Not Enough Water

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September 27, 2015

Exodus 17:1-7

From the wilderness of Sin the whole congregation of the Israelites journeyed by stages, as the Lord commanded. They camped at Rephidim, but there was no water for the people to drink. 2The people quarrelled with Moses, and said, ‘Give us water to drink.’ Moses said to them, ‘Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you test the Lord?’ 3But the people thirsted there for water; and the people complained against Moses and said, ‘Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?’ 4So Moses cried out to the Lord, ‘What shall I do with this people? They are almost ready to stone me.’ 5The 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. 6I 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. 7He called the place Massah and Meribah, because the Israelites quarrelled and tested the Lord, saying, ‘Is the Lord among us or not?’

Sermon: “Not Enough Water”

Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson went on a camping trip.  After a good meal, they layed down for the night and went to sleep.  Some hours later, Holmes awoke and nudged his faithful friend.  Holmes said: “Watson, look up and tell me what you see.”

Watson said: “I see a fantastic panorama of countless stars.”

Holmes: “And what does that tell you?”

Watson pondered for a moment: “Astronomically, it tells me that there are millions of galaxies and potentially billions of planets.  Astrologically, I observe that Saturn is in Leo.  Horologically, I deduce that the time is approximately a quarter past three.  Theologically, I can see that God is all powerful and that we are small and insignificant.  Meteorologically, I suspect that we will have a beautiful day tomorrow.”

“Why? – What does it tell you, Holmes?”

Holmes was silent for a moment then spoke: “Someone has stolen our tent.”

Camping, in my book, is either really wonderful, or really, really not.  The latter was the experience of the people of Israel in Exodus.  This group – mentioned in scripture as being 600,000 men plus women and children – had made it out of Egypt led by Moses and one fantastic walking stick.  Their last camping spot in the wilderness of Sin wasn't so great.  The name “Sin” meant…dirt, and there was no food.  But Yahweh, always keeping the covenant, took care of that and gave them some nutritional manna (which in Hebrew means literally “what is it?”). 

Now, Moses has led them to a place called Rephidim, which in Hebrew means. . . to decline, lose heart and sink down.  Wonderful.  The people are thirsty from their journey and quickly realize that there's no water to be found.  So they start fighting amongst themselves and with Moses.  Did you know the biggest cause of all wars in the world isn't oil, but water?  So the Israelites are warring with each other and demand water from Moses, who tells them not to test God, which makes them a little . . . testy. 

Moses then cries out to God – and this word is important, he's not just whining a little.  This crying out is the same word used to describe Abel's blood crying out from the ground after his brother Cain killed him.  It's used to describe Israel's cry to Yahweh for help when faced with the Red Sea in front of them and the Egyptians behind them.  This is mortal crying out because the people are mortally thirsty and so angry about it they're ready to kill Moses. 

So God hears this cry of Moses and responds, saying: “Take that great staff I gave you and a few elders and head to the rock at Horeb.  I'll be there waiting for you.  You know the place, it's where I first called you from the burning bush and where I made the covenant with my people.”  (It's also where Moses would later receive the 10 Commandments.)  Moses goes and is commanded to strike the rock and water flows out of it for the people to drink. 

The place is then named Massah and Meribah, which means “quarrel and strife” (so another good name for a camping destination).  Our passage concludes with the question posed by the people of Israel in their thirst: “Is the Lord among us or not?”

It really is a provocative question.  Despite all God has done for them in the past (including the very recent past), the Israelites find themselves in their worst wilderness experience yet.  They know God made a covenant to be their God and that God liberated them from slavery and promises them a land of their own.  But today?  Today, they are tired.  Today, they are thirsty.  Today, they are not really feeling all that connected with God or this journey God has called them to. 

We might relate to this at times.  And I think the power of this text lies in actually voicing that question: Is the Lord among us . . . or not?  If we believe the answer is no, then despair can set in pretty quickly.  It seems like the suffering we see and feel is all there is.  It seems that we are powerless to make an impact.  It seems like life is nothing more than appointment after appointment, stressful moment after stressful moment. 

But IF we believe the answer to that question is yes, that God is indeed among us, we are called to see the world and our lives very differently.  We believe that what we see is not all there is – that God's Spirit is not yet done re-creating this world into a community of justice and peace and using us in the process.  We believe that even the smallest act of kindness can profoundly change a life, even ours.  We believe that life is intricately woven together by our Creator and is a gift to be cherished, on good days and bad.

As Christians, we do believe these things (perhaps some days more than others). We claim that in Jesus Christ, our Lord is indeed among us, but how can we see this?  Where is God in vitriolic politics, in habitual violence in the world, in greed, hatred and fear, in materialism, in illness?  If God is incarnate – with us – in our places of wilderness, why don't we see this reality every day?  Where's the water in the desert?  Where are all the miracles?

Walt Whitman answers this question through his poem, simply titled “Miracles.”  I'd like to share it with you.

WHY! who makes much of a miracle?

As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,

Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,

Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,

Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in the edge of the

water,

Or stand under trees in the woods,

Or talk by day with any one I love--or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love,

Or sit at table at dinner with my mother,

Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,

Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive, of a summer forenoon,

Or the wonderfulness of the sun-down--or of stars shining so quiet and bright,

Or the exquisite, delicate, thin curve of the new moon in spring;

Or to the soiree--or to the opera,

Or behold children at their sports,

Or the admirable sight of the perfect old man, or the perfect old

woman,

Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial,

Or my own eyes and figure in the glass;

These, with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,

The whole referring--yet each distinct, and in its place.

To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,

Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,

Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the

same,

Every foot of the interior swarms with the same;

Every spear of grass--the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women,

and all that concerns them,

All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.

It might seem idealistic or disconnected from suffering in the world to embrace miracles as this poem does.  But I don't think it is.  I think we have something to learn from this Walt about changing our perspective on God's work in the world.  We can learn that maybe we're too busy fixating on our thirst, rubbing dry sand through our hands, and feeling as if our journey with God is nothing like what we expected, to see that miracles are happening all around us.  To see that we are in fact capable of bringing miracles to others.  Miracles that do not often make the news but every single day change the lives of people all over the world, like the first drop of clean water in the desert.

That even in the desert of civil war and fleeing refugees, people are looking after each other and sharing what little they have with one other.  That even in our country often defined and polarized by politics, people are radically generous with one another and able to bridge all kinds of difference to show love.  That even in illness, loss or uncertainty, people find resilience, courage and faith where they least expect them to be. 

These are miracles, God watering bitter days with holy hope. 

They remind us of God's promises that no wilderness or thirst can diminish: that we belong to God and each other, that we are created good and called to be a part of God's mission in this world, and that God will never, ever leave us. 

And so to the valid question asked by the people of Israel: Is the Lord among us or not?  I say, yes.  But that's not all.  Just as God is with us, guiding us on an unknown journey, so are we with each other.  And, like Holmes and Watson, that is exactly where we need to be.  Amen.