A sermon by Associate Minister Elsa A. Peters, September 14, 2008
Exodus 14:10-31
Complain. Complain. Complain. That’s what characterizes just about everyone in this story. The Israelites are complaining about Moses’ bad leadership. Moses tries to tell them to relax, which is a nice way of complaining. And then, God chimes in with the divine complaint, “Why are you crying out to me?”
It’s a collective sigh – something we are familiar with in the life of the church. One week after Homecoming Sunday, we are already feeling the burden of the stuff that needs to be done. Complain. Complain. Complain. Trust me, I know. I’m just as guilty. Like the Israelites, we all want to know where we are going. We all want to know the way. And what we do to get there? Complain. Complain. Complain.
This is actually what worries me about the Church – not our church, but the Church with a big C. For you see, I entered seminary at the point when the Church seemed at the peak of its decline. So seminary was filled with conversations about whether or not the Church could possibly survive. Complain. Complain. Complain. I don’t think I need to tell you that this was horrible. It’s insanely frustrating to have this conversation over and over again you are really excited about finally doing the thing you feel God is calling you to do. The problem is: I don’t believe it. I don’t think that Church is going to disappear. It will change but it won’t disappear. Oh yes, it will change.
And though change is hard, it’s something we’re all trying to embrace. Together. We might complain about it, but we are trying to change. Right here on Meetinghouse Hill, we are trying to change. Most of those changes are changes that your pastors don’t lead – but changes that you value in our faith journey together. These changes might not be apparent to you but I hear them in the determined cry of each of you that wants meaningful fellowship – whether it is in the Eskimo Men’s Club, the Parenting Potluck or simply getting people to come to coffee hour after worship.
Oh yes, change is hard. So, we often revert to the comfortable default position of complaining about what’s not working. And if you’ve been around the church for more than 20 minutes, you already know that complaining is that default. This isn’t working. That isn’t working. No one is volunteering. Our attendance is decreasing. Complain. Complain. Complain. Like the Israelites, we want to turn to someone like Moses (or anyone else that might have a clue) and say, “Did you bring us here to die? We were better off as we were. This is crazy!”
And it is. It’s completely crazy. Who wants to be pushed to that edge? Perilously wading into the sea, fearing oncoming disaster with someone that is supposed to be our leader assuring us not to be afraid, but only to “be still”? It’s crazy. There is no question in my mind. It’s pure insanity. And yet, that’s how the story goes. That’s when change comes. It happens then – but not all at once. The sea doesn’t just part. The Israelites’ vision doesn’t immediately become clear. They have to stand on the edge of the Red Sea and figure it out.
That’s what Faith Formation is. It’s when we wade into the water even when we don’t know what’s coming. It’s when we listen to our leader’s assurance to be still. To just wait and see. To trust that we don’t have to know the answers right now, if ever. It’s a “process, not a program. We need to understand our own identity and communicate our vision of faith and vocation.” Faith Formation is this process. It’s not the Big Bang. It continues throughout a lifetime. Today, as Sunday School begins, our children begin that journey. And it is just that, it is a journey – a fantastic pilgrimage to be defined by each individual child as they come to understand their own identity, their own faith and their own vocation.
At the same time that our children start to figure this out, scientists across the sea are celebrating. They didn’t make it to the Promised Land. Their theory hasn’t been proved. They are still in the middle of the process. Fourteen years ago, these Swiss scientists built the world’s most powerful microscope to understand the “origins and evolution of the universe.” This week, as our kids begin Sunday School, these scientists launched the collider that will “accelerate protons to energies of 7 trillion electron volts and then smash them together” to re-create the Big Bang. And yet, “the only thing [they can] agree on is that they don’t know what will happen.”
Fourteen years into their research, these scientists still don’t know what will happen. They are still in the process. Still in formation. They have not reached the Promised Land – if they ever will. They are still trying to figure it out.
Of course, what I really love about this particular newsbit is that fourteen years is the same age that our kids enter into Confirmation. Fourteen year olds have their own ideas and their conclusions – but they are still trying to figure it out. Sunday School didn’t offer all of the answers. They are still in the process. And at the end of Confirmation, the hardest part for most of these fourteen year olds is that there is no Big Bang. The intensity of particles smashing together is missing. Nothing has been proven. There is still so much that is unknown, fourteen years later.
So, why even wade in the water? Why risk the walls of that sea crashing down on you? Why listen to the insanity of any leader that assuring you not to be afraid but instead “be still”? Complain. Complain. Complain. Why must we change?
One scientist could only reply, “It’s a fantastic moment.” Without knowing what will come, this scientist recognized the momentary satisfaction. She celebrated what is possible rather than what is known. So it seems scientists do indeed know more than we do. They know that change will come and still much will be unknown. So those scientists wade into the water. They face the risk of the walls of water crashing upon them. They find the ability to be still and wait for something to happen.
Faith Formation is this same process by which we come “to understand our own identity and communicate our vision of faith and vocation.” That is our process. Together. It can begin in Sunday School or Confirmation or middle age, but it never ends. It is on-going as we realize together that we don’t have any conclusions. We’re all perched on the edge of the sea trying to figure it out what comes next. None of us has it figured out.
We’re all in this process. No need to enroll in a class or even register for Sunday School. You are in the midst of this formation. You can’t sign up for it. It’s just what happens in life when any of us starts to ask questions about the things that matter. You know those questions. The ones that keep you up at night, like:
• “What do I want to be when I grow up?” or
• “Who do I want to be now?” or
• “Why am I the only one that can’t seem to be happy?” or
• “Where is God in the midst of this mess?”
It is when you bring that mess of questions here – in worship, in study and in fellowship – that faith formation happens.
This is the fantastic moment. This is the process of which we are all a part – no matter what our questions might be, how old we are or how much we don’t know about the Bible. It’s our fantastic process of sparking each other’s intellect, spirit and passions. This is what faith formation is. There is no science – but the simple wonder that we will be changed. Together. Something will happen. We don’t know what – but whatever happens, we can know that it will be a truly “a fantastic moment.”