Exodus 17:1-7
If you have been in worship the last few weeks, you have probably noticed something about our journey with the Israelites through the wilderness: these people complain a lot. When the armies of Pharaoh pursued them by the Red Sea, they said to Moses, “What have you done to us, bringing us out of Egypt? Is this not the very thing we told you in Egypt, ‘Let us alone and let us serve the Egyptians’?” When they ran out of food they said to Moses, “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.” And now we come to today’s passage, when there was no water at their camp. This time the people said to Moses, “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?”
There are two problems with the Israelites’ reactions. First, they forgot. They forgot that it was God, not Moses, who led them out of Egypt. They forgot about the miracles God had already performed on their behalf. They forgot about the sound of tambourines by the seashore. They forgot about their first taste of manna–which tasted like wafers made with honey, or bread made with oil, which tasted like life and salvation and grace.
And how they could possibly forget these things? It was only a few weeks, after all, maybe two months, and God’s provision had been dramatic. I doubt if many of us were fed by manna this morning or were led to church by a pillar of cloud. I doubt if many of us have walked through a sea on dry land. I doubt if many of us . . . remember. I doubt if many of us remember such events in our own lives, or perhaps we simply did not recognize them as the miracles they were. It is so easy to forget God’s miraculous working in our lives, the manna we talked about last week, those surprising gifts that come, not as we expect but as we need. But forgetfulness leads to faithlessness, and we need to remember.
The other problem with the Israelites’ reaction to the events in the wilderness is that they kept looking back. Do you realize how good they make slavery sound? According to them, in Egypt they sat by fleshpots—meaning pots full of meat—and ate their fill of bread. Neither of these was true. The slaves would not have been given meat—certainly not on a regular basis. And they would have had bread, but not the bottomless basket of breadsticks they seem to remember. But according to them, everything was grand in the good old days.
Hmmm, where have we heard that before? Oh, right, the 1950s! Those “happy days” when women could stay home with the children and there were no drug problems in the schools and everyone had the American Dream. Except for the fact that discrimination was legal and victims were told to stay in abusive relationships and the American Dream wasn’t for anyone of color.
We have not only idealized the past. We have created an image of a past that didn’t actually exist. And that’s what the Israelites did, too. Oh, how we long for the easy life we had in Egypt. If it weren’t for the pesky little fact that we were slaves, it would’ve been awesome!.
It’s human nature, I suppose, to remember the good and not the bad. Frankly, if I have to choose between remembering only the good and only the bad, I’d much rather focus on the positive. But it becomes a problem when we view today through the lens of a false yesterday, because then nothing looks as good. It also becomes a problem when we try to answer the questions of today with yesterday’s answers.
We do it in the church all the time. We look back at the 1950s, when most churches were thriving, when our children’s classes were packed and our membership rolls were overflowing. Now the vast majority of churches are in decline. Fewer people attend church, and those who do, do so less often. Worship has to compete with so many other activities and priorities. Church membership is no longer considered a social necessity.
So how should the church respond? The answer is not to bemoan the fact that it’s no longer 1950. The 1950s are gone, and they are not coming back. And we can’t keep doing what we did then and expect it to work. We have to think differently.
I want you to look again at our Call to Worship this morning. Two weeks ago I read an article that called this piece of writing “an excellent . . .example of an effective opening liturgy.” Why? “It prepared the gathered people for what they were about to experience, actively told a story that compelled them to find some space within it, and communicated the public values of the [organization].”[1]
Here are my favorite lines: You never doubted we would change things. And then we did together. Again and again and again. Keep trusting there is always another way. A better way. One that lifts up humanity, breaks down our barriers, and heals the landscape. You are the difference between the world as it was and the better place it will become.
Isn’t that beautiful? But it wasn’t written for church. It wasn’t even written for worship. These words were part of a video clip called “Perspective,” introducing Apple’s new smart watch. Now that you know this, you can look back and see how much the first part of this makes sense. Apple, Inc. is seen as the leader in technology, but a number of other companies beat them to the smart watch market. That explains the part of the litany that says “You value the first that really matters.”
But what about the rest of it? Can any watch, no matter how “smart” it is, actually move the world forward, lift up humanity, break down our barriers, and heal the landscape of our world? No, but the church can.
In other words, the Apple company promises what churches should be promising. But we can’t promise it unless we plan to deliver. And we cannot deliver it because that is today’s answer and we’re still looking for yesterday’s.
Let’s think back to those glorious 1950s again. For all of our idealization of the decade, with its economic growth and stability, the 1950s were in reality a time of incredible fear. First there was the fear of the big, outside “other”—the Russians, the cold war, nuclear weapons. Then there was the fear of the enemy around us—anyone could be a spy, even our next door neighbor. This was the McCarthy era, with its campaign of fear. Finally there was the fear of the enemy within—fear of falling behind, of not keeping up with the Joneses; fear that something is wrong with me because apparently I’m supposed to find satisfaction as a woman when I vacuum, and I don’t!
Some historians believe that the growth of the church during this era was directly connected to the fear of this era. People were looking for answers, something to calm their fears.
So for us now, two of the key questions just may be: what is the crisis of our time? and how are we responding to it?
At first glance I might say that the greatest crisis of our time is extremism. We certainly see it all over the global news, with organizations like ISIS committing such horrific acts of terror. I could also argue that the greatest crisis of our time is violence. We can start with ISIS or Ferguson or Sandy Hook or our own televisions. Wherever we start, it’s easy to see we have a huge problem with violence.
But I wonder if our greatest need or crisis isn’t what we think it is. I wonder if maybe the greatest crisis to our well-being is our extreme individualism, our isolation from one another and ourselves. Is there any greater symbol of our obsession with ourselves than the proliferation of “selfies”? Is there any greater sign of our isolation than our willingness to commit acts of violence against those who are different?
If I’m correct (and I’m not alone in this belief), then the church can make a difference because this is something we know how to do. We know how to be community. We know how to help one another out of isolation. We may need to practice it more, and better, but we at least know where to go. And the world doesn’t. And they’re not going to come here looking for it.
For the past decade or so, those of us in the progressive church have focused on “extravagant hospitality” or even “radical hospitality.” We believed that if we could just be friendly enough, welcoming enough, inclusive enough, then people would flock to our doors. And it hasn’t happened. Now, I’m not saying those efforts are in vain. They aren’t. Those are important values. We need to make sure our church is safe and welcoming for all. We need to get the word out, and I’m working with a group of folks to do that.
But all of that is based on what’s called the “attraction model” of growth.[2] We will attract people to us if we just do the right things and have the right programs and show our commitment to children and families. But that’s not enough. An article in the periodical Faith & Leadership puts it this way:
There is nothing inherently wrong and many things right with a “Theology of Attraction.” It, however, does not go far enough or address the challenges we face. A “Theology of Attraction” waits for people to come to us. We did that well for a generation. It used to be that we would buy some land, build a church, call a reasonably nice priest to serve it, open the doors on Sunday, and we would have a sustainable church in no time flat. We did that quite well as we followed the suburban sprawl of our culture in the 50s and 60s.
And now we sit in our churches like people stood up on a date. A “Theology of Attraction” is inadequate. We need a “Theology of Mission” like the early church had, in which [we] . . . leave the friendly confines of our church buildings and go to where people are. We need to go to where people are because they are not coming to us, no matter how attractive we might be.[3]
There are countless ways to do this. Some clergy now hold what they call “community office hours” where every week at the same day and time they hold office hours at the coffee shop. Others hold spirituality groups in local pubs, for people who are more comfortable in bars than churches. Others create online communities or have podcasts of their worship downloadable on iTunes. There are countless ways to minister to those outside our walls instead of waiting for them to come to us. In fact, if you are interested in being part of a group to address these things, then please let me know after worship. I want to create a list of people who want to be part of some exciting new ventures. As soon as I have enough people, we’ll get started.
But here’s the really great part. In our scripture passage for today, when the people are thirsty, God tells Moses what to do: “Go on ahead of the people. . . . Take in your hand the shepherd’s rod that you used to strike the Nile River, and go. I’ll be standing there in front of you on the rock at Horeb.”
I’ll be standing there in front of you, God says. In front of you. Not behind you. Not in the past, but in the future. That future you’re so worried about? God is already there. That path you’re on, that you don’t where it will lead? God is already at the end. That tomorrow you’re dreading? God is waiting for you there. There is no need to look longingly back to slavery or the 1950s. Memory Lane is a Dead End Road. God is waiting for us on the new road that is yet unnamed. And who knows where that one will lead. Well, God knows. And I’m glad.
[1] Scriven, Patrick. “The Apple and the Damage Done.” http://www.pnwumc.org/news/the-apple-and-the-damage-done/
[2] http://www.faithandleadership.com/blog/08-10-2012/scott-benhase-the-theology-attraction
[3] Ibid.