Community Church Sermons
Year B
August 5, 2012
Tenth Sunday
after Pentecost
Manna All Around
Exodus
16:2-4, 9-15
Rev. Rhonda A. Blevins
Associate
Pastor
During
the bombing raids of World War II, thousands upon thousands of children were
orphaned. Their parents, killed. Scared and alone, many of them 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 there 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. How to say this
gently—you don’t get to be as “wise” as we are without having experienced some
significant loss along the way.
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 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 are lost. We lose joy, we become anxious, and then what happens? We
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, they finally make their escape. 600,000 men,
not to mention women and children (well over a million people),as well as great numbers of livestock. This is no quiet
prison break. This is the population of Manhattan moving out..
From Egypt, God leads them 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. The Bible says that the people fear the Lord; they believe in the Lord.
Belief
fails, however, when bellies 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. “Oh, 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 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. “The problem is not
that the people murmur; the problem is that they do not believe.[2]”
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 mighty warrior will now feed them like a
loving mother. This is a new 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
simply because we don’t fully know God.
God
hears. God cares. God provides. It 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 all around.
Every day. All over the place.
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, 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. Now, it may not be
what we expect (it rarely is), but what God provides is everything we need,
even if what we need is the gift of death itself.
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, and 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 man—that human, don’t you? Most
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 all around. Just like the manna that’s
been there every single day of my life. Just like the manna that’s been there
every single day of your life. Don’t you know there’s manna all around? Wake
up, and enjoy. Then rest well, knowing there will be manna all around tomorrow.
And the day after that. And the day after that.
And the day after
that. Amen.
[1] Dennis Linn, Sheila Linn, and Matthew Linn, Sleeping With Bread: Holding What Gives You Life, Mahwah, NJ: Paulist
Press, 1995.
[2] Sara Koenig, “What Does it
Mean to Know God? Exodus 16:2-4, 9-15,” online: http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?lect_date=8/5/2012&tab=1 (accessed 4 Aug 2012).
[3] Viktor Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning, New York: Washington Square Press, 1963, 104.