“Remember. Repent. Renew.”

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood
First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS
A sermon for the 500th anniversary of Martin Luther’s 95 Theses
Ordinary Time, Oct. 29, 2017

There are troublemakers and then there are TROUBLEMAKERS. Martin Luther was a TROUBLEMAKER. Just a basic sketch of why we’re talking about a 16th century Catholic priest today: on Oct. 31st, 1517 Martin Luther went public with a list of 95 complaints he had against the Roman Catholic Church. Now we don’t actually know if he dramatically nailed them to the door of the church in Wittenberg but we DO know that he dropped a copy in the mail to his boss - which just goes to show that he was itching for a fight.

The content of what he said was so bold and brash that it got him into a lot of trouble. By the summer of 1520 the Pope threatened him with excommunication (being kicked out of the Church and, thusly, damned to hell). Fun fact that you may not have known: when Luther received the letter from the Pope threatening excommunication, he publically set it on fire. Why aren’t there more artistic renderings of THAT moment? I mean, wow, Martin Luther. Bold move. If there had been microphones back then, he would have dropped ALL of them.

Eventually, Luther found himself on trial. And, yes, he was excommunicated. And, no, he didn’t really say those famous words “Here I stand, I can do no other.” But he did bravely refuse to recant any of the things he had written that were considered heretical. The Holy Roman Emperor said it was fine for anyone who felt like it to kill him, so Luther went into hiding.

Luther’s story is compelling, but it’s also important to remember he was not a one- man show. Which is why it’s kind of silly that folks have been calling this the 500th anniversary of The Reformation. As if “the Reformation” is something that happened in a day.

By the time Luther wrote his 95 Theses, others had already been troubling the Church for a long time (like, probably forever). Mystics like Hildegard von Bingen and Julian of Norwich had been saying that everyone had direct access to God for centuries. John Wyclif translated the Bible into English in 1382, making it possible for laypeople to read the Bible themselves. Jan Hus, a Czech priest, was burned alive in 1415 because he claimed a lot of the same things Luther would bring up again 100 years later, including the radical claim that Christ was the head of the Church, not the Pope. And, of course, at the same time that Luther was rocking the boat in what is now Germany, reformers like Ulrich Zwingli and John Calvin were making waves in Switzerland and France.

Many of the things that we take for granted about practicing Christianity are a gift to us from these reformers.

Hearing the Bible read aloud in a language we can understand. Owning a Bible on our own bookshelf at home that we can open, read, and interpret on our own anytime we’d like (okay, that one also has to do with a lot of other things like the technology of printing, but I don’t have time for all that today). The idea that God’s grace supersedes any terrible things that we might do - that we cannot buy our own salvation, or earn stickers on a chart to get saved. The radical thought that Christ is the head of the church. The sense that each of us needs to make our own journey of faith - that we can go directly to God and have a relationship with the Holy that is not mediated by any religious authority. That we are all called to be in ministry, not just those we are ordained.

500 years after Luther published his theses, many of these things seem ho-hum, but at the time they were a big deal. Many of the reforms that Luther advocated for have also been made in the Roman Catholic Church. That’s actually another reasons some historians speak of the ReformationS - the Catholic Church went through its own reformation or renewal process in 16th century and, of course, continues to reform itself today.

It would be too easy to say something like: Luther was upset and then the Protestants started doing their own thing and the Catholic Church reformed itself and then everything was great. But the Reformations were much messier than that.

All of this mess is why many pastors have been talking and talking lately about this question: what is the appropriate way to mark the 500th anniversary of Martin Luther’s publication of the 95 Theses? Celebration doesn’t seem quite right because, after all, the Reformations were bloody, painful, and had long-lasting repercussions that have continued to result in violence throughout the globe for centuries. It’s a little hard for me to get fired up about celebrating something that resulted in people literally being burned at the stake for heresy, you know?

And yet - there are many gifts that we have inherited as heirs to the troublemaking reformers of the past. And those should be remembered. It is right, I think, to give thanks for the courage and tenacity of those who went before us and so wanted to live faithful lives that they were willing to risk their very lives to improve Christianity. So we Remember those who went before and give thanks.

This anniversary is also a time for Repentance. Animosity between Catholics and Protestants continues in some places. As someone raised in the Protestant tradition, it makes me uncomfortable to remember the anti-Catholic things I’ve heard “good Christians” say over the years. It saddens me to know that the Church was unable to be reformed non-violently and that so many have died, both because of their beliefs and also because of all the ways ethnicity, nationalism, and race get bound up with religious identity.

It is also important to remember that Luther was far from perfect. He was a prolific writer - sermons, essays, books, translations of the Bible, hymns. And one of the things he wrote is a treatise called On the Jews and their Lies, published in 1543. I had never heard this part of the history until I was in a seminary class on the history of Jewish-Christian relations. I was horrified and disgusted to read about the violence against Jews that Luther and many of his contemporaries advocated. And I do mean violence. He said their schools and synagogues should be burned. And that Jews be put into segregated ghettos.

One of the most painful moments for me in my theological education was when I realized that the rise of Nazi Germany was not just some aberrant blip on the historical radar brought about by one deranged guy named Hitler. Instead, the Christian Church in Europe had been preaching anti-Semitism for hundreds of years. Luther’s words were used frequently in the 1920s and 30s by those in Germany advocating for the mass murder of Jewish people. It’s not just that Christians turned away from the suffering of their Jewish kindred….it’s that they frequently taught violent anti-Semitism in their churches.

Kyrie Eleison. Lord, have mercy.

As we remember the gifts of the Reformations and repent the pain caused by violence, hatred, and division, it is also right and good to renew our own commitment to reform in our own time. There is clearly not enough time to talk about all of the things wrong with the global Church today. It is frequently painful to look at the wider Church and see people preaching hate and bigotry in the name of Christ. It is even more painful to look within and see the ways we could be better followers of Jesus.

But on this 500th anniversary of Luther’s bold move, I am inspired and challenged to remember that positive change in institutions and systems only comes when faithful people are willing to ask really difficult questions and take risks. The call to renewal and reform is one that never goes away. As followers of Jesus, we are always called to stay focused on the things that really matter - loving God, and loving our neighbor as ourselves - even as we relentlessly question the details and dream of new ways to follow Christ together.

Perhaps more than anything, this anniversary calls us to hold together the tension of looking forward and back at the same time. I am reminded of the powerful imagery of the Sankofa bird - which I learned about as a guest at Black Student Union meetings at K-State. The concept of Sankofa is from what is now Ghana and the visual representation is a mythical bird. The bird’s feet are facing forward while its head is turned backwards and it carries an egg in its mouth. The idea is that in order to move forward and bring new life  into the world we must also look into the past and understand both the beauty and pain of our shared past.

It seems to me this is what we are being called to do on this anniversary Sunday - to into the past and see both the gifts and the pain from the reformers while simultaneously setting our feet facing forward, carefully carrying renewal with us, dreaming dreams for what Christ’s Church might look like 500 years from now.

In closing, I invite you to join me in the Litany of Remembrance, Repentance, and Renewal printed in your bulletins:

LITANY OF REMEMBRANCE, REPENTANCE, ​and RENEWAL
One:    As we remember Martin Luther's act of rebellion 500 years ago this week, let us also pray that we might still be open to the movement of the Spirit in our own midst. For those who went before, bravely calling institutions to account and painstakingly demanding reform,
Many:    O God, we give you thanks.
One:    For the times when the Church has let the human urge for power and self-preservation prevail over your will,
Many:    O God, we ask forgiveness.
One:    For ourselves, that we might become agents of hope and renewal in your Church.
Many: O God, we ask for courage.
One:    For those in every age who bring reformation and renewal to the Church when it has become complacent,
Many:    O God, we give you thanks.
One:    For those instances when we have driven out those who have questioned the status quo.
Many:    O God, we ask forgiveness.
One:    For the Church, that we may be worthy and willing to work for renewal in all worshiping communities throughout the whole world
Many: we pray for courage in the name of the God who is Creator of all. Amen.
(Inspired by and adapted from a litany from the Covenantal Relations Ministry of the UCC, 2003)

“Render Unto God….”

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

Matthew 22:15-22

Ordinary Time, Oct. 15, 2017

It’s not been a great day for our friend Jesus. Yesterday, he arrived in Jerusalem to great acclimation - singing, marching, palm waving. But now it’s Tuesday of Holy Week and the schedule has been relentless. The day began with Jesus cursing a fig tree and then quickly moved into a couple of throw downs with local authorities. Jesus was greeted with accusatory questions, “By what authority are you doing these things?” Jesus refuses to answer that question directly but is happy to offer up a few parables that feel like they were designed to trouble the hearts of self-assured religious folks.

And now...perhaps sometime in the afternoon? Here comes more trouble. The Pharisees and Herodians were two different religious groups in Jesus’s time. We could say a lot about them, but the important thing to know for today is that they weren’t usually friendly with one another. One thing they did have in common, though: they weren’t too fond of Jesus.

Here they come with surface-level-flattery, “Teacher, we know that you’re a truthful man and that you teach the way of God in accordance with the truth. And you’re not concerned with anyone’s opinion for you do not regard a person’s status.”

Followed by the question that is carefully-phrased to entrap Jesus: “Tell us, then, what is your opinion: Is it lawful to pay the census tax to Caesar or not?”

Let’s be clear: there is no safe answer to this question. Jesus and other Jews were living under Roman occupation and, as such, were required to pay all kinds of exorbitant taxes. If Jesus says, “Yes, we Jews need to pay the tax,” then some of his fellow Jews would have been enraged. After all, he’s supposed to be working for their freedom, right? Not further enslaving them to the Empire.

But if Jesus says, “No, we don’t need to pay the tax,” then he is immediately committing treason and could be punished with imprisonment or even death.

Now, here’s something I’ve always found fascinating about what Jesus does here. If the way of freedom is to stand up against the ruling elites and encourage other Jews to fight for their freedom from Rome, why doesn’t Jesus, the Messiah, just do that? I mean, worst case scenario he’s going to be crucified. But the Gospels tell us that he already knew that was coming….and soon. Why not just rip the band-aid off and go for it?

What Jesus does instead is surprising - at least to me. He pivots. He refuses to answer the question directly and, in doing so, changes the subject.

Jesus says to his inquisitors, “Show me the coin that pays the census tax.” Immediately, one of the men questioning Jesus pulls out a Roman coin - Caesar’s face shining in the smooth metal on the face of it.

This - this pulling the coin out of his pocket - is shameful. Shameful on two levels - first, this is a coin worth a lot of money. So to just by carrying it around like no big deal when likely many of the others present would not easily have access to the coin - well, it immediately marks Jesus’s questioners as a part of the ruling elite. Secondly, they really shouldn’t be carrying around graven images of rules who like to pretend they are gods. “You shall have no other gods before me,” “You shall not have idols” and all that.

So before Jesus even speaks he has the upper hand because these inquisitors look foolish when they immediately pull the Roman coin from their pockets.

And then Jesus talks. “Whose image is this?” “Caesar” they reply (I wonder if they say it somewhat reticently, knowing they are walking into a trap). Jesus says, “Well, then, render unto Caesar what belongs to Caesar and render unto God what belongs to God.”

Now, it’s usually the first part of this brief statement that we hear. “Render unto Caesar….” we are told. And sometimes preachers seem to mean, “Of course you should just do whatever the government says. See? Jesus says it’s okay.” And sometimes preachers seem to mean, “We Christians are really supposed to divide our lives up into two neat sections - worldly stuff and church-y stuff - and it’s okay if they don’t match. See? Jesus says it’s okay.”

But I think that the real pivot here, the real brilliance of Jesus’s answer lies not in the first part of the sentence, but in the second. “Render unto God the things that are God’s.”

Every Jew present would have known what belonged to God:

“The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof…”

“The heavens are yours, the earth is also yours. The world and all it contains…”

“O Lord, how many are your works! In wisdom you have made them all; the earth is full of your possessions…”

“I know every bird of the mountains and everything that moves in the field is mine…”

Everything belongs to God. Every cricket and clover, every stream and field, every word and every breath. And every Roman coin, too, I suppose. Even Caesar, smiling from the shiny metal in Jesus’s palm, it would seem, belongs to God.

“So God created humanity in God’s own image - male and female, God created them.”

What belongs to God? Everything. Even Caesar and the coin he rode in on.

I like to imagine Jesus sort of absentmindedly handing the coin back and walking off before they even have a chance to respond. Not only is his answer succinct and brilliant but Jesus masterfully both changes and expands the subject.

He says, in essence, “Friends, don’t you think we might be pondering the wrong questions here?”

He invites his listeners (and that includes you and me) to see that questions about money are never just about money. They are always about allegiances, which is to say they are concerned with the question of idolatry - who our gods are, where we find our meaning, who and what we are willing to follow to the ends of the earth and beyond. Questions about money are also always about the ways we make meaning, where we find our worth, what keeps us awake at night, our greatest desires and fears.

When Jesus pivots, he calls attention to the bigger questions that lie below the surface, unasked, “Who do we belong to? What matters the most in this life? Is there something beyond the surface of the day-in-day-out grind to put food on the table and keep my family safe?”

Jesus answered these questions loudly and often...not just with words but with his whole way of being. All these thousands of years later, I hate to tell you this, but there are people in the world who are looking at US to be the ones to answer those same questions. They are looking to US to be the ones who point the way to Jesus who answers those questions in word in deed.

When Jesus says, “Render unto God the things that are God’s” I am suddenly reminded that *I* belong to God. Me, myself. And also all the things I think are mine.

I have to say that, in my own life, this wild and holy invitation to pivot and reframe my understanding of what’s mine and what’s God’s has been utterly life changing. This is why I often say that the two most influential spiritual practices in my own life are keeping sabbath and giving away money. It turns out that when I give away my time and money in ways that are distinctly counter-cultural and anxiety-inducing what happens is almost like magic. My priorities are rearranged and my anxiety about starts to let up. I’ve never quite fully understood how giving away my time and money makes me feel less worried, but there it is.

I think part of what happens is that, through the scary risk of giving away things we think are ours, we find ourselves confronted with Jesus as he looks up at us with that coin in his hand and shifts the conversation. Suddenly, we are reminded that “the earth is the the Lord’s and the fullness thereof….” Suddenly, we are reminded that we are created in God’s image and loved beyond our wildest dreams. Suddenly,  we are reminded that we are linked with all of creation - “every bird in the mountains and everything that moves” is a part of us. Suddenly, we realize that Caesar may have his face imprinted on our money, but God is the one who rules our hearts.

And it is then, held tightly in the knowledge of who we are and whose we are, that we are challenged to try and get up each day and render unto God the things that are God’s. May it be so.  

“A Prayer”

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood
First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS
Exodus 20:1-4, 7-9
Ordinary Time, Oct. 8, 2017

“Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to you, O God, my rock and my redeemer….”

Holy One,

It’s hard to find words today. Which, I guess, is why the people here today are going to get a prayer instead of a real sermon.

Earlier this week on Monday, I wasn’t even out of bed yet when my husband came in and mouthed to me, “Check the news” while I shared the daily ritual of morning cuddles with my two sons. I have to admit, God, I didn’t do what he said. I waited just a little while in the relative safety and security of my room, breathing in the scent of my beloved children for just a few more minutes before I finally shooed them down to breakfast and picked up my phone to see what had happened.

A few hours later I was here in this room. Lighting candles, keeping silence, praying with sighs too deep for words and trying to figure out just how we got here. How have we gone so far off course, God? Why do we keep doing this to one another? Oh, there are lots of possible answers to those questions. We all have our opinions. I wonder if you know, though, God. I wonder what you think.

I know that our problems aren’t exactly new. After all, I see those commandments you gave to our faith ancestors all those thousands of years ago. The first four are about our relationship with you - a reminder that you are our God, the one who brought our people out of Egypt, the one who relentlessly works for our liberation. Thank you, God. I never remember to say “thank you” enough.

The second and third are related - we are not to have any idols….you are to be our only God. And we aren’t supposed to take your name in vain, either.

I joked to someone earlier this week, “Maybe I’ll just preach a sermon on how bad idolatry is this Sunday. If only I could think of a few idols that we have problems with….”

We laugh because it’s hard to know what else to do, God. The problems seem so enormous. But in all seriousness, we know we have idols. And it’s not just “them” those-other-people-out-there who have this problem. It’s us, too. All of us have put other things before you. We are sorry.

I saw a bumper sticker last week, God. It had your name on it. I guess you’re the one who really gets to decide whether it was taking your name in vain or not, but - as you already know - I was filled with rage when I saw it. In fact, I almost stood outside their truck in the parking lot until they came back just so I could tell them how offensive I found it. Thanks, by the way, for talking me out of that.

Anyway, the bumper sticker. It had your name on it. It said, “God, Guns, and Guts. Let’s keep all three.”

It turned my stomach to see your name there right next to our idols of weapons and toxic masculinity. Dear God. I’m so sorry this is who we are. I want us to do better. I think we could do better. Can we do better?

The fourth commandment is a pretty hard one for lots of us. Keeping the Sabbath day. See, to follow that one we have to do a lot of things that are distinctly counter-cultural. We have to stop working and trust that what we did in the other six days is enough. We have to rely on others to help take care of us. Mostly, we have to admit that we are not You and that the world will keep turning without us. These are not easy things for us humans, God. Did you know that? I’m sure you did. That’s probably why you made a commandment about it, in fact.

After that, the commandments are less about our relationship with you and more about our relationships with each other. If there’s a difference between those two things. Honor our parents, don’t kill each other, be faithful in our relationships, don’t take things that aren’t ours, don’t lie about each other, don’t be so darn jealous of everyone else all the time.

These aren’t particularly easy, either, I’m afraid. We humans struggle with all of them.

But you know what, God? I am thankful for these commandments. I am thankful that you look at us human beings - created in your image, full of strife and struggle, full of terror and beauty - and you say, “You know what, humans? I have faith in you. I think you can be more than you are right now. I believe in you.”

If we were hopeless you wouldn’t have cared enough to set expectations, right? That’s how that works. A teacher gives her students rules because she believes they can attain them. A father tells his children what is expected because he believes in them. We show our friends how we’d like to be treated because we believe it might really happen.

You give expectations to people when you know they struggle to get it right….but you believe they can find a way. You give expectations when you believe in them.

And so, O God, on this particular Sunday morning when so very many things feel broken and messed up and hopeless - when we keep killing each other and watching our leaders tweet thoughts and prayers, when we weep and gnash our teeth and feel powerless because our leaders don’t seem to listen, when we fear and worry about our own lives and those nearest to us, when we can barely bear to say the names of those lost aloud because it makes it too real - on this particular Sunday I want to say thank you.

Thank you for reaching out to us with the words from these ancient pages and reminding us that we are not hopeless. We are not a lost cause. We can do better. You believe in us.

Thank you for reaching out to us in the stories of those who survive atrocities - the ones who sit vigil with the dying, the ones who drive makeshift ambulances and airlift supplies, the ones who run unthinking into chaos trying to help. We see Your Light in their faces. When we look at the best of humanity we remember that we are not a lost cause. We can do better. You still believe in us.

Thank you for reaching out to us in the life and witness of this living, breathing, striving-yet-still-imperfect congregation. We come to this place and see You in the faces of the others who fill the pews. We greet each other by name. We bless one another. We connect spirit to spirit. And we know that we are not a lost cause. We can do better. You still believe in us.

Holy One, please don’t ever stop believing in us. Please continue to show us your way. We can’t promise that we’ll ever get there, but we want to keep trying.

Show us our idols so we can find the strength to tear them down. Get in our faces and remind us to take Sabbath - because it’s not a suggestion, it’s a command. Walk with us through each and every day and help us find the strength to be the people you think it might be possible for us to be. For we know, O Holy Dreamer, that your version of who we can be is so much better than anything we could ever dream up for ourselves.

Centuries ago, a man named John wrote, “A light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.” Shine on, O God. We need your light today. Keep us turned towards your light, forsaking all the other idols that offer us cheap and easy grace.

Keep us focused on you. We need you. Don’t stop believing in us.

More than anything, O God, let the words that come out of our mouths and the meditations of our aching hearts and the actions we take each and every day be acceptable to you, our rock. Our redeemer. Amen.

“Is God among us...or not?”

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

Exodus 17:1-7

Ordinary Time, World Communion Sunday, CROP Walk Sunday, Oct. 1, 2017

Of all human needs, there is none more basic or pressing that then need for water. You may have heard it said that a human can only survive about 100 hours without water. So if we lost access to clean drinking water right now….we’d be in big trouble by Thursday at lunchtime. That’s kind of shocking, isn’t it?

Here’s something more shocking: that 100-hours statistic is only how long we can survive at “average” temperatures with moderate activity. Anathea Portier-Young, professor of the Old Testament at Duke, calculates that for the Israelites, stuck outdoors where temperatures would have been over 90 degrees, the elapsed time before water became a matter of life and death would have been much shorter. Especially when you factor in forced marching, carrying all your worldly belongs along with small children on your hip. Portier-Young says it may have been as short as seven hours in the hot sun before people began to die without access to water. [1]

Now, I don’t know about you, but when I was a child I was always taught this story of the Israelites wandering in the desert and told that they were sinful because they were a bunch of whiners. Snowflakes in the desert. After all, they had been brought out of slavery and given freedom. What more could they want? Why did they feel so ENTITLED to food, water, safe neighborhoods, healthcare, basic education, a real shot at making a life for themselves and their children?

I digress. Actually, all they wanted was food and water. And a roof over their head. It always seemed weird to me that they had this reputation as whiners because if I were wandering in a desert for 40 years and needed access to food and water, you’d better believe I’d be complaining loudly, too. Wouldn’t we all?

They were truly about to die of thirst. And starvation. The people complained to their leaders loudly, forcefully, persistently, and effectively….and it worked.

I couldn’t help but notice the unfortunate parallels to our own world as I read the text this week. It started when I came across a photo of a family in Puerto Rico who was, quite literally, taking water from a rock. They had inserted a long piece of PVC piping into the side of a mountain that had been broken open by landslides after Hurricane Maria. The pipe was tapping a freshwater spring and people were coming from miles away to fill containers with fresh drinking water. Water from a stone.

You’ve likely heard that people in Puerto Rico and other parts of the Caribbean are expected to be without power for many months. I have a dear friend whose extended family lives on the island. Earlier this week they were shipping them protein bars, head lamps, batteries...but also water filters and water purification tablets. Because, as it turns out, when your entire island is without power it also means you are without access to clean water. And since it is anticipated that it may be months before power is restored to those living in Puerto Rico….this is a very serious problem.

Most of us take access to clean drinking water for granted. We turn on a tap in the morning to brush our teeth and clean water simply comes spilling out.

We are, of course, unbelievably spoiled in this regard when compared to other people around the world. Those of us who participate in the CROP Walk this afternoon will have an opportunity to learn more about just how restricted access to clean water is in many parts of our world. Church World Service partners with agencies around the globe to create wells and improve water systems so that fewer women and children have to spend their days hauling water and can spend more time learning, growing, and making the world a better place.

We know, of course, that it’s not just in far away places that access to clean water is a problem. Right here in the Midwest the people of Flint, Michigan are still struggling to access safe drinking water. Earlier this week I read a horrifying report that said that fetal deaths rose 56% after the city of Flint switched to lead-poisoned water. The authors of the report estimate that somewhere around 225 more babies would have been born in the city of Flint between November 2013 and March 2015 if the water would have been safe to drink. [2]

Lack of access to safe, clean drinking water has serious implications. It is okay - in fact, I would say it is a moral imperative - for us to complain to our leaders - loudly, forcefully, persistently, effectively - when people do not have access to the water they need to survive.

As we recommit ourselves to complaining loudly, forcefully, persistently, effectively to our leaders on behalf of others, we also recommit ourselves to praying for our leaders. Gosh, I hope some of those Israelites were praying for Moses. God knows he needed it. Can you imagine being in his shoes? Thanks, but no thanks. He was just trying to mind his own business when God showed up in a burning bush one day and then his life was turned upside-down. I can understand why he was frustrated with the people. I am guessing he probably wanted to help them but couldn’t find a way through the quagmire to do so. “What do you want me to do? Magic? We’re in a desert. There’s no water in sight! I’m just a person, just like you. I can’t work miracles!”

But then….God.

God showed up. God reminded Moses that he was not just a person. He was, in fact, a beloved child of God. As such, it was his responsibility to keep looking pain in the face, keep seeking ways to solve impossible problems, and to remember - above all else - that he was not leading alone.

The passage ends with that haunting question that must have been on the people’s lips AND on Moses’s tongue as well. Stuck in the heat, miles from anywhere, dying of thirst, the people wondered, “Is God among us...or not?”

This story, like so many others in the Bible, answers that question with a resounding, “Yes! God is with us.” God is with us when there are no easy answers. God is with us when survival seems impossible. God is with us when our leaders won’t listen. God is with us when our hearts break to see the pain of those who are near and those who are far away. God is with us...and God is always seeking new life and hope for her beloved children. We are not alone. We live in God’s world, who has created and is still creating. Creating streams in deserts, creating hope in the face of despair, creating a way out of no way.

God is listening to our complaints. God is working with us and through us to bring relief in surprising ways. God is hoping against hope that we will keep our hearts open to the pain of the world around us and seek creative solutions to the problems that ail us.

With our ancient faith ancestors we proclaim: God is among us. Amen.

Notes:

[1] https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3432

[2] http://www.businessinsider.com/flint-water-crisis-fertility-rates-2017-9