Ex 17:1-7

27 February 2005

3rd Sunday in Lent

“Grumbling”

            As you may or may not have known, I tend to analyze commercials.  (Which is something advertisers don’t want you to do.  Commercials work better if you just let them wash over you and implant themselves in your subconscious.)

            Anyway, my new favorite is something put out by the Lawyer’s Group.  This one features, presumably, an injury lawyer who’s assuring us how he and his associates will go to bat for us.  While he’s tantalizing us with the big money that could be ours, on one side of the screen, text is being scrolled that lists various opportunities for litigation.  Items include:  car accident…slip and fall…brain damage…dog bite.

            After all that, our counselor friend tops it off by saying this:  “If you’ve been hurt by anything, call toll free.”  If you’ve been hurt by anything.  Here’s my translation, which I repeated to Banu:  “If life has done you wrong in any way, talk to us, and we’ll find someone to sue!”

            It’s true, sometimes people have legitimate complaints.  Sometimes going to court is the only way to get certain companies or government agencies to obey the law.  But in our imperfect world, stuff happens.  If we go through life looking to make people pay, we’re going to be miserable.

For example, I had a staph infection after my surgery nine years ago.  It required a second surgery, a procedure I did not welcome.  I imagine our friend from the commercial, upon hearing my story, would have begun drooling at the thought of taking the neurosurgeon and the hospital to court.

            And then there’s the one about the cowboy who had an accident in his pickup truck.  (If you’ve already heard this one, I apologize!)  Well, it seems that his dog was riding in back in the bed of the truck, and in the trailer he was towing, he had his faithful horse.

“Sometime later, a highway patrol officer came on the scene.  An animal lover, he saw the horse first.  Realizing the serious nature of its injuries, he drew his service revolver and put the animal out of his misery.  He walked around the accident and found the dog, also hurt critically.  He couldn't bear to hear it whine in pain, so he ended the dog's suffering as well.

“Finally he located the cowboy—who suffered multiple fractures—[lying there] off in the weeds.  ‘Hey, are you okay?’ the cop asked.  The cowboy took one look at the smoking revolver in the trooper's hand and quickly replied, ‘Never felt better!’”[1]

I’ve begun with illustrations of complaining, or the lack thereof.  Our Old Testament reading features the third case in as many chapters of complaining against Moses.  In Exodus 15, following the escape from Egypt, the people complain about bitter water.  In chapter 16, it’s lack of food.  Now, in chapter 17, once again it is thirst that prompts protest against Moses.  In fact, these stories are sometimes called “the murmuring stories,” or “the grumbling stories.”

We’re told that the Israelites have traveled through the wilderness of Sin.  (That isn’t related to the Hebrew word for “sin.”  It comes from “Sinai.”  It’s only in English where there’s any confusion.)  As I mentioned a moment ago, the people are thirsty.  And unless Moses is exaggerating, there are some folks gathering rocks, and they’re about to use him for target practice!

Moses cries out to God, and he’s told to go to the rock at Mt. Horeb, with his staff in hand.  There he is to strike the rock, and water will flow onto the sun-baked earth.  Both people and animals will be able to quench their thirst.  With a play on words, verse 7 sums up the story:  “He called the place Massah and Meribah, because the Israelites quarreled and tested the Lord, saying, ‘Is the Lord among us or not?’”

It seems clear that the final editors of the book of Exodus want us to see the people as ungrateful for the liberation that Moses has brought them.  But ultimately, since Moses has been directed by God, the people are actually ungrateful to the Lord.  They’re grumbling to God.

As bad as the slavery in Egypt was, at least they had food and water.  Their present situation makes all that seem like “the good old days.”  I’m reminded of the reaction of some elderly Russians during the 1990s, when the old Soviet system had disappeared and was replaced with the uncertainties of the free market.  Many of them longed for “the good old days” of the Stalin era, in which they were guaranteed to have jobs.

In our scripture reading, the people’s pain and grief apparently leads them to assume the worst about Moses.  “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?” (v. 3).  I don’t know if any of them really thinks that Moses has mass murder on his mind, but it must feel that way.  Certainly, some serious questions about his leadership are being raised.

Never having been a refugee myself, let alone one in the desert, I can scarcely imagine what they’re going through.  Being without water in the desert is no laughing matter.  Water is life.  Just this past Tuesday in the Netherlands, European astronomers announced the discovery of what they believe to be a sea of ice on Mars.[2]  That would increase the likelihood of finding life there, albeit at the microscopic level.

In any event, despite whatever lack of faith the people show, God provides, with no sign of displeasure.  Moses is led to the spot in which striking the rock will yield springs of life-giving water.  Has God done a miracle for the people?  I would say “yes,” even if the water can be explained as an underground stream, which Moses has exposed with the blow from his staff.  I would say that the miracle is Moses himself.

Consider his bio.  Born at a time in which the reigning Pharaoh had a policy of killing infant boys of the Hebrews, he’s hidden from sight by his mother and sister.  Upon being discovered by the daughter of the Pharaoh, he winds up being raised like an Egyptian.  (And if you don’t believe me, watch the animated movie Prince of Egypt!)

Moses has it made.  He may not have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he’s got one now!  Unfortunately, he remembers that he does have a conscience.  As a young man, he sees an Egyptian beating the crap out of a Hebrew.  Moses goes ballistic and does a Charles Bronson imitation, killing the Egyptian.  Of course, word gets out, and Moses learns that the Pharaoh is gunning for him.

His options are seriously limited.  He can either surrender and face the death penalty, or he can hit the road!  Moses chooses the latter, and in a dramatic reversal of fortune, he goes from a comfy life in the king’s court to being a killer and a fugitive from Egyptian justice.

To make a long story short, he flees to Midian, hooks up with Jethro (alias Reuel), marries his daughter, and goes to work for his father-in-law.  In watching over the man’s flock, he has occasion to wander over vast stretches of territory.  The palace life is gone; Moses becomes an outdoorsman.  He learns how to live off the land; even more, he learns how to live in the wilderness.  He has no idea what excellent vocational training this will turn out to be!

Many years go by before the encounter with the burning bush, which you might recall, never burns up.  God tells Moses that he must return to Egypt and lead the revolution to free the Hebrew slaves.  He must be thinking, “I thought that was all behind me!  I really had no plans to go back there!”

In Exodus 3 and 4, Moses goes through his litany of excuses to let God know that…there’s been a mistake.  “Trust me; I’m not the right man for the job!  Who am I to do this?  Besides, they won’t know what God I’m talking about…they won’t believe me…I’m a terrible speaker!”  And so on.  The Lord shoots down all his objections, basically saying, “You’ll do just fine!”  Having nothing left, Moses begs, “O my Lord, please send someone else” (4:13).

And this is the man who leads his people through the wilderness, literally and symbolically.  Despite himself, Moses has been prepared.  His murder of the Egyptian and self-imposed exile forced him to adopt a whole new life.  That should have been the end of his dealings with the God of Israel.  It should have.

So here Moses is, once again out in the desert.  Except this time, he’s got a mob grumbling at him.  I don’t suppose that any of us have had to deal with an unruly crowd.  My guess is that our dealings with grumbling and murmuring have been on a somewhat smaller scale.

Even so, it still isn’t much fun.  We might think of what Moses says:  “O my Lord, please send someone else” (v. 13).  Does that sound familiar?  The temptation to simply avoid that stuff can be very powerful.  We may want to wait for someone else to step up.  Who really wants to deal with all that guff?

Let me suggest a couple of things for we who grumble, be it often or not so often:  fast and feast!  Fast from grumbling (after all, this is the season of Lent), and feast on what God has done (after all, this is the Lord’s Day, the Day of Resurrection).  Fast from seeing things in a negative light; feast on God’s blessing endlessly granted us.

Besides the announcement of the astronomers’ discovery of ice on Mars, something else happened this past Tuesday.  I was at home…and in urgent need to pay a visit to the bathroom.  As I sat there, I gave thanks to God that I have a private and safe place to answer the call of nature.  There are a whole lot of people who can’t say that!  The reason may be a violent home life, being locked up in prison, or like Moses and the Israelites, being refugees in the desert.  Seen in that light, it really is a blessing.

How about when we cry out with Moses, “O my Lord, please send someone else”?  Think of what Jesus says to his disciples in our gospel reading:  “I sent you to reap that for which you did not labor.  Others have labored, and you have entered into their labor” (Jn 4:38).  No doubt, dealing with grumbling is labor.  Let’s be honest—dealing with each other is labor.

But it becomes a labor of love if our motivation is doing it for the Lord.  Leading others to water in the desert is a great blessing.  Still, even if the water isn’t appreciated, our labor for the Lord makes it a precious thing.

            I’m reminded of the closing moments of a movie I’ve mentioned before, A River Runs Through It.  It stars Craig Sheffer and Brad Pitt as Norman and Paul Maclean, the sons of a Montana Presbyterian minister (and devoted fly fisherman), Tom Skerritt.  Paul is killed by some thugs due to unpaid gambling debts.  Years later, the elderly Rev. Maclean is preaching from the pulpit of his church.  Norman is present with his wife, both of whom are advanced in years.

Tom Skerritt’s character says some things that seem appropriate for us—especially when we think of those labors of love to which we are called.

“Each one of us here today will, at one time in our lives, look upon a loved one who is in need and ask the same question:  We are willing to help, Lord, but what, if anything, is needed?  For it is true we can seldom help those closest to us—either we do not know what part of ourselves to give, or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted.  And so it is those we live with and should know who elude us, but we can still love them.  We can love completely, without complete understanding.”

Whether we grumble or not, that is the labor for which we are prepared.

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