Pentecost 9B
Exodus 16.2-4, 9-15
August 2, 2009
Doesn’t this story from Exodus just make you want to pull the “ungrateful wretch” speech out of the closet, dust it off and use it in full throttle?
You do know what the “ungrateful wretch” speech is don’t you? In my house it gets pulled out of the closet every so often when there is much whining and complaining going on. The children don’t like the food that is offered at dinner time. Or they feel they are burdened too heavily with chores and asked to do too much around the house. Or, heaven forbid, we forgo a necessity like purchasing a car for their exclusive use.
Oh yes, the lamenting is loud. If only I had my own car. If only our mother were not so unreasonable as to expect countertops to be wiped off when the dishes are done. If only our lives were easier. If only we lived down the street with that other family that caters to their children’s every whim instead of in this sweatshop.
Really, in those moments, the speech just naturally flows off my lips. It goes something like, “Do you have any idea how many hours I work to put clothes on your back and still I come home and put food on the table. Don’t you know that I have sacrificed thus and such for you. You have a beautiful place to live and plenty to eat and every need of yours is met.” Or some such verbage, but it is always concluded with the words, you are nothing but an ungrateful wretch. Or maybe it starts with those words. Over the years it has become a joke to the girls. They warn one another, if the whining gets too intense, to back off lest mom pull out the speech.
None of us likes to hear whining, in fact, we get pretty ticked off at the whiners. Israel, fresh from the Exodus story, seems to be nothing but a bunch of whiners. Can’t they see that God has been so very good to them? Don’t they remember being freed from bondage in Egypt? What happened to the song they were singing to celebrate their release from slavery?
I can see, you can see, how very blessed Israel is. My goodness, they have a future full of hope in front of them. They are free to worship without fear. They are no longer slaves in a strange land. They no longer answer to a Pharaoh who pushes them beyond their limits and punishes them without flinching. Task masters no longer rule over their days.
That is indeed what we see and we want to pull out that ungrateful wretch speech. How dare they not be thankful? How dare they not recall the amazing, life giving works of God? How dare they not appreciate the new beginning they have been given. They are nothing but a bunch of ungrateful wretches.
That might be what we see. What do the Israelites see?
They see a wilderness, a vast wilderness stretching out across the horizon. They see a snake here, a scorpion there, a scruffy bush off in the distance. They see nothing familiar. They have no accountability to anyone for their work. Heck, they have no work. There is nothingness for as far as the eye can see. It’s new and unfamiliar and more than a little scary. And if they turn around, they see the corpses of the Egyptian army rotting and stinking in the heat of the sun.
They see their children crying for food and their wise sages sagging under the weight of the heat and a thirst for fresh water. They see their herd animals foraging among the rocks.
They see an unknown future in an unknown land. Sure God heard them when they cried out in Egypt. Sure God sent plagues upon the Egyptians. Sure God freed them from slavery to Egypt. But that was in Egypt, in civilization. How on earth will God find them in this god-forsaken wilderness? How on earth will God provide for them in this place? What is on the other side? How do they know there’s a land of plenty? They can’t see a thing but dust and rocks.
It was one thing for God to take away a life of slavery; to remove his people from an abusive Pharaoh and a harsh kingdom. It’s quite another thing to look at a wilderness, an ocean of nothingness, and a dearth of sustenance and dare to hope that God can bring forth life out of barrenness.
If only we had died in Egypt. In Egypt we had our fill of bread and meat. You took us away from plenty, God. You denied us food for our children, water for our flocks. You have set us free only to kill us with hunger.
Yup, it’s time for a doozie of an ungrateful wretch speech. Time for a real attitude adjustment for those blasted Israelites who have no idea how good they have it.
And God does just that; utters a speech the likes of which were not expected in the heat of the wilderness:
“Ok,” God said, “I’m gonna let you have it. I’m gonna rain down bread from heaven for you. I’m gonna rain down bread from heaven each day. And each day you are going to have enough bread to fill your stomachs. You’re going to gather that bread and cook with that bread and it will be sweet and wonderful and filling and nutritious. And at twilight there shall be meat, flocks of birds as far as the eye can see. You shall have your meat to broil and bake and fry and fill your stomachs with life giving sustenance from the very hand of your God.”
This, my friends, is indeed a word of life not only for a group of former slaves facing a wilderness, but also for us. So many times we’re looking ahead at what is next in life and wondering what in the heck is out there. How on earth will God make something of this? That new school and those people sitting at those desks. We don’t know them. They don’t know us. How will we ever learn to play together? But we can’t go back to the old school. We’re too old or it’s too far away, the doors are closed. It’s terrifying. If only I hadn’t decided to go to school so far away. If only I had studied harder. If only…..if only…..if only.
Or we’re looking ahead at an uncertain employment future; staring at a dearth of income or opportunity. Behind us lies only the carcass of the former job. If only … if only… if only. As we stare at the wilderness we lament and complain. How on earth will God find us here? How will God know me if I’m no longer sitting at that desk? What is on the other side of this wilderness? How can God change me at this point in my life.
Or the wilderness of lost relationships, death, disease. There’s nothing behind us but decay of the former life. The waters of our red sea have closed around us and we can’t go back. There’s nothing to do but look ahead into the unknown, into a wilderness that’s foreign and terrifying. We have no idea what lives under those rocks. We have no idea what’s over that next hill. And no matter how good God has been, no matter that we have always known of the faithfulness of the Lord, we’re still unsure that God is going to go with us into that place. We’re just not sure we’ll be taken care of. We’re just so very, very afraid that we’re going to falter and fail and no one will pick us up. And every fiber of our being yearns to complain and lament, if only….if only….if only. We’re afraid we’ll be hungry. We’re afraid we’ll get thirsty. And what if there’s no food? What if there’s nothing to drink? And what if all that God has to give us is the ungrateful wretch speech?
“My friends,” Jesus says, “My dear, frightened friends; I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry. Whoever believes in me will never be thirsty. I am the bread of life, and I will be with you in the wilderness, in the unknown, in the days ahead. I will never abandon you. I am the bread of life and I will sustain you.” Amen
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