The 1st United Methodist Church of Napa

²The whole congregation of the Israelites complained against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness. ³The Israelites said to them, “If only we had died by the hand of the LORD in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots and ate our fill of bread; for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.”

⁴Then the LORD said to Moses, “I am going to rain bread from heaven for you, and each day the people shall go out and gather enough for that day. In that way I will test them, whether they will follow my instruction or not. ….

⁹Then Moses said to Aaron, “Say to the whole congregation of the Israelites, ‘Draw near to the LORD, for he has heard your complaining.’” ¹⁰And as Aaron spoke to the whole congregation of the Israelites, they looked toward the wilderness, and the glory of the LORD appeared in the cloud. ¹¹The LORD spoke to Moses and said, ¹²“I have heard the complaining of the Israelites; say to them, ‘At twilight you shall eat meat, and in the morning you shall have your fill of bread; then you shall know that I am the LORD your God.’”

¹³In the evening quails came up and covered the camp; and in the morning there was a layer of dew around the camp. ¹⁴When the layer of dew lifted, there on the surface of the wilderness was a fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground. ¹⁵When the Israelites saw it, they said to one another, “What is it?” For they did not know what it was. Moses said to them, “It is the bread that the LORD has given you to eat.

²⁴So when the crowd saw that neither Jesus nor his disciples were there, they themselves got into the boats and went to Capernaum looking for Jesus.

²⁵When they found him on the other side of the sea, they said to him, “Rabbi, when did you come here?” ²⁶Jesus answered them, “Very truly, I tell you, you are looking for me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves. ²⁷Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you. For it is on him that God the Father has set his seal.” ²⁸Then they said to him, “What must we do to perform the works of God?” ²⁹Jesus answered them, “This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.” ³⁰So they said to him, “What sign are you going to give us then, so that we may see it and believe you? What work are you performing? ³¹Our ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness; as it is written, ‘He gave them bread from heaven to eat.’” ³²Then Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, it was not Moses who gave you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. ³³For the bread of God is that which^ comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.” ³⁴They said to him, “Sir, give us this bread always.”

³⁵Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.

A version of the story of the three bears (which came to me out of that rich stream of oral tradition) may help us interpret the frustrations that Moses spoke about on that famous trek through the wilderness – where the people complained to God that they didn't have the meat that they'd known in Egypt (which, as slaves, they'd probably never tasted in the first place!).

Papa Bear and Baby Bear had just returned from an early morning walk when Papa Bear said, "Someone's been sleeping in my bed," and Baby Bear said the same. They came to their little breakfast nook, and Papa Bear said, "Somebody's been sitting in my chair!" And Baby Bear repeated his father's complaint. Then Papa Bear said, "Somebody's eaten up all of my oatmeal!" And Baby Bear said, "And somebody's eaten up all of mine too!" Then Mama Bear came in and said. "Listen, you two, I haven't even cooked the oatmeal yet. Quit complaining; if you're not going to help then get out of the kitchen and give me room to work!"

And God said to Moses, "I've heard the complaining of your people…. Tell them for me, and say, 'At twilight you shall eat meat, and in the morning you'll have all of the bread you want! Then you will know that I am the Lord your God.'" And the people quit complaining and got out of God's way.

The broiling, dehydrating, rock-cracking wilderness – where even lizards look for shade during the noonday sun – I imagine is the scene of our reading from Exodus this morning. It's a place of wandering in search of water, where animals – once slaughtered – must be eaten or they soon become rotten. Everything returns to the dirt, but there's no fruitfulness at all. Nothing is reborn here. Too vast to go around, however, it must be crossed, endured. This is the place of Israel's testing. But even more it's a time of Israel's seeking the "promised land."^³

How can we even envision bringing these two experiences together: of a brutal wasteland that brings people to the edge of their deaths, gasping for breath in the heat, and a land "flowing with milk and honey?" In the understanding of the Jews it is God alone who transforms place and time and people. The wasteland leads into a garden because that's the way of God. It's an open invitation to trust in the absence of any hopeful sign. It's the word of the biblical prophet, saying, "Step into this place of unknowing. Lose yourself. Wander until you are ready to drop. You will find God, if you will only let go. A moment will come when you'll no longer see the desert, and you'll no longer fall exhausted. But first, come to God empty-handed – without the assurances of the past – and God will make of this place a garden." This is the promise that Moses is making to Israel.

I wonder how many of us would trust these words enough to fall into the embrace of an unseen God. And yet this is the One who – in overwhelming mystery and majesty – is calling you. Enticed away from the sophistication of the city, lured into the desert of our ignorance, we are asked to listen for the very breath of God blowing life into the dirt from which we've come. We're being invited to grasp hold of a renewed innocence and set aside the kinds of certainties that evaporate with the rising sun. Take comfort from the Spirit of all creation that has breathed life into you.^⁴ This will not rot in the sun. This will not die.

It's significant that in our story of Jesus here in the Gospel According to John, that we find ourselves, yet again, at a time of desert memories: the Passover is near and so is the re-telling of that escape from Egypt. Are the lessons that we learned, after our loud complaining, lessons that we have to learn all over again? Are we still shaking our fists at God and crying out, "What have you done for me lately?"

Jesus confronts his followers with their unwillingness to trust him. Don't let just a little bread distract you from the truth. It's God who gives us life. And so you and I are invited to move beyond our hunger and thirst into a place of trusting that in the chaos of a people still at war with each other, in the midst of all of the killing and death, some may yet still be able to hear a voice crying out: "In this wilderness prepare a way for God."^⁵ In the midst of the world's pain and injustice God still speaks to us. When military power and diplomatic entente seem to be our only saviors, we're lured back into the desert to face what is real. When cries for cease-fires echo above trucks filled with humanitarian aid that still must scurry for cover across bomb-blasted streets, we're being called into a deeper understanding of what it means to call the enemy our sister, our brother. Ours is a sorority and fraternity of children born from the same dirt.

Do you think that I am simply a naïve idealist? Is this an illusion? Is our struggle to become human a fantasy, our pain and sacrifice all for nothing? Are we really meant to only face a cruel existence here? Maybe we do need to return to the desert so that we might meet God, the one who would say to us, "You are mine. You were created from goodness to be good. Take and eat. There's bread enough for life to be given to the entire world."

1 Our readings for this Sunday focus on the Jewish community's understanding of God as the giver of life-sustaining gifts. As the beneficiaries of that tradition, we Christians are now challenged to move beyond just working to fill our bellies with good food, to recognizing the depth of sustenance that comes to us as the Spirit of God – the Giver of all goodness.

2 We're dealing in metaphorical language here (I hope everyone's aware of that!) when we hear John's community conclude that, for them, Jesus is "the true bread from heaven." Some two generations after the death of Jesus, it's out of the conflict that those first followers of Jesus were having with the religious leadership of the Jewish synagogue, that their image of Jesus as the long-waited-for Messiah comes together. For the embattled house-church of the first century, to believe in Jesus as the Messiah was like being given food and drink, true nourishment, life in its fullest dimension. Embracing his way, his truth, and his life, meant that their spirits would never be hungry or thirsty again.

3 This is the land spoken of in a promise made to Moses by God at the "burning bush" – of a land "flowing with milk and honey" (Exodus 3: 8), of a place in which Israel's deliverance is assured (Exodus 6: 8).

4 I mean for us to recall the imagery here of that first moment of creation (Genesis 2: 7), but of all the moments of creation and recreation that follow from our simply being alive.

5 Again, I mean for us to remember the words of Isaiah: "A voice cries out: 'In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God" (Isaiah 40: 3).