Is the Lord Among Us or Not?

A Sermon for the 3rd Sunday in Lent (RCL A) 3-27-2011, offered by Nathan Ferrell for Trinity Episcopal Shared Ministry

Texts: Exodus 17:1-7; Psalm 95; Romans 5:1-11; John 4:5-42

Is the Lord among us or not?

What a question for the people of Israel to ask! What a question for us to ask!

Is the Lord among us or not?

When we meet the people of Israel here in this story from the Book of Exodus, they are traveling in the wilderness toward Sinai. Just a few weeks earlier, God had delivered them in an amazing way from the hands of the Egyptians. They had seen the dead bodies of the Egyptian army floating in the waters of the sea. And they had rejoiced and celebrated that deliverance from their oppressors. Now, we find them journeying on by stages toward the appointed meeting place with God at Sinai, where they will receive the great gift of the law, the guidance they need to live as God’s free people in the world.

And so what do they do? In our story here, we hear them complaining against God and against Moses, and at the end of this episode, we find them asking this question, which surely seems to be the product of remarkable ingratitude and arrogance and presumption.

Is the Lord among us or not? Come on, God. Are you going to take care of us or not? Are you even here with us, or what? Do you actually have any power after all?

Let’s be honest for a minute: how many of you have ever posed a similar question to God? How many of you have ever complained to God about how life has worked out for you? Even if you have seen God do amazing things in your past, how many of you have complained about God’s apparent lack of involvement at other times? I know I have.

So what are we to think? Do we doubt God’s presence and power? Is this a clear sign of our lack of faith? Does this mean that Christ is not alive in us after all?

I want to suggest to you that it is not. Let me show you this morning how God in fact wanted the Israelites to make these complaints in the wilderness; and that God even now expects and welcomes our questions and our complaints.

When the Israelites left the land of Egypt, they were freed from their physical slavery, but they were not yet free from the bonds of slavery in their minds and in their souls. Hundreds of years of slavery meant that they were not yet ready to live as the free and faithful people of God. They were not yet ready to receive the Torah, the law, not yet ready to receive the gift of the law, and so God puts the people through a series of tests in the wilderness to prepare them for what is to come.

Similar to Jesus in the wilderness during his forty day fast, these tests for the Israelites follow a clearly devised pattern: attack by the Egyptians, a desperate lack of water, the lack of food, the lack of water once again, ending with an attack by the Amelikites. All these things took place in the span of their wandering seven-week journey from the shores of the sea to the mountain of Sinai.

The structure is clear and intentional: it is clear that God wants the people to complain. Of course the people need food to eat. Of course they need water to drink. They are in the desert, after all! God knows that they need water, and so God leads them to a place where they will most certainly be thirsty. Why? So that they can learn that God is the place of the nourishment, not Egypt nor any of the powers of this world! So that they can learn that God is the only one upon whom they must rely for their life and health and salvation.

In this wilderness wandering, heaven replaces earth as the source of their food (remember the manna that fell from the sky), Sinai replaces the Nile as the source of their water, the power of God replaces Egypt as the source of their security!

Remember: Horeb is known as the mountain of God. Horeb is another name for Sinai. And Horeb is precisely the place where God revealed the divine name and plan to Moses in the burning bush! And here, God sends Moses back to this same place for the gift of water straight from the hand of God! Moses is commanded now to take his staff and, not to strike the Nile any longer, but strike the rock at Horeb, so that the needs of the people may be met by the gracious providence of God.

So what did God think of the people’s complaining? The Psalmist certainly understood the people’s actions in a negative light. Serving as the mouthpiece of God, the psalmist said: “Harden not your hearts, as your forebears did in the wilderness, at Meribah, and on that day at Massah, when they tempted me. They put me to the test, though they had seen my works” (Psalm 95:8-9).

But there is another way to look at this episode, as I have already suggested. I believe that God intended to put the people into these difficult situations, as a means toward a greater end. This was a necessary hardship, one which God alone could see and understand from the point of view of eternity. To support this, please consider another example of hardship and suffering, one which we will be remembering soon during Holy Week.

On the night before he suffered, our Lord Jesus Christ, after that final meal with his friends on Maundy Thursday, goes out alone into the garden of Gethsemane in order to spend time with the One he called Abba, to find strength to face the ordeal to come, to get prepared for what is coming. Remember please: Abba, God, is the one with whom Jesus, in his earthly ministry, has spent numerous hours alone in prayer and meditation. Many times in the gospel narratives, we find Jesus going out alone to pray, to spend time alone with his Father, seeking direction and guidance and strength.

Remember too that this Abba is also the one with whom Jesus, as the eternal Son of God, has shared an eternity of intimacy and love. Nothing, ever, in all eternity has ever come between Jesus and the Father.

And so, facing the greatest challenge and difficulty of his life, Jesus goes out alone into the garden to spend time with Abba, to find strength for the day to come. He goes out there to find heaven – the intimate presence of God, with which he was so familiar. And what he finds there instead is hell – the actual absence of God.

This is why he sorrowed with such pain in the garden! Do you think he did not have the strength and the courage to face his death bravely just as countless other martyrs have done? Were his tears a sign of weakness? Of course not. What struck our Lord Jesus so deeply there was the loss of the one upon whom he had always relied, the absence of that relationship which had been the backbone of his entire existence!

Do you understand what that must have felt like?

How many times have you cried out to God for help, when you were facing something very difficult or painful right in front of you, and you were given nothing?! How many times have your prayers been left hanging, like they never went any further than your own breath? How many times have you struggled with the same kind of question as the Israelites: Is God among us or not?

But let me ask you this: were the struggles and hardships of the Israelites in the desert without purpose, or did they work as part of God’s plan to fulfill God’s desires and dreams for the people? Were the struggles and hardship of Jesus in Gethsemane without purpose, or did they work as part of God’s plan to fulfill God’s desires and dreams for all people?

Are our own struggles and hardships without purpose, or do they work as part of God’s plan to fulfill God’s desires and dreams for us?

How quick we are to assume that, because we cannot see the bigger picture, then of course there must not be any greater purpose behind our struggles and pain! As if our own perspective was the sole measure of reality!

My friends: let the examples of our ancestors in the wilderness, and of our Lord in the garden, serve to calm our minds and remind us to put our whole trust in the good purposes of God, even when we cannot see them. As St. Paul has written, God has proven his love for us. Therefore, we have no right to allow anything into our hearts but joyful confidence and hope. Thanks be to God. Amen.


BTW:
Doubt is not the opposite of faith. The opposite of faith is fear.

Hate is not the opposite of love. The opposite of love is apathy.

The Majestic Lion

A Sermon offered for Palm Sunday 2009

The flaming banners of our King, advance through his self-offering.
He lived to rob death of its sting; he died eternal life to bring.
The best are shamed before that wood; the worst gain power to be good.
O grant, most blessed Trinity, that all may share the victory (The Hymnal, # 161).

On this day of mixed emotions, we gaze upon the passion of our Lord and upon his broken, beaten, crucified body upon the cross. Through a travesty of justice, he stands condemned by cowardly men who lived afraid of the truth, too intent on protecting their own power and privilege to risk being interrupted by God.
And yet we can rightly glory in the triumph of this Passion, for we know that this is a pivot point of history, a point of no return after which life on earth can never be the same. With Saint Paul, we can boast above all else in the Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world has been crucified to us and us to the world (Galatians 6:14).

Our Lenten journey has brought us all the way to this point – to the Cross, to the choice that our Lord has made to empty himself even to the point of death on the cross.
Here we see in clearest detail the passionate love of God that will stop at nothing to achieve reconciliation with us.
Here in the Gospel of Mark, we do not see a meek and mild Lamb being led quietly to the slaughter. Not in the slightest. Here I see a bold and strong Lion who will not back down even in the face of death, One who sets his face like flint and who walks with determination straight toward his enemy, knowing with confidence that his Father is with him. Mark gives us this picture of the Master who is in control of the situation: he knows where they will celebrate the Passover, he knows of Judas’ treachery; he knows of Peter’s denials; he speaks with boldness before Pilate and the Sanhedrin. He does not shrink back from the truth, even though it means the agony of feeling forsaken by his Father, feeling separated from the Father.

Here in his Passion, our Lord offers himself as food for the world. This is the mystery which we celebrate and receive each time we gather here at the Table of the Lord. When we distribute the bread of communion, you may notice a wonderful symmetry between the words and the actions of the distribution. We say, “the body of Christ”, as we raise the sacred host before each person. For just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so the body of the Son of Man must be lifted high upon the cross, so that all those who trust him may have eternal life (John 3:14-15).

After this we say, “the bread of heaven” as we lower the bread into the hands of each one, for the Israelites ate the manna in the desert and died, but our Lord is in fact the true bread which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world (John 6:49-51).

The Son lifted up on the cross for our redemption; the manna coming down from heaven to feed our hungry souls. All of it right here in the Passion of our Lord, all of it right here at the turning point of history.

And standing before the authorities and rulers in Jerusalem, our Lord made the good confession. He declared the truth about his own identity and the world. “I am the Son of the Blessed One, and you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of God and coming with the clouds of heaven” (Mark 14:62). He did not shrink back in fear, but he pushed forward with faith and confidence in the one who would never leave him nor forsake him, the Father of all.

On Good Friday, we have scheduled times for confession before both of the Good Friday liturgies. In the Anglican tradition, we call this the Reconciliation of a Penitent. I know that many of you are not familiar with this rite, but it is right there in our prayer book and it has been part of our worship since the days of Thomas Cranmer. Following the guidance of scripture, we do not teach that private confession is a requirement to partake of the precious body and blood of our Lord. Each person must examine and prepare themselves; this is a matter of conscience. However, in many parts of the Church, there has been a long-standing practice of making a formal, complete, sacramental confession at least once or twice a year, most especially during the seasons of Advent and Lent, before the great festivals of the Incarnation and the Resurrection. But simply because this practice is not required, does not mean that it is not beneficial.

On Friday, there is time available for each person to come individually, to sit together with me before the cross of our Lord, to pray together and to make a full and complete confession of everything on your conscience, and then to receive the gift of absolution. For me and for many others who have made use of this rite, this is a wonderful gift, an opportunity to lay down all the burdens of our past and to partake again of the redemption made by our Lord for us in the most direct and deliberate way. The classic guidance for this practice of private confession among Anglicans is this: “All may; none must; some should.” All are welcome to make use of this gift. None are required to do so. Some need to make use of it to find healing for past sins which weigh heavy on the heart.

For there is healing power in the blood of the Lamb, shed upon the cross for our redemption, offered by the One who comes as a conquering Lion to claim victory over the forces of death and hell. As we begin this Holy Week together, God calls us to lay aside everything that distracts us, and to walk with our Lord in this way of his suffering. For as we trace again his footsteps, we draw near once more to the strength, healing and grace of new and eternal life in Jesus Christ. Trust in him; walk with him; and you will experience this new life within you, a life that death cannot quench.