I was half-listening to the radio the other night while cooking supper, and I began to catch bits of an argument, as petulant, accusing voices swirled around my ears. Political commentators, the voice of the people, were arguing passionately about the causes of and solutions to the present financial crisis. The various voices quite clearly did not agree on anything, but there was a tense undertone of fear in all of them, a desperate, urgent tension that sliced into my consciousness like a knife blade. In my day-dreaming state, I thought for a moment that I was off in the desert with the children of Israel. This desperate thirst, this constant scrounging for food and water, this is not what we bargained for, we complain to Moses, as we bring our indignant claims to justice before God. If this is freedom, we want to go back into bondage, where the problems were at least familiar ones. Could it be that God has abandoned us or led our people here to die?
In our country, in our diocese, in our parish, perhaps even in our homes, it seems as if scarcity is eating away at us from without and within, as if we are scrounging our way forward in a dry, hostile landscape. How easy it is, in such a landscape, to freeze with anxiety, to turn on one another, to turn on our leaders, and to turn inward, hugging our meager resources close to our chests. It is interesting that in our text from Exodus, the Hebrew of verse 3 really has the angry people cry out to Moses, “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill ME and MY children and MY livestock with thirst?” Scarcity is always all about me.
In his letter to the Philippians, Paul asks the Christians in Philippi to turn away from an absorption with their own interests in order to lavish their interest upon others, to take into themselves the mind of Christ—that is, a mind committed to others, a mind whose power lies in humility and obedience to God. Paul asks us Christians to “work out our own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in us.” Contrary to what you might think, scholars point out that the salvation, the healing, that we are working out is not our own private ticket to Heaven (“as in, if you aren’t saved, you are going to hell”) but, for Paul, this salvation is the quality of the life that we live together as Christ’s Body, a life of love, of sharing in the Spirit, of compassion, and of sympathy.[1] The salvation for which we are all to be working is a “public salvation;” it leads to a transformed community; to a world of abundant love and generosity; to the Kingdom of God. And, as David Lose puts it, we “work it out” by living the way that Christ lived, not seeking our own good, but instead looking out for others, trusting our fates and lives to God.[2]
There is a wonderful children’s book by Rabbi Marc Gellman in which he retells the Creation story. In Gellman’s book, each time that God creates a part of the universe, the angels ask, “Is it finished yet?” And God answers, “Nope, not yet.” After awhile, God makes man and woman and sighs to them, “I am tired now. Please finish up the world for me … really it’s almost done.” The man and woman say, “We can’t finish the world on our own! You have the plans, and we are too little!”“You are big enough,” God answers them. “But if you agree to keep trying to finish the world, then I’ll be your partner.” God then explains, “When you have a partner, it means you can never give up, because your partner is depending on you. On the days you think I’m not doing enough and on the days I think you’re not doing enough, even on those days, we are still partners and we must not stop trying to finish the world.” Later, the angels ask God again, “Is the world finished yet?” and God tells them, “I don’t know. Go ask my partners.”[3]
The only reason that I can stand before you with any credibility and ask you to give away your hard-earned money and time and very selves to this piece of God’s Church, is if this Church is an agent of transformation, a partner with God in Creation, and a rock from which God’s abundant water will flow forth into the desert. We no longer live in a comfortable time (by the “fleshpots of Egypt”) in which the Church is just another club where we pay our dues to enjoy good company, good music, and good food. I cannot ask you for your money just to pay my salary, or to fix up the building, or to provide programs for your children, no matter how much I want all of those things. It is urgent that we find our way to be a clear conduit of water to a thirsty world, that our main purpose be to partner with God in God’s transformation of the desert into a place that sustains abundant life. Just last week, the House of Bishops met and decided to restructure the administration of our National Church to be less “self-focused,” and more mission-focused. I am sure that we will be hearing more about this Spirit-led call from Bishop White soon. We here at St. Thomas are also going to spend some time and energy finding new ways to turn ourselves outward as a parish, not just as individuals, becoming a community focused on being a partner in mission with God. It won’t happen overnight, for it will require us to learn to see water where we now see rocks, but it is the only way out of the desert and into the promised land. It is for this saving journey that I ask for your offerings this stewardship season.
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