Ex 17:1-7

24 February 2008

3rd Sunday in Lent

“Complaints”

(or “Shut Up and Drink the Living Water”)

            I imagine you’re all familiar with the phrase, “What have you done for me lately?”  When I hear it, it speaks to me a sense of entitlement.  It’s kind of like saying, “You owe me!  And you’re gonna keep on owing me!”  (It’s not exactly in the spirit of the Lord’s Prayer.  You know:  forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.)  That’s not the finest expression of thankfulness one could come up with!

In our Old Testament reading, Moses is on the receiving end of that ungrateful attitude.  But it’s not the first time he’s been put in that position.

            In Exodus 15, the people have been traveling three days in the wilderness.  The dancing and celebrating their escape from the Egyptians must seem like three years ago.  The only water they’ve found isn’t fit to drink.  So what happens?  They complain to Moses.  We’re told that the Lord shows Moses some wood that will make the water drinkable.

            Then in chapter 16, they get hungry.  Again, there’s griping about Moses—and they include his brother, Aaron, for good measure.  Some of them even get nostalgic about the good old days of slavery in Egypt.  This is where they begin receiving manna.  And now, here we are in chapter 17.

Some people actually refer to these three incidents in the book of Exodus as the “complaining,” or the “grumbling” narrative.  Still, not only are the people griping, but with each incident, the volume gets cranked up another notch.  Notice what happens.  In chapter 15, when they can’t find any drinkable water, the scripture says that “the people complained against Moses, saying, ‘What shall we drink?’” (v. 24).

Move to chapter 16, and this is what we hear:  “The Israelites said to [Moses and Aaron], ‘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’” (v. 3).  I like the way Eugene Peterson puts it in The Message:  “Why didn’t God let us die in comfort in Egypt where we had lamb stew and all the bread we could eat?”  It sounds to me like the taste of slavery was “mmm mmm good!”

And please correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like they’re accusing Moses of actually planning their misfortune!

When we come to today’s text, Moses has apparently sunk to a new low.  We read that “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?’” (v. 3).  Moses, you dirty dog!  It’s not enough to kill all the men, women, and children, is it?  You want to make sure all the animals die, too, don’t you?

For his part, I think the increasingly strident talk against Moses has taken its toll.  He cries out to the Lord, “What shall I do with this people?  They are almost ready to stone me” (v. 4).

At about this time, he’s probably thinking to himself, “I had a nice quiet life out here.  My biggest problem was making sure some bonehead sheep didn’t wander off and wind up as some critter’s lunch.  But I just had to go and check out that burning bush.  I let myself get roped into going back to Egypt to rescue this bunch!”  So all right God, you owe me!

Interestingly enough, there doesn’t appear to be any reprimand from God for all the complaining—at least, not on this occasion.  Is it possible that the people have a legitimate beef with Moses?

Water is pretty foundational to almost all life on Earth.  Today, more than ever, there is great political strife over access to water.  We see it throughout our country, especially in the west.  It’s one of the key triggers for conflict throughout the world.  There’s probably no better example than the Israelis and Palestinians.

So, are the people justified in turning against Moses?

Clearly, Moses doesn’t think so.  He makes it clear in verse 2.  “Why do you quarrel with me?  Why do you test the Lord?”  Those two questions speak volumes.  By striving against him—the one God has placed in authority—they’re really striving against God.  Remember, Moses hasn’t exactly seized power.  He has used every excuse in the book to get out of it.

I know it’s very easy for me to say this; I’m not out under a blazing desert sun.  But a lack of faith and gratitude is in evidence.  As a result of his appeal to God, Moses takes his staff, goes to the rock God has shown him, and gives it a whack.  Water pours forth, and Moses says, “Okay boys, drink up!”

But just to make sure that what has happened isn’t forgotten, “He called the place Massah and Meribah [a play on words—they mean “test” and “quarrel”], because the Israelites quarreled and tested the Lord, saying, ‘Is the Lord among us or not?’” (v. 7).

The problem of the complaining isn’t simply a matter of disagreement.  There’s more going on than a mere difference of opinion.  By suggesting a return to Egypt, by undermining Moses, the seeds of dissension are being sown.

This problem is also addressed in the New Testament.  I’ll mention a couple of examples.  We see it in James 5, where he appeals to the church, “Beloved, do not grumble against one another, so that you may not be judged” (v. 9).  And in 1 Peter 4, a similar appeal is made.  “Be hospitable to one another without complaining” (v. 9).

As a Benedictine oblate, I find great wisdom in the Rule of Benedict.  Commenting on a chapter that deals with grumbling and defiance, Joan Chittister says this:  “It is community that enables us both to live the Christian life and to learn from it.  Human growth is gradual, Benedict knows—the grumblers and defiant are to be warned about their behavior twice privately—but grow we must.

“Otherwise those who do not honor the community, those in fact who sin against the development of community in the worst possible way, by consistent complaining, constant resistance, or outright rebellion, must be corrected for it.”[1]

I find it remarkable that grumbling and defiance should be considered “sin against the development of community in the worst possible way.”  Apparently, even theft and murder wouldn’t hamper community as badly!  (I’ll allow you to ponder the various ramifications on your own.)

Conceivably, the situation with Moses and the complaining Israelites could literally lead to the death of community.  Becoming scattered in the wilderness would likely lead to many deaths.  Those heading back to slavery in Egypt, upon arrival, would say to themselves, “What were we thinking?  What happened to the all-you-can-eat buffet we were talking about?”

Those of us here aren’t likely to go wandering off into the wasteland.  For us, the threat is less tangible.  It’s more difficult to recognize.

As I’ve mentioned before, we’re reading Christoph Blumhardt’s book, Jesus is the Victor, in Sunday school.  Last week, we looked at the chapter entitled “He Destroys the Power of Death.”  One of the ideas in it is that we too often look at the surface of things.  We’re unwilling to go deep—into the depths of Christ.

Here’s an example of what Blumhardt is talking about.  “It grieves me that so few believe that Jesus conquers death.”[2]  This is the theme that he’s been developing throughout the chapter.  But then he takes it in perhaps an unexpected way.

“It saddens me, too, that so few mourn for their enemies.  We are too preoccupied with our own pain.  But each of us knows someone we do not care about, toward whom we feel a certain animosity.  The spirit of hatred lurks within us; let’s admit it.  [Unfortunately, there are times when it would be hard for me to deny it!]

“If we fail to tear these hidden hatreds out of our hearts, we are overcome by death.  We are murderers in our hatred, our jealousy, our bickering, and our cliquishness.  And unless we overcome these, we shall not know Christ’s victory over death.”[3]

            We need to see how death is at work when we hold on to bitterness.  It’s impossible to really experience the life of Christ with an ungrateful attitude.

            What lies beneath all of this, all of this complaining?  What lies beneath the people’s mistrust of Moses—their mistrust of God?  What lies beneath our mistrust?  (And we shouldn’t pretend that it doesn’t exist.)  There are many things, no doubt.  But I think fear of the unknown plays a major role.

            It’s important for us to learn.  It’s important for us to educate ourselves about “the other.”  And by “the other,” I mean other cultures, other religions, other people.  Otherwise, how can we hope to replace fear and ignorance with love and understanding?  How can we hope to work on the side of life and not death?

            Our gospel reading (Jn 4:5-14) is also about life-giving water.  It’s the beginning of the story of Jesus and a Samaritan woman at Jacob’s well.  Jesus tells her that he is able to give her “living water.”  (Which means flowing, as opposed to stagnant, water.)  Of course, he’s speaking of living water in a spiritual sense:  something that refreshes, not only the body, but the whole person.

            Our old friend Christoph encourages us to “rise from death—that is, from hatred, envy, and bickering—so that Christ can free us with the love that the Father has for all.  This love permeates creation and brings true comfort…So let this love completely fill our hearts, and death will be no more.”[4]

We can’t do this alone; we need the water that flows from the heart of God.  But it is hard to love someone if we never bother to learn anything about them.  If we don’t care what happens to our neighbors, be they friends or enemies, in the house next door or in a secret prison far away, we can pray for a heart that cares.

As I’m moving to my conclusion, I want to present yet again “more wisdom from the font of Jürgen Moltmann’s autobiography.”  As I say in a recent post on my blog, “I seem to be drinking deeply from it lately!”[5]

In chapter 21, Moltmann speaks about his final fifteen years as a professor of theology.  He wonders if they were “[h]igh noon or the beginning of the farewell?  Did I become older or younger?”[6]  I like the way he becomes reflective.

“Whether we are young in years or are growing older,” he says, “we are always standing on the threshold of our possibilities.  Sometimes it takes a little longer to become young and to seize the possibilities with delight and love.  But to do so is to feel as if newborn, and in this sense, ‘young’ and full of hope.  These are the challenges of the life that has not yet been lived.”  I like what he says:  sometimes it takes a little longer to become young!

He continues, “The possibilities really demand nothing, but are an invitation to go out of ourselves and to live out the fullness of life which is in us and round about.  If one becomes older in terms of years, this can even help one to become younger, for one loses the fear for one’s self, and threats from outside cease to be threatening.”[7]

It may seem like we’re lost in the desert, and the only water to drink is a mirage.  Even so, trust God, because right below the surface—even inside the rock—is a stream of flowing, living water.  Complaints and fear are very poor guides.  “Going forward means continually beginning afresh.”[8]

So, we continue the journey, complaints and all.  Let’s just be sure that we share the water with as many as we can.  We can trust that the Lord is among us.

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