried out. Suffice it to say, it was not only an opportunity for service by our young people; it was also an education.

But for me, the real insight came shortly after we left. We decided to walk over to the World Trade Center site, not far from where we had spent the morning. We came around the corner and there it was: an enormous metal bull. It was eleven feet tall, sixteen feet long, twisted as if in motion, the symbol of aggression and prosperity.

Maybe you’ve seen it, the “Charging Bull” statue of Bowling Green Park. All the tourists admire it and click pictures with their iPhones. If you sneak a peek down below, you will see it is anatomically correct. Well-polished at that! This bull is sculpted from bronze, not from gold. But weighing in at 7100 pounds, it is a most impressive structure.

Like its Old Testament counter-part, the Wall Street Bull inspires confidence and activity. It is necessarily larger than life, a mascot to consumers and investors. I’ve heard sermons about the Golden Calf that emphasize the gold. They say something like this, that the people hand over their jewelry so it can be melted down and fashioned into something they can worship. They are worshiping their own greed, says the preacher, and their costly sacrifices are actually celebrations of their own affluence.

I suppose that might be a pretty good stewardship sermon, especially in a week when protestors occupied Wall Street and denounced the national greed that has twisted our economy out of shape. A quick survey of preachers who are tackling this lectionary text today belies a significant critique of Charging Bull Economics. One minister in New Jersey, for instance, posted a chart of the ratio of pay between CEO’s and their workers. You have probably seen these statistics. In Japan, a CEO typically makes eleven times the wage of an average worker. In Germany, twelve times. In Great Britain, the guy at the top makes twenty-two times the average wage below. And in America, the ratio is 475 to one. And so that preacher concludes, “The bull calf many worshiped in antiquity has become the Wall Street bull many people worship today.”

Well, that’s interesting, even if most of us can’t do anything about it. The point would be it’s all about money and greed and astronomic wages. It’s all about the gold. That’s interesting. But that’s not what this story in Exodus 32 is all about. It’s not about materialism. It’s about what happens when Moses takes his time coming down from the mountain.

He was up there to talk with God. For twelve chapters, Moses has had an exhaustive conversation with the Lord. God is spelling out the implications of the Ten Commandments. The Big Ten did not cover every topic, so God is filling in some of the details. What exactly does it mean to honor Mom and Dad? It means don’t curse them, don’t strike them. If there is a prohibition against coveting, what about property management? God gives that some attention.

A few of the chapters have to do with worship: who can draw near to God? How shall they approach? How shall they decorate the sanctuary? What kind of incense should they use? Back and forth, Moses goes up and down the mountain to have these conversations with God. It takes a while. When Moses does not quickly return, the people grow anxious. “Where is this Moses?” they ask. “What has become of him?” “If he is not around, who shall go before us?” Those are the questions that create the golden calf.

As is often the case, the people raise questions about Moses when they really have questions about God. I don’t know if you realize that, but sometimes people will stir up noise about God’s representative as a displaced way to cope with their anxiety.

The minister up in Syracuse took a vacation and some church people went berserk. He had surprised his wife with a cruise to celebrate their twenty-fifth anniversary. They were cruising to Spain. The day after he left, a thief broke in and stole the offering money before it could be deposited. Thousands of dollars evaporated. Payroll checks were going to bounce. The church secretary felt unsafe at her own desk.

Within hours, the phone lines were buzzing: where did the minister go? How could he leave us at a time like this? Can we trust a minister who goes away? Doesn’t he get too much vacation any way? We would never abandon our fellow people if we had a job like his. There was talk of a petition, informal gatherings in living rooms, other complaints allowed to surface, rumors about the actual status of his marriage – and how much of this noise was actually about him? He was on a cruise with his wife. Didn’t matter – absence and anxiety.

People will stir up all kinds of things when there is absence and anxiety. That is what prompts all the noise in our Bible story. Moses is out of sight. He is not rushing back to hover over his people. This absence is what stirs up all the anxiety. Where is he? What has become of him? Who shall go before us?

And as I’ve suggested, these really aren’t questions about him. Moses is merely the target. The questions are really about God. After all, where is Moses? He is spending time with God.

Most of the tribe says, “That doesn’t matter. Moses is supposed to be spending all his time with us.” They think that’s the issue. But the real issue is the kind of God that they have. The kind of God that all of us have. There are at least four characteristic that make our kind of God difficult to have:

First, God is quiet. God speaks only when necessary. “Day to day pours forth speech,” says the Psalmist, “but there are no words.” (Psalm 19)

Second, God is out of sight. God does not make a lot of public appearances, and even then they are ambiguous epiphanies.

Third, God seems indifferent. Indifferent. God does not seem to notice our striving or care about our achievements. God does not give special rewards to the spiritually successful, no special blessings to those who show up in worship every week. Just like everybody else, they contract cancer, have uncontrollable children, and encounter their share of bumps.

Fourth, God is immortal. Or to put it in plain speech, God is on a very different schedule from the rest of us. Prayers are not answered on demand. Predictions cannot be made. Promises still wait to be fulfilled.

Quiet, invisible, apparently indifferent, and immortal: these holy attributes are revealed when Moses delays in coming down from the mountain. The anxiety of Israel is exposed when the people discover what kind of God they really have. Somehow they already know in their bones that they cannot go back to Egypt, they cannot go back to the way things were, they cannot return to what was predictable even if it was oppressive. They are moving through the wilderness stage by stage, a bit at a time.

While they wait one more time to move on, they it becomes apparent what kind of God they have. The God of Israel is a God who wants the chosen people to stick it out, to stay faithful over the long haul, to live within the sacred bounds of covenant, to remain patient and to trust what they cannot yet see.

And they don’t want that.

For better or for worse, Moses’ brother Aaron, the associate pastor, suggests an alternative. “Give me your gold earrings,” he says. “Bring them here.” And everybody does this. The text emphasizes the point: all the people bring all their gold.

When Aaron melts all of it down and shapes the molten gold like a cow, there is an interesting little detail that often overlooked. The people speak up and talk to themselves, and say, “These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you out of Egypt.” These are your gods -- plural, small “g.” Yet Aaron has a theological education, so he corrects them. “Tomorrow,” he says, “will be a festival to the Lord!” Uh-oh. He uses God’s proper name, Yahweh, normally too holy to be spoken by a Jew, and usually translated “the Lord.”

And it’s not just the misuse of the holy name that is the problem. It’s that Aaron the priest, who ought to know better, has reduced the great God Yahweh to a shiny little statue made out of earrings. The God who brought Israel out of slavery with an outstretched arm and a mighty hand is boiled down to a figurine that most scholars believe was quite small. After all, it was made out of earrings donated by people who had been oppressed slaves for most of their lives. How big could it have been?

Every Jew and Christian agrees: the name of the sin is idolatry. Out of their anxiety, the people forgot the Second of Ten Commandments: don’t make for yourself an idol, shaped like something down here on the ground. God is jealous and wants no competition. The big issue about the Golden Calf is that they could reduce God to something so small. It happens, you know. It happens all the time.

Aaron’s big mistake was simplifying God, making God easy, tangible, and less mysterious. It’s deciding that you will not take God as God is. Instead you will decide what kind of God you want.

Rather than a Deity who is unpredictable, you spell out in specific detail what God is doing, where God is going, and the kind of behaviors that God demands. You might even declare the kind of people that your predictable God particularly loves – and exclude everybody who does not live up to your expectations.

Rather than a God who is completely free to do whatever, to go wherever, to reach whomever, you locate God in one specific place, one single spot, and you legislate what will happen whenever you go there. God becomes identified with one church, or one group, or one program. As long as all of that is intact, you don’t have to deal with a God who stays on the move.

We do this. All of us do this. At the church camp where the staff keeps going back year after year after year, it is a major disruption at the arrival of something or somebody new. In the congregation where the same people keep doing the same volunteer work in the same exact way, and everybody expects the same results, good people will risk burn-out and boredom for the sake of continuity. It’s a great distraction from looking at the much bigger picture.

When it comes to Sunday morning, the same people may sit in the same pews, hoping to sing the same hymns surrounded by the same friends, and hearing the same announcements at the same time of the year. And nobody pays attention to the quiet calcification of the heart, the loss of breath, the diminishing hope. Because God has been made much smaller.

The high demand of the cross becomes a piece of small jewelry, no blood or nails visible. The even higher joy of the resurrection is reduced to usher schedules, printed agendas, and the last person left to turn out the lights.

This kind of idolatry is in the American air. It’s in the world’s drinking water. It’s in the church’s baptismal water. Religious people are often the ones who will do anything they can to make God manageable. They will print book after book, pamphlet and pamphlet, attempting to remove all God’s holy ambiguity and explaining away every mystery. They will take their great Christian freedom and boil it down to habits and clichés. If you don’t believe me, go over to the parking lot of the Christian bookstore and look at the bumper stickers on all the Christian cars.

It’s not that they are wrong. Just small. Their faith is too small. In the great line from J. B. Phillips, our God is too small.

This is the truth about us, the religious people, the offspring and adoptees of Israel. In the attempt to deal with our anxiety as we make our way through the wilderness, we create a smaller, simpler god. “The human heart,” said John Calvin, “is a factory of idols.” What we create, again and again, is merely a shadow of the Lord who frees people from oppression, sin, and death.

But the real God, the God of Israel – well, that God defies explanation. In fact, we heard it: when Yahweh the Lord sees the Golden Calf, Yahweh says to Moses, “I am going to blast them back into the sand. I will snort my hot wrath, consume them, and start all over.”

Moses said, “Wait a second. You are going to blast them away? But they are your people. You said it yourself. They are your own people. How dare you wipe them out!”

There was silence. Deep silence. Then God said, “You are right. I will change my mind.”

Now, do you think people like us are capable of changing our minds? What do you think?

(c) William G. Carter

All rights reserved

A Word for Walking

Exodus 20

October 2, 2011

World Communion

            For World Communion, we hear a foundational text for the world. These words come from the lips of God and end up inscribed on stone. They are instructions given to a group of runaway slaves, to the end that those same people would become a light to the nations.

            Students of comparative religion are lectured on how this text comes at a high-water mark of divine revelation. Future attorneys are instructed in law school on the influence of this legal code. Sunday School children learn the commandments with hand signals, and adults say, “Why can’t we do that?”

            These are the words given to Israel. They call them “the Ten Words.” The people are on the loose, but they are not free to do whatever they want. God has set them free, and now has expectations for how they should live, what they should do, how they should walk. These are the Ten Words for free people to walk.

            Even so, the Ten Words are often regarded as difficult words. A permissive generation finds them restrictive. Reminds me of the day somebody walked into the hospital room of W. C. Fields, the great comedian. The friend caught him unaware and all alone. It was near the end of Fields’ life, and he was flipping through a Bible. The friend said, “What are you doing?” Fields said, “Looking for loopholes.”

For people who think the Bible is basically a collection of rules, the Ten Commandments seem to restrict people from having rambunctious fun. Or they suggested some alternative

The apostle Paul was in this camp. As he famously wrote to the church in Rome, “It never occurred to me to covet, to want what other people have, until I read the Law and it said, ‘Do not covet’!” Covet? Covet. Hmm . . . I wish I had a chariot like my neighbor’s. It was the Law of God that stirred up opposition in him.

            In the Ten Commandments, there are eight prohibitions. Keep the Sabbath, honor mom and dad – and everything else is “Don’t do.”

The one prohibition everybody remembers, of course, is “Don’t commit adultery.” Adultery – how would you describe that to a child? One of my Sunday School teachers said, “It’s something adults do. That’s why it is called adultery.” When pushed, she said, “Don’t ask.”

But when a teenage girl gets dumped at the last minute by her prom date for somebody else, the cheating is painful and destructive, even if it wasn’t a legally approved relationship.

That points to what I want to say about the Ten Commandments this morning. If you don’t stick to them, somebody is going to get hurt. Parents can become neglected; that’s your reminder to make the phone call or pay the visit). Innocent citizens get robbed, plundered, lied-about, even killed. People get worn-out by overwork and might even take the Blackberry to church to sneak a peek at e-mail.

The commandments do not say everything. They say you must not lie about your neighbor, for instance, but do not prohibit you from lying about yourself. But that could be quibbling.

What God speaks in the desert are Ten Words that intended for the people’s benefit. They are intended to steer us away from the behaviors and beliefs that can destroy us, and propel us along the path of abundant life.

Remember what God adds after saying, “Don’t worship fake Gods.” The Lord says, “I am a jealous God. I am capable of carrying a grudge for many generations, just as I am capable of loving you and your descendents for many generations.” The point is God is jealous. The Lord wants us to love God and God alone. None of the other fake gods are big enough to deserve our love. None of them are strong enough to bring us out of slavery. Only Yahweh, the Burning Bush God, can do that.

Or the whole business of honoring parents. God says, “It’s good for you to take care of them.” There is a connection, even if it is unseen. Bless the parents who gave you life and your Heavenly Parent who will bless your life. Care for the parents you can see, and the Heavenly Parent you cannot see will care for you. All of life is related.

This is what the Law of God teaches. The Jews had the good sense to call it “perfect, reviving the soul.” Our psalm, Psalm 19, celebrates the words of God: they make us wise, they rejoice the heart, they enlighten the eyes. And my, O my, are they ever tasty! “Sweeter than honey and drippings from the honeycomb.”  

A faithful Jew would never say that God decreed these rules to give us misery. Oh no, God spoke in order to prevent our misery. And that is why the Ten Words, the Ten Commandments, are so helpful.

A number of years ago Al Winn, a Presbyterian teacher, declared that the Ten Commandments teach us about the components of a happy and faithful life. Let me run through his own summary:

1.   No other gods: that is because our God is the only one we need.
2.   No idols: our God is the only one we have.
3.   No empty words about God: because God’s name is not empty.
4.   Sabbath is all about rest.
5.   Honoring generations is all about stability.
6.   Avoiding murder is all about enhancing life.
7.   No cheating around is the key to faithfulness.
8.   No stealing is the key to generosity
9.   No lying is the key to truthfulness.
10. No lusting after your neighbor’s stuff is the key to contentment.

We do well to live as those who are loved enough to be guided. God sets our lives within the wide banks of the River of Life and says, “Flow here. Move along this channel.” With the Susquehanna nearby, we have all had a graphic reminder of how destructive life becomes when it spills over the river banks. And that is not what God intends.

God wants all of the children of earth to flourish. Listen again to the litany of promises: what we need, what we have, no emptiness, rest, stability, life, faithfulness, generosity, truthfulness, contentment. All of these are promised gifts from a God who simply wants our love.

We know we can depend on our God, for we are called to this Table by his Son, Jesus Christ. He calls us away from the mistakes we have made and the messes we are in, calls us to put down our weapons and to pass the bread around the Table. God gathers us in a sacred tether of faithfulness, and yanks us away from the mistaken belief that we are free to do whatever we want.

            This is the great promise, through Ten Words in the wilderness or generous grace at a communion table. It comes from the heart of the God who claims us as his own. This is the God who never turns us loose but always sets us free.

(c) William G. Carter

All rights reserved

What's for Dinner?

Exodus 16:2-15

September 18, 2011

25^th Sunday in Ordinary Time

The whole congregation of the Israelites complained against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness. The Israelites said to them, “If only we had died by the hand of the LORD in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots and ate our fill of bread; for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.”

The tambourine was barely silent when the people started to complain. I mean, you know about the tambourine. Moses had a sister named Miriam. It was her tambourine. She pounded it joyfully, leading everybody in a triumphant song. It was right after the people were released so supernaturally from Egypt.

As the people departed Egypt, finding themselves in similar landscapes. They began in the desert, and it’s still desert. They are still pitching their tents, still traveling by stages, and now they are running out of food.

That is one great benefit if you are a slave: you have a master, and you never have to worry where the food is coming from. All good things come from the master.

It may cost you more flesh than you expected. But chow time comes at chow time. Slaves don’t have to worry about a roves over their heads. Never mind that part about working yourself seven days a week, twenty-eight hours a day. Everything becomes a routine. The more work you do it, the less you have to worry about growing up and figuring it out. Everything is provided, as long as you have a master!

But that was Egypt. This is now. The people and Moses pass through the sea into freedom. They don’t have Pharoah for a master any more. That’s the good news, and that’s the bad news. No sooner does the tambourine stop when the people of Israel grumble. They want to know what’s for supper.

What’s for supper -- for God’s sake! What are we going to eat? Can’t just keep walking around! When will we eat? That’s a matter every creature wants to know.

My little cat Nellie is seventeen years old. She now resides in our upstairs bathroom. We call it her deluxe apartment in the sky. And Nellie yowls whenever she gets the urge to eat. My wife says it is an emotional disorder. The truth is they are hunger pangs. Nellie lets us know when she wants something to eat. This is what every creature does. Every creature. Dogs do this. People do this.

Looking out my kitchen window, I noticed one wayward bird squawking that we had not replenished her birdfeeder. She looked at me and said, “I’m about to winter in Louisiana. Aren’t you going to feed me before I go?”

The people of Israel, just like all other creatures God has made, grumble out loud, “What’s for dinner?”

The kids ask the same question when they walk in the door at 3:40. You inform them of the menu and they want a snack. Get them some celery sticks with peanut butter, but they were hoping for something with a lot of chocolate.

What’s for dinner? At 8:00 after the light repast of salad and soup, he gets up to forage around the refrigerator. The fridge is full of food, and he exclaims, “Why don’t we have anything hear to eat?” This is a human question. This is a creature’s question. When there is no immediate answer, the people grumble.

You know, I hear the grumbling. All kinds of people are prone to grumbling. The grumbling is always about something. Something is unsatisfied.

Why didn’t the levee go the entire length of the river? What are we going to do to help the people who were flooded? Why can’t you move quicker?

Life offers up the illusion that questions can be answered, that problems can be solved instantly. You want to get hold of somebody, you dial their cell phone and let it ring. If you call and they are sitting in church, it doesn’t matter because you are important and you want your answers now. Technology leads us into that illusion.

So does modern medicine. Why can’t you figure out this illness? Why can’t you tell me why it hurts in my stomach? Why can’t you fix this and patch me up? I’m paying you good money – or my employer is. I expect to know now.

We want to look into the crystal ball and see how the kids will turn out. Why can’t you tell me that? You are supposed to know all of that

The people of Israel grumble: did you bring us all the way out here to let us starve? And for what it’s worth, Moses rightly redirects the blame. “Take it up with God,” he says. Take it up with God. He’s right about that. Beneath every human discontent is a problem with God.

Why don’t you give me what I need?

Why won’t you answer my prayer?

Why can’t you come when I call on you?

How long do we have to wait?

Why don’t you get all the hypocrites out of my church?

Why can’t you give me the joy that other people feel?

Why won’t you send us a better pastor?

Why don’t you give us something to eat?

It’s really an issue with God. Oh, I know: pick on Moses because he is God’s representative. Grumble to him, because it’s his job to listen to all the kvetching. When the kvetching goes unanswered, and God’s representative is pummeled around by the questions, concerns, and unaddressed agendas, when you scrape all that away, the plate is still empty . . . and you are waiting for God to put something on it.

This is essentially an issue with God. At heart it is a deeply spiritual issue, namely, we are not getting what we want, much less what we need. Don’t we pray to God for daily bread? Jesus told us as much.

Jesus told the story of a contractor who treats everybody fairly. He keeps going down to the town square to secure some more workers. Even if they put in more hours, even if they work harder, even if they show up late, this guy treats everybody the same. It’s a glimpse of how God is, the kind of God we want to believe in.

God gave you that last breath of oxygen. Did you get a bill for that?

God gave you the body that you inhabit. Did you have to sign a rental agreement? Of course not.

God is the Giver, the primary Giver. All things originate from God’s creativity. Our problem with God is whether God is the continuing Giver. Because, as you know, we want it and we want it now. Fill in the blank – what I want right now is ____________.

Or to bring it home, what’s for dinner?

It’s not merely a matter of wanting anything. We are talking about daily bread, about sustenance. The world is arranged in such a way that plenty of food so that all life can be sustained. The problem is that food is in the wrong places. Or too much food is in the wrong hands. Or we find ourselves in a desert of sand, and we worry that God does not care for us enough to give our daily bread. It’s about food, and it’s about more than food. It is always a desert concern.

Does God come to our assistance? Does God provide for us? Or is God sitting on a cloud somewhere, uninterested and uninvolved?

In many obvious cases, yes, God does provide. But there are potential misfires. Do you know what happens after God gives manna to the Hebrews? Some of them start hoarding it. They wanted to stockpile it, so they could have more than their neighbors. When they opened up their Ziploc container on the very next day, it was full of maggots. That’s what selfishness can do. It turns all our treasures into worms.

Yet the story teaches that, prior to human greed, God provides. Each and every day, in the most desolate of locations.

The manna falls from heaven, so to speak. The word Manna comes from the Hebrew question, “What is it?” Religion professors like to point out to unsuspecting students what we think manna actually was. There was a certain kind of insect that secreted a white, flaky substance. It’s small. It does not seem significant enough to live on. Manna is a tiny gift that you do not think is sufficient. But it’s all you have to go on.

It indicates that God the Giver provides gifts every day all around us, if only we look for them in the small places. We see them if we silence our grumbling hearts long enough, to appreciate, to receive, to pass along what we have.

Of all the stories that have come from last week’s flood, maybe the best one comes from my home town of Owego, New York. The historical village on the Susquehanna took on more water than they have ever seen in their history. The Victorian mansions along Front Street are emptied of waterlogged antiques. Piles of furniture and wall board form sidewalk bunkers on both sides of the street. Last Tuesday, the first day that I could get up there to check on my parents, the mud line in the trees was higher than my car.

The whole town was without power for a number of days. When the Presbyterian minister, the Rev. Parrish Bridges, realized that he would lose all the food in his freezer and refrigerator, here’s what he did. He fired up the gas grill, cooked everything he had, and took it down the hill until he came to the water’s edge. Then he borrowed a kayak and delivered the food up and down the street to people who had lost everything. They were in the desert, a vast watery desert, and he went door to door.

“What is it?” they asked. He said, “It’s your dinner.”

Somebody heard the story and said, “Did he take it to the Presbyterians?” No, he took it to the hungry. Hunger does not discriminate, and neither do the floods.

God provides. Sometimes we are the ones who provide on God’s behalf, because God first provided to us. But the prerequisite is to cease all grumbling. Perhaps we are misled by the abundance in our own refrigerators. And when a time of constriction or limitation comes, we hover over what we have, if not reach for more.

Maybe what we need is not for more manna to fall, but for our eyes to see it, our tongues to taste it, our hearts to share it. Maybe it’s when we think we have the least resources that God provides the most.

I don’t know, but I see this mystery over and over again. One day, Jesus is mobbed by a crowd. They want to hear him teach, so he teaches. They want him to heal, so he heals. It gets late, so he looks at the twelve disciples and says, “Feed them something. You give them something to eat.”

They say, “Lord, we don’t have much. A couple of loaves, a few fish, but what is that when the need is so great?” So he takes what they have, blesses it, breaks it, gives it away. Somehow there is enough for everybody. How did that happen? Did everybody take a really small piece? Did his generosity inspire thousands of peasants to share? Did food strangely multiply? I think the answer to all those questions is “yes.” There was abundance where people only saw scarcity. That’s the way God is.

One thing we will discover as we read through these stories of Israel in the wilderness is how much these stories read us. How much they see what it’s like to be human. How much they expose our own spiritual hunger. They push us to go deeper, and to prepare us for a God who actually provides for us. They train our eyes to see when God truly does provide.

I don’t know if you have had a lot scraped away and you find yourself with an empty plate. But in times when I have, suddenly something blossoms in that desert. Where there is no reason to think that life could actually happen, something happens. When it feels like everything is being taken away from you, suddenly you might be filled with more than you thought possible. Be it a relationship, or a job, or the loss of some physical ability, or the loss of some hope you were counting on, just then, precisely then, is where God provides, in the middle of your wilderness.

But it’s probably not where you looking, nor does it always come in the package you expect. Hungry people grumble, God provides, and the people say, “What is it?”

I confess the story in our text leaves me a little bit hungry. It leads me to a place where I need to turn to God and say, “Feed me ‘til I want no more. Come to me in my barrenness. Come to me in my deepest need. Shut my grumbling mouth and open my desiring heart.”

For those of us who journey through the desert this way, we discover it is a pilgrimage. Sustained in visible and invisible ways, we are changed and transformed.

What’s for dinner? Christ.


(c) William G. Carter
All rights reserved