Publications > Sermons

Is God Among Us or Not?

Rev. Cindy Maddox
September 25, 2005

Exodus 17:1-7

At this point in our story, the Israelites have been on quite a ride.

First, Moses appears out of nowhere, out of the haze of the desert and his self-imposed. He enters the perfumed palace of the Pharaoh, smelling like sweat and sheep dung, and he starts giving ultimatums.

The Pharaoh gets angry at Moses' audacious demands, and he punishes the Israelites by forcing them into even harder labor.

The Israelites are furious with Moses. They say, "You have brought us into bad odor with Pharaoh and his officials."

Oh, but the odors have only begun.

The plagues begin, and everything stinks. The river smells of rotting fish. The land smells of dead frogs. The people smell from infection.

With each new plague, Pharaoh gives in. OK, OK, just leave! Get out of my sight...and out of my range of smell!

Each time Pharaoh says the Israelites can leave, their hopes are raised. They feel so close to freedom they can almost taste it. But each time the plagues are removed, Pharaoh changes his mind, and hope turns bitter in their mouths.

Finally comes the last plague, the plague even Pharaoh cannot stomach. And the Israelites are finally free. They rush into the wilderness singing.

But their refrain of Free at last, free at last is drowned out by the pounding of hoofbeats and the creaking of wheels. Once again Pharaoh has changed his mind, and the Israelites are being pursued by an army they have no hope on earth or in heaven of defeating.

What have you done to us? they cry out to Moses. Were there not enough graves in Egypt? Is that why you brought us out here to die?

But God intervenes, and the people are saved. The Israelites get their first taste of freedom, and it is sweet. The defeat of their oppressors. A party on the seashore. The taste of victory on their tongues.

But their second taste of freedom is not so sweet. Three days in the wilderness and no water. Then when they finally do find water, it is bitter.

The people begin to panic and complain, but again God intervenes. The water is made sweet.

A few weeks later, the Israelites run out of food. And again they complain to Moses.
If only you had let us die in Egypt, where at least our stomachs would be full.
Instead, you have brought us out into this wilderness to die of hunger!

But once again, God intervenes. The people receive manna every morning and quail every night. Their stomachs are full. Their tongues savor the sweet taste of God's provision. All is well.

Until they get to Rephidim. And there is no water. Their skin becomes dry and cracked. Their nostrils are filled with sand. Their tongues are stuck to the roof of their mouths. Between parched lips, they croak, Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children with thirst?

Their anger with the situation is certainly justified. At least as slaves they had food and water and protection from the elements. What had freedom brought them? Hunger. Thirst. The bitter taste of disappointment. The smell of despair. Surely freedom had promised more than this!

Moses, in turn, is experiencing yet another crisis in leadership. He risked everything, including his life, to free these people, and all he's heard from them is complaining and accusations. Not a single word of thanks for all his trouble. And now they're ready to stone him.

So he takes the problem to God, and God tells Moses exactly what to do, in four simple verbs (well, actually, two):

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.

I find it interesting that God didn't say, "Follow me," or even "Follow the pillar of fire" that had led the people so far. God just says: Go! You know the way. Or if you don't, you'll find it.

God was not abandoning them. God says, "I will be standing there in front of you, on the rock at Horeb." In other words, "When you get where I tell you to go, I will already be there."

What a comforting promise: I'm going to send you out. I'm going to send you on this new journey. I'm going to send you into the unknown. You may be frightened. You may or may not know the way. But I'm already there.

This is a comforting promise to us as individuals, and to us as a church. God is sending us on a journey. We don't know for sure where we are going. We don't know for sure where God is calling us. But we do know that God is already there.

God gives Moses this wonderful promise, but God doesn't stop there. God tells Moses exactly what to do next:

Strike the rock, and water will come out of it, so that the people may drink.

Up to this point, the story provides a great build-up, don't you think? Quite the heightening of drama. We are waiting for the crescendo, the climax, the powerful telling of water bursting forth from solid rock. We are waiting for the fulfillment of the promise.

And so Moses did as God commanded. And he took the elders of Israel and he went forth to the rock at Horeb. He lifted his staff, the staff with which he had struck the Nile, and he prayed, "Oh, great and mighty God, we thank you for your deliverance from the hand of Pharaoh and the waves of the sea. We thank you for your provision of manna and quail, your attention to our needs. And so we thank you for the water you are about to provide to quench our thirst. You are our God, and we are your people. Amen." And so Moses struck the rock, and the rock cracked open, and water gushed forth, covering the feet of all the elders of Israel. And they fell to their knees and drank deeply, and praised the Lord their God.

Pretty good, huh? Problem is, of course, that I made it up. The narrator doesn't give us any of this. All the narrator gives us is the command of what Moses is supposed to do,
and then -- are you ready for this?

Moses did so.

Wow, now that was a let-down. This narrator is not much of a storyteller. He clearly doesn't understand the classic formula of rising action, climax, and denoument. Where's the drama? Where's the excitement? Where's the miracle? Isn't that the point of the story?

Actually, no. The point of this particular story is not God's provision. The point of this story, as it is told, is not God's provision, but the people's unfaithfulness. We know this because, instead of telling us about the miracle, the storyteller ends with:

[Moses] called the place Massah and Meribah, because the Israelites quarreled and tested the Lord, saying, "Is the Lord among us or not?"

I've heard quite a few preachers and commentary writers condemn the Israelites for their questions. It's easy to do...until we see ourselves in the Israelites.

There are two problems with the Israelites' reactions.

First, they forgot. They forgot that it was God, not Moses, who led them out of Egypt. They forgot about the miracles God had already performed on their behalf. They forgot about the sound of tambourines by the seashore. They forgot about their first taste of manna -- which tasted like wafers made with honey, or bread made with oil, which tasted like life and salvation and grace.

And how they could possibly forget these things? It was only a few weeks, after all, and God's provision had been dramatic.

I doubt if many of us were fed by manna this morning or were led to church by a pillar of cloud. I doubt if many of us have walked through a sea on dry land, while those who sought to kill us were drowned. I doubt if many of us...remember.

I doubt if many of us remember such events in our own lives, or perhaps we simply did not recognize them as the miracles they were. It is so easy to forget God's miraculous working in our lives -- the manna we talked about last week, those surprising gifts that come, not as we expect but as we need.

But forgetfulness leads to faithlessness, and we need to remember.

Forgetting God's faithfulness was the Israelites' first mistake. Their second mistake was even more dangerous.

Moses says they were out of line because they tested God, because they asked for proof, because they asked, "Is God among us or not?"

The question itself is valid. Have we not all asked the same question a hundred, a thousand, a million times? When we lose our job, and with it our sense of purpose and fulfillment, we ask, "Is God among us or not?" When our loved one dies, and with them dies our hopes and dreams for the future, we cry out, "Is God among us or not?" When we take what we think is the best path and it turns into a dead end -- or worse yet, brings catastrophe -- we shout, "Is God among us or not?" When we can't seem to find our way home, we cry, "Is God among us or not?" When we taste only disappointment and smell only fear, we demand, "Is God among us or not?"

We ask the question over and over, as individuals and as communities. When "God is still speaking," but we're not all hearing the same thing, we ask, "Is God among us, or not?" When water, which is supposed to be life-giving, brings death and destruction,
we ask, "Is God among us, or not?" When, in spite of our best efforts, people lack affordable housing and even food to eat, we ask, "Is God among us or not?" When injustice continues to swirl around us in a great hurricane of hate, we cry out, "Is God among us or not?"

Even Jesus asked the question:

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

The question isn't wrong. It's the demand that comes with it that gets us in trouble.

In this story the Israelites are not only asking, "Is God among us or not?" They are saying, in essence, If God is among us, God will do as we ask, will come as we expect. If God is among us, we will know it by the sweet taste of God's provision,
the sweet smell of God's favor. If God is among us, we will know it by our full bellies.

And God promises none of this. God didn't promise Moses, and Moses didn't promise the Israelites, "Come with me out into the wilderness, where I will wine and dine you
and grant your every wish." God said:

Come with me out into the wilderness, and you will be my people, and I will be your God.

It is relationship that God promises. And if you've been in a relationship for more than six months, you know that relationships are not always manna and quail. You know that relationships contain some bitter water and some times of thirst.

Our relationship with God is no different. There will be times when we feel close and "in love" with God, and there will be times when we cry, "Are you with me or not?"

And to us God says, "Come with me out into the wilderness, and you will be my people, and I will be your God."

That's the promise. That's all there is to it. Not a pillar of fire to lead us, but a hand to hold in the dark. Not only the sweet taste of freedom, but also the bittersweet taste of covenant. Not as we expect, but as we need.

That's the promise. That's all there is to it. But it is enough.

It is more than enough.