Whine, Whine, Complain

Whine, whine, complain, complain. Poor Moses was tearing out what little hair he had left. All the Israelites had done since leaving Egypt had been to whine and complain. God may have graciously rescued them from slavery in Egypt, from overwork, starvation, suffering, and death. But did they thank God for the great blessing of freedom? Not on your life! All they could focus on were the dangers and uncertainties of this new life. The long and seldom-read book of Numbers, the fourth book of the Torah, depicts their numerous complaints. In Numbers 11, the people’s bitter complaints bring down scorching fire on the edges of the camp, a fire that only died down when Moses prayed to the Lord. In Numbers 14, the people are already tired of the journey and berate Moses and Aaron for dragging them away from Egypt. Moses holds off God’s anger, but some of the men disobey Moses’ instructions, go into the hill country, and are promptly killed. In chapter 16 insurrection by some of the priests results in an earthquake in which many of the people lose their lives. In chapter 20, in the wilderness of Zin, the people accuse Moses of deliberately bringing them to a place without adequate water. “Why did you make us leave Egypt to bring us to this wretched place,” they shout,” a place with no grain or figs or vines or pomegranates? There is not even water to drink?” (Num. 20:6, JPS). Following God’s command, Moses strikes a rock, and abundant water gushes out. Are the people grateful? Although their thirst is assuaged, their penchant for complaining is not quenched. As we heard in today’s reading, having set out from Mount Hor, they again grow impatient. This time they do the unthinkable: not only do they whine about Moses’ leadership, they complain against God. What does God do now?

The book of Numbers is an unfamiliar book. We Christians seldom read it. In the Revised Common Lectionary, this is the sole lection from Numbers that occurs in our Sunday lectionary, and that is probably because Jesus alludes to this story in the Gospel according to John. The book gets its better-known name, “Numbers,” from the two censuses that are mentioned in it, one of the first generation to leave Egypt, and one of the second generation, i.e., of the people who were to enter the Promised Land. In Hebrew it is called the book of the Wilderness, as its first half depicts all the wilderness wandering. (The second half depicts preparations for entering Canaan.) Actually, it is a composite book, uniting several different strands of traditional material. In addition to the historical narrative, a little of which we heard today, among other things, the book also contains poetry, prophecy, a victory song, prayers, blessing, lampoon, and law, both civil and religious. Like much of the rest of the Hebrew Bible, it probably received its final form sometime after the return from Exile, i.e., in the fourth century B.C.

Other than understanding Jesus’ allusion, what can we Christians glean from this strange story? Does it really help us better understand God’s nature? Have we taken another step forward in God’s covenantal relationship with us? We have seen that God promised Noah never again to destroy creation, God promised Abraham and Sarah offspring as numerous as the stars in the sky, and God promised the Israelites at Sinai to be their God forever. Although God had asked virtually nothing in return from Noah and his family, God had marked God’s covenant in Abraham’s flesh. God had laid out for the Israelites at Sinai the order and structure of a holy life. But, oh! Such a life is difficult, if not impossible for humans actually to live. The Israelites were not, nor are we, cut out for holiness! When the Israelites complained against God as well as against Moses, surely that was the last straw for God. In return, God sent literally fiery serpents, reflecting God’s deep anger, to hurt and burn the people. When they fell sick, the people finally repented of their sin and sought God’s forgiveness. At God’s command, Moses erected a bronze statue of the very thing that had hurt them. For the people simply looking at the bronze serpent was enough to cure them.

Is there a covenant here? God has not made a new, formal covenant with the Israelites as God had previously done. But isn’t there an implicit covenant here, and in all the wilderness stories? God had made good on God’s promise to deliver the Israelites from slavery in Egypt. When they whined, complained, and disobeyed God, God nevertheless forgave them and healed them of the consequences of their sin – for there are always consequences of sin, aren’t there? Even in the midst of the people’s most trivial complaints, God provided the medicine they needed to be healed from their sins. The ancient rabbinic commentators on this passage were worried that it led the people into magical behavior. Consequently, they reminded later generations of hearers of the story that in looking at the serpent, the Israelites were looking at God, not an idol. However we understand the serpent – and it was a symbol of healing in the rest of the ancient world – the message here, the implicit covenant here, is that Israel cannot become so terminally ill that God cannot heal them. God had made this promise in the first wilderness story, way back in Exodus 15, when God had answered their first complaints by telling them, “If you will heed the Lord your God diligently, doing what is upright in his sight, giving ear to his commandments and keeping all his laws, then I will not bring upon you any of the diseases that I brought upon the Egyptians, for I the Lord am your healer” (Ex. 15:26, JPS).

God repeats God’s commitment to the Israelites’ salvation and well-being here again. And, of course, as Christians, we believe that Jesus repeats that same message to Nicodemus when he tells him that “God so loved the world that he gave his only son” (John 3:16). The point is – for the Israelites for Nicodemus, and for us – that our tie to God is never broken. We may grieve God, we may provoke God, but we cannot extinguish God’s endless compassion. There is nothing we can do that will break God’s relationship with us. Indeed, sinful and broken as we are, we may break the relationship, but God will always reach out to us. After even the wisp of a prayer on our part – or even before – God graciously reaches out to us, and mercifully invites us to repent. Can we accept God’s action in our lives? Can we acknowledge who we are and accept God’s forgiveness? If we can, God has promised – and demonstrated again in the bronze serpent – that God will graciously heal us.

So here’s the good news for all of us. We may not be part of a group of ancient Israelites wandering the desert, complaining all the way. Actually, having lived in Tucson for eighteen years I have some sympathy for those ancient Jews. The wilderness of Sinai was probably not a very hospitable place. Even so, this odd story from a neglected Bible book resonates with me. Perhaps it also corresponds to your experience as people of faith. Can we see in the Israelites’ struggles some glimmer of how God is present to us in our struggles and hopes? Like the Israelites, we too are on a journey, from birth to death, from youth to age. As we travel through illness, loss, divorce, and death, our journey may be difficult, or painful, or confusing. We may make things more difficult for ourselves by our sin, by being selfish or irresponsible. Sometimes we may fail to trust God. Sometimes, like the Israelites, we grow impatient and explode into grousing and complaining. Does God abandon us to the snakes in our lives? The good news is that God never condemns us, and is always ready to save us.

The Fourth Sunday in Lent has traditionally been observed as Laetere Sunday, Laughter Sunday, or, "Lighten Up” Sunday. It is a day to lighten up on our Lenten disciplines and to pause on our journey to Jerusalem. Many churches observe the day by using pink or rose-colored paraments and vestments, by including singing and dancing in the liturgy, and even by telling jokes. Of course, the Jews have known for centuries that God has a sense of humor. And so in that spirit, I think it is right to honor God with an appropriate joke.

While going through an airport during one of his many trips, President Bush encountered a man with long hair, wearing a white robe and sandals, holding a staff. President Bush went up to the man and said, "Aren't you Moses?" The man never answered but just kept staring ahead. Again the President said, "Moses!" in a loud voice. The man just kept staring ahead, never answering the president. Soon a secret service agent came along and President Bush grabbed him and said, "Doesn't this man look like Moses to you?" The secret service agent agreed with the President. "Well," said the President, "Every time I say his name, he just keeps staring ahead and refuses to speak. Watch!" Again, the President yelled, "Moses!" and again the man stared ahead. The secret service man went up to the man in the white robe and whispered, "You look just like Moses. Are you Moses?" The man leaned over and whispered, "Yes, I am Moses. But the last time I talked to a bush, I spent forty years wandering in the desert!"

God will never break God’s ties to us. Rejoice and be glad!