August 2, 2020: Between: The Wander Years
Exodus 16:2-15, 35
Rev. Dr. Rhonda Blevins
The whole congregation of the Israelites complained against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness. The Israelites said to them, “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.”
Then the Lord said to Moses, “I am going to rain bread from heaven for you, and each day the people shall go out and gather enough for that day. In that way I will test them, whether they will follow my instruction or not. On the sixth day, when they prepare what they bring in, it will be twice as much as they gather on other days.” So Moses and Aaron said to all the Israelites, “In the evening you shall know that it was the Lord who brought you out of the land of Egypt, and in the morning you shall see the glory of the Lord, because he has heard your complaining against the Lord. For what are we, that you complain against us?” And Moses said, “When the Lord gives you meat to eat in the evening and your fill of bread in the morning, because the Lord has heard the complaining that you utter against him—what are we? Your complaining is not against us but against the Lord.”
Then Moses said to Aaron, “Say to the whole congregation of the Israelites, ‘Draw near to the Lord, for he has heard your complaining.’” And as Aaron spoke to the whole congregation of the Israelites, they looked toward the wilderness, and the glory of the Lord appeared in the cloud. The Lord spoke to Moses and said, “I have heard the complaining of the Israelites; say to them, ‘At twilight you shall eat meat, and in the morning you shall have your fill of bread; then you shall know that I am the Lord your God.’”
In the evening quails came up and covered the camp; and in the morning there was a layer of dew around the camp. When the layer of dew lifted, there on the surface of the wilderness was a fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground. When the Israelites saw it, they said to one another, “What is it?” For they did not know what it was. Moses said to them, “It is the bread that the Lord has given you to eat.
The Israelites ate manna forty years, until they came to a habitable land; they ate manna, until they came to the border of the land of Canaan.
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During the bombing raids of World War II, thousands upon thousands of children were orphaned. Their parents, killed. Scared and alone, many of the children wandered the streets hungry for days on end. The luckiest of these children were picked up and taken to refugee camps. It wasn’t home, but at least there they would not starve. It is told that many of these little ones had trouble sleeping in the camps. Compassionate men and women tried everything they could think of to help them rest. Finally, someone came up with the idea to give each child a simple piece of bread to hold onto as they lay down to sleep. It worked. Knowing they would eat tomorrow alleviated their anxiety. Holding a piece of bread, the little ones could finally sleep.1
Though most of us never experienced that kind of trauma at such a young age, most of us have suffered loss. Each time we face significant loss, we find ourselves emotionally lost, like little children wandering around looking for something to satisfy our longing. This loss takes many shapes and forms: the loss of someone dear, the loss of a dream, the loss of health, the loss of a job or career, the loss of faith in God or someone once trusted . . . even the loss of plans, routines, or a way of life that most of us have experienced since March when the word “coronavirus” became a part of our daily vernacular.
How do we cope with this loss? Like little, orphaned children clinging to bread, we cling to that which makes us feel safe and secure, don’t we? It’s human nature to barricade or immunize ourselves against loss and insecurity, and so:
We put money in the bank.
We find ourselves a good, solid house and we make sure our mortgage payment is up-to-date.
We keep our pantry full of Campbell’s soup that we never eat, but we know we can if the going gets tough.
We cling to a routine or schedule that is tried and true.
We bank on relationships—we surround ourselves with people who are faithful and trustworthy.
When these things are threatened, our feelings of security and our very sense of well-being can be lost. We lose joy, we become anxious, and then what happens? We may start to grumble and complain.
That’s exactly what’s happening at the beginning of our scripture text today. It has been quite a month for the children of Israel. After 430 years in captivity, slaves to the Pharaoh of Egypt, the Hebrew people finally make their escape. 600,000 men, not to mention women and children . . . by some estimates 2-3 million people, as well as great numbers of livestock. This is no quiet prison break. This is the population of Chicago moving out all at the same time. From Egypt God leads the Israelites into the wilderness with a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. And when Pharaoh’s armies pursue them, God parts the waters of the Red Sea and they cross, walking not through the mud, but on dry land, with a wall of water on each side. Egypt’s armies perish in that same sea as they pursue the Hebrews. The Bible says that the people fear the Lord; they believe in the Lord.
But it doesn’t take long for their belief to fail when their bellies begin to rumble. Three days after walking on dry land through the Red Sea—three days—and they’re ready to turn back. Maybe they’re out of beanie weenies, their air mattresses have holes in them. Maybe they finished their last s’more and they’re just ready for a nice, warm shower and cable TV. “If we could just go back to being slaves in Egypt where our bellies were full. It’s your fault, Moses. We’d rather die as slaves with full stomachs than die free with hunger pains.” Grumble, grumble, grumble. Whine, whine, whine. Complain, complain, complain.
And who could blame them? Have you ever been hungry? Have you ever wondered when or if you’ll eat again? Who could blame them for feeling anxious? I doubt there’s anything more unsettling than being hungry, ravenous perhaps, without relief in sight.
But here’s the good news. God hears. God hears their grumbling, their whining, and their complaining. Not only does God hear, but God cares. Not only does God hear, not only does God care, but God provides.
The same God who led them into victory as a mighty warrior will now feed them like a loving mother. This is a side of God they’ve never seen. Maybe they fail to trust God simply because they don’t fully know God.
Maybe we fail to trust God because we don’t fully know God.
God hears. God cares. God provides. For the Israelites, God’s provision comes in the form of quail in the evening and flaky stuff every morning. “What is it?” they ask. They’ve never seen anything quite like it. “It is the bread the Lord has given you to eat,” Moses affirms. It’s certainly not what the children of Israel expect, but it is everything the children of Israel need. Manna everywhere. Manna every day. Enough for everyone. But not enough to hoard. If you read a little further in the text, God tests their faithfulness. God tells them not to gather one more morsel than they need. And wouldn’t you know it? Those who disobeyed and tried to hold on to some manna for the next day—let’s just say holy manna became holy maggot.
What the children of Israel eventually learn in their 40 years in the desert—their 40 “wander” years between slavery and sovereignty, is that to know God is to trust God.
God hears us just like God heard the Israelites.
God cares for us just like God cared for the Israelites.
God provides for us, just like God provided for the Israelites.
It may not be what we expect. Indeed, it rarely is.
Do you remember those children I mentioned earlier, the orphans who could sleep only if they could hold onto a piece of bread? During that same dark time in our world’s history, you’re aware of the suffering of men, women, and children in concentration camps. Viktor Frankl survived the holocaust and the unfathomable atrocities as a prisoner at both Dachau and Auschwitz. You may know him as the psychiatrist who wrote Man’s Search for Meaning.3 Frankl writes about his observations of people in suffering. He tells the powerful story of witnessing some men, just a few, who in the midst of personal starvation would offer their last piece of bread to another. Frankl notes that this was a powerful act of compassion, as well as an act of personal freedom. Though the body was enslaved, the spirit was free. Though the concentration camp sought to dehumanize, offering a man a last piece of bread proved powerfully human.
I want to be that kind of person—that kind of human, don’t you? Many of us play the part of the child our whole lives through, clinging to bread for fear of what tomorrow might bring. Only a few of us, a very few, grow up and become daring enough, human enough, to share a last morsel with another. That’s liberty. That’s faith. That’s trusting that the God who hears and cares will also provide. That’s believing that when we wake up tomorrow, indeed there will be manna. Yesterday, we ate. Tomorrow, we will eat again.
In this liminal time, in this “Summer Between” what was before a pandemic and whatever it is that comes next, we must take notice that God is providing everything we need for the facing of each day. There’s manna enough for every day. There’s manna enough for every one.
So, child of God, wake up and enjoy! Then rest well, knowing there will be manna tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. And the day after that. Amen.