Dear Friends,
Today we read another story about the Israelites and their forty-year sojourn in the wilderness of the Sinai Peninsula after their escape from Egyptian enslavement and before their arrival in the Promised Land. This is one of several “murmuring stories” recorded in Exodus and Numbers, so called because the Israelites grumbled and murmured as they wandered. We read a murmuring story last week about the Israelites’ hunger and God’s faithful delivery of manna and quails. This week, the Israelites thirst for water.
Before we read Exodus 17:1-7, let’s join together in this prayer for illumination:
O God, fill us with your Spirit, and humble our hearts so that we can hear and understand your Word. Amen.
Let me begin with a little clarification. Led by Moses under God’s command, the Israelites journeyed through the “wilderness of Sin.” (17:1) It’s easy to jump to the conclusion that they were wandering in the wilderness of sinfulness, and doing so at the command of the Lord, no less. But the wilderness of Sin has nothing to do with sinfulness. The word “Sin” is not a translation; it’s simply a transliteration of the Hebrew, which sounds like the word sin here. Biblical scholars pose at least two theories about this untranslated name in the Bible. It might either refer to the moon-deity Sin of the indigenous people of the Sinai Peninsula, or, since it’s so close to Mt. Sinai, the name might relate to the mountain.
During their forty-year journey, the Israelites were to traverse six different wildernesses before arriving at the Promised Land. Each was a challenge. For those of you who are fans of the movie, The Princess Bride (which I recommend without reservation to anyone who hasn’t seen it), each of these wildernesses posed far greater challenges than the Fire Swamp. And this was but their first wilderness.
These short murmuring stories are often overlooked because we concentrate on the big stories in Exodus and Numbers, like Moses receiving the Ten Commandments on Mt. Sinai and the solidarity and shared purpose the Israelites find when they enter into a new covenant with God, a covenant (which means agreement) anchored in the Ten Commandments. The Israelites are slowly becoming a new, cohesive entity, a congregation, but as they wander in the desert, they still bear the psychological marks of their slavery. Those traumas make it nearly impossible for them to trust in Moses, God, or anything that is not immediately and concretely in their hands. Yet God remains patient with them.
As we ponder the stories of the Exodus – the punishing plagues that finally convinced Pharaoh to let the people go, the Passover, Pharaoh’s betrayal of his promise when he sent his army after them, their miraculous escape across the divided Red Sea, and the forty long years of wandering in the wilderness – we most often focus on Moses and his relationship with God. That’s completely understandable: Moses is so charismatic; his unyielding faith in the face of setbacks and his surprisingly intimate relationship with God are inspirational in the extreme. Today, however, I’d like to focus on the thirsty people he led out of captivity.
These are a deeply scarred people. Their stories in Exodus tell us how hard it is to leave oppression behind, particularly when it’s been so long and severe that it’s become an integral part of their very identity.
We see the same skittish, deeply untrusting behavior today in children who have been abused; women who have been battered, mistreated, or exploited; refugees who have suffered maltreatment and torture. We see it in children who have survived a perilous trek towards what they think will be sanctuary, only to be separated from their mothers by people who neither speak their language nor offer the least shred of comfort. We see it in homeless people wandering the streets of our cities, living in cars and drifting from place to place across the country, or living in the backwoods. We see it in victims of addiction and trauma who sometimes barely know where they are. They all feel like they’ve been thrown away. It’s hardly surprising that they’ve lost the ability to trust other people, let alone God.
And so the wandering Israelites murmur and complain, defiantly asking Moses, “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and our livestock with thirst?” (17:3) One could read that as insubordinate, especially after all the miracles they had benefited from; in truth, it shows how hard it was for these people to trust in Moses and in God, despite proof in their own lives of God’s attentive care.
It’s no wonder that they grumbled and murmured. After their miraculous escape from Egypt and Pharaoh’s army, they no doubt thought the promised land was a journey of but a few days, maybe a few weeks at most. And they surely didn’t expect hunger and thirst so severe as to endanger their lives.
As we’ve seen, the Israelite refugees fleeing Egypt saw Moses and God as almost the same being. And now they were questioning God’s authority over them and threatening Moses’s life. It was abundantly clear, even after all the miracles of their escapes, that Moses needed to find a way to solidify his leadership position with the people.
“The Lord said to Moses, ‘Go on ahead of the people, and take some of the elders of Israel with you; take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go.’” (17:5) God is telling Moses to be “up front,” to be, in our contemporary speech, transparent. Even though these people have virtually threatened to kill you, God is saying, don’t go behind them, figuratively or literally. Show yourself and take with you those whom the people recognize as their respected elders. And to top it off, take that staff you used for the first plague on Pharaoh’s people, the one that turned the waters of the Nile into blood, the one that made all the water undrinkable. Take that staff, and go.
Trust is fortified by recognizable symbols, and the staff came to symbolize Moses’s leadership and authority from God. To this day, in those denominations with a more pronounced ecclesiastical hierarchy, bishops often carry an episcopal staff. With that visible, tactile symbol, they hope to garner some of the same trust and authority that people gave to the Shepherd Jesus with his crook and to Moses with his staff. The staff becomes a symbol of trust. In much the same way, our Christian cross evokes the assurance of trust for Christians around the world.
“‘I will be standing there in front of you on the rock at Horeb. Strike the rock, and water will come out of it, so that the people may drink.’ Moses did so, in the sight of the elders of Israel.” (17:6) Water, so crucial to physical life, becomes a symbol of God-given life. As Christians, we need only to remember our baptism to know that water is not only a necessity of life, but also the symbol of our creator’s gift of abundant life to us all.
When the elders returned to the people, they were sure to be bombarded with questions – Well, what did you see? What happened? They would have answered that they had seen God on the rock (at the left on the fresco above), that they saw Moses strike the rock with the very same staff that had made the Egyptian water undrinkable, that they watched as clean water came gushing forth, and they drank it, and it was sweet and quenched their thirst. No doubt the elders reminded the people that once again, they were being shown that they could trust God.
In these seven verses, we see the endurance and stability of God’s presence with the Israelites. When they question Moses, he knows they are questioning God. “Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you test the Lord?” (17:2) Moses has little patience with them; he even fears they are so desperate that they might kill him. But he trusts God, and God is endlessly patient. God meets their need by providing the water that is as essential to life as was the manna and quail. And in doing so, God continues to nurture this traumatized people, building their trust and faith.
As Kentina Washington-Leapheart, a United Church of Christ minister in Philadelphia and human rights activist, wrote earlier this month, “Like the Israelites, parents and children have been on a rocky journey over the last several months, wading through the muck of biological threats, shutdowns, and unprecedented strains on the mental and emotional wellbeing of entire family systems. The ‘promised land’ is whatever is on the other side of this coronavirus – hopefully a vaccine, better medical treatments, and the ability to breathe freely and gather openly without fear of infection. The pathway to the other side won’t be an easy one, and getting through it successfully will require sacrifice, patience, flexibility, and trust – trust in human leadership, and, for people of faith, in God.”
We all are traveling this rocky journey. And like the murmuring, thirsty Israelites in the desert, we are all suffering. It’s hard to keep our faith; it’s easy to lose sight of our trust in God. It’s understandable that we murmur and complain. Where’s our miracle-making staff? What and who can we rely on? If you’re among the many who feel lost and unmoored in these pandemic days, or on just a few of these pandemic days, you’re not alone. Others feel the same way. Indeed, that may be one of many reasons we’ve become so polarized.
In truth, we all carry trauma. Even people who seem to have everything in control on the surface may be suffering in silence internally. We see it in our neighbors who have suffered in silence from racial injustice for generations. We see it in ourselves as we deal with loss, anxiety, depression, and loneliness in these pandemic days.
Those wandering Israelites could so easily be us. We feel like we’ve lost our center; we feel like we can’t trust anyone, even ourselves; we feel abandoned by God. Maybe not always, maybe just some of the time. The most important thing to remember from this passage and from what we’re all experiencing in these very difficult times is that God is with us, and God is patiently reminding us of God’s love. When you find yourself murmuring in despair and thirst, remember that God is still with you.
May our trust be restored even when things are most desperate. May we find ways to remember God’s sustaining love. And may that love be with us as we wander in pandemic deserts and our own personal deserts. May that love be beside us as we travel to the promised land of grace.
Let us pray together:
Gracious God, we thank you for being ever-present with us. Even when we’re not aware of your presence, we’re never alone. You are faithful and generous.
Yet we wander in the wilderness, failing to remember your presence, and complaining in the face of your mercy. We have been selfish and oblivious to your sacrifice. We have not done your will.
Teach us humility. Teach us gratitude. Open our hearts and help us re-find our faith and trust when we falter. Pour out your Spirit upon us that we might be reconciled to you and do the work of your will.
In the name of the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer. Amen.