Sermons

Sun, Mar 15, 2020

Finding God in limbo

Series:Sermons

Do you remember what it’s like to be a teenager?

 

I know that that’s a long time ago for all of us here…

and things are very different these days…

but, as I remember it, it’s an anxious, frustrating time—

a time when everything changes.

Leaving aside all of the physical changes––

like, if you’re male, the whiskers and pimples…

your voice breaking…

and forever tripping over your own feet because you’re growing so quickly––

it’s a time when you’re becoming more self-conscious;

it’s also a time when you’re developing a sense of independence…

but with a limited ability to exercise it either legally or financially;

it’s a time when your relationships change––

you become interested in the opposite sex…

but you’re still expected to be home at a certain hour…

which always seems much too early.

At a certain point, you’re able to drive, to vote, to drink…

but you’re still treated as a child by your family…

with parents often unable to let go…

unable to accept that you’re no longer the little kid that they remember.

It’s an anxious, frustrating time of transition.

No longer a child, but not yet a full-fledged adult.

 

I used to see something similar with new theological students.

Most of them, these days, come at a fairly mature age…

and they usually come from well-established careers––

which they have left behind.

No longer are they high-flying executives earning large pay-packets…

or competent and well-respected professionals…

and they find it hard because they’re used to being in control;

they’re used to calling the shots…

and knowing what’s going on.

But that’s no longer the case.

As a result, many would feel frustrated and even angry…

because they were having to acquire a whole new set of skills…

and to absorb a lot of new information––

some of which challenged long-held beliefs and deeply cherished ideas;

and their relationship to the church also changes––

not yet ministers, with the clearly defined role that that entails…

but no longer just a lay-person who can sit quietly in the back pew.

No longer who they were, but not yet what they will be––

the anxious, frustrating experience of being in limbo.

 

We all go through periods of transition in life…

and they’re always uncomfortable:

leaving the security of home and starting school;

leaving school and entering the work-force;

leaving home and getting married;

staring a family;

retiring from work;

selling your home and moving into care.

We all go through periods of transition in life––

uncomfortable, frustrating experiences…

which involve leaving behind a familiar past for an uncertain future;

the insecurity of not being sure who you are anymore…

because your sense of self is changing…

and your relationship to significant others is also changing.

And, in a transitional phase, it’s normal to feel anxious…

frustrated…

scared…

uncertain…

even angry.

And it’s also normal to seek out some security;

to find some certainty to cling to;

some firm anchoring point amid a fiercely surging sea;

to know that some things haven’t changed…

and that you’re not alone.

 

In our story this morning from the book of Exodus… 

the people of Israel are going through a transition.

God had brought them out of slavery in Egypt; 

rescued them from their oppressors;

and promised them a place of their own––

but that promise hasn’t yet been fulfilled.

Indeed, at this point, it probably seems a long way off…

because they’re stuck in a desolate place…

in the wilderness…

in a place of menace–– 

raw, untamed, dangerous––

a place where everything is different…

and a scenario in which they have left behind everything that they have known.

They’re living in limbo––

feeling anxious, frustrated, afraid…

yearning for some security…

some certainty…

some anchoring point.

But it keeps eluding them.

They stumble from one crisis to another.

So even the present––

not to mention the future––

looks very uncertain.

They’re so fearful that they would prefer to go back to Egypt––

to return to slavery––

which, in a strange way, was oddly safe and comfortable…

because, at least, it was known.

And all of it is made much worse because they’re anxious about their most fundamental needs.

They’re worried about their very survival.

And when the basic necessities of life are uncertain…

you really are at your most vulnerable.

And so we see images of starving people rushing aid helicopters…

selfishly scampering to grab whatever they can…

desperately fighting each other off;

or our fellow-Australians brawling over the last remaining packet of toilet paper––

the primal urge for survival taking over.

When nothing seems certain;

when the future is frightening;

when we no longer know who we are;

when everything is changing;

and even the basic necessities of life can’t be taken for granted…

we crave some certainty to which we can cling.

We need to know that we are not alone…

that someone does care…

that someone will help.

And so it is that the Israelites complain to Moses.

“Where is God?”–– 

they ask––

Is the Lord among us or not?”

“Sure, God rescued us.

Sure, God has been leading us. 

Sure, God has provided food to feed us.

But where is God now?”

They don’t care about everything that God has done in the past.

They need reassurance now.

They want to know that they haven’t been abandoned—

like young children sleeping alone in a dark room…

crying out for mum or dad in the middle of the night just to make sure that they’re there…

that they’re listening…

that they care...

and that they will come.

But note… 

it’s not just the Israelites who complain and whinge.

So does Moses.

At the first whimper, he goes running off to God––

frustrated, angry, and scared––

he whinges and complains just like the rest of them;

all of them demanding that God do something…

demanding that God act––

now!

Under those sorts of circumstances, it’s easy to engage in emotional blackmail:

“If you really cared about me then you would give me water to drink…

you would provide food to eat…

you would cure my illness…

you would restore my relationship”.

We do it all the time, don’t we?

During periods of transition…

when we’re feeling anxious, frustrated, fearful, or alone…

when we don’t know where we are…

or who we are…

when we don’t understand what’s happening…

when everything is changing and nothing seems certain…

we want to know that God is with us and that we’re not alone.

We want to know that we can depend upon God…

and that God will act.

 

Note, in the story, God doesn’t respond to the Israelites with chiding or rebuking. 

God responds to their fears and needs––

but not necessarily in the way that they expected. 

God doesn’t suddenly make it rain. 

God doesn’t cause a lush and fertile oasis to materialise miraculously.

Yes, God acts to reassure them that they’re not alone…

and to remind them that God does care.

But God does it in the way that God always does––

through other people.

God comes to us through fearful, fallible, and faltering people;

through anxious and uncertain people:

people like Moses;

people like you and me.

 

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