16th
Sunday after Pentecost; Yr. A, September 28, 2014
Exodus
17:1-7; Psalm 78:1-4, 12-16; Philippians 2:1-13; Matthew 21:23-32
Sermon
preached at St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church
Before
writing this sermon, I went back and re-read the one I wrote for my last Sunday
in June. I wrote about making
space. I prayed that we would all have a
sabbatical that would allow us to make space to hear and see God in our
lives. And then I read that story from
Exodus. The Israelites are wandering in
the wilderness after being released from slavery and they’re complaining to
Moses. “We’re in the middle of a desert
here, Moses. And there’s no water around here to drink. What are you going to do about it?” Moses was raised in the palace of the
Pharaoh’s daughter. After fleeing Egypt
himself, he was a shepherd. Moses has no
idea what to do about it. Moses goes to
God, frustrated, angry, and feeling a little threatened by the mob’s
demands. “They are almost ready to stone me.” He says. God tells Moses to go
ahead of them and strike a rock. God
will bring water from the rock to satisfy the people. So Moses does what God commands, and God does
what God has promised. God provides
refreshing water for everyone.
It occurred
to me that part of hearing God results from seeking God. I spent my sabbatical seeking God. I had become so busy with stuff that hearing
God was really difficult. I was hearing
a lot of demands, like Moses, not necessarily from all of you, but from the mob
that was inside my own head. From the
beginning, starting with those first three days at Cobblestone Retreat Center,
I tried to put the demanding side of me to bed, and rekindle a relationship
with the side of me that knows and seeks God’s voice. It was a journey of the heart, not the
head.
I don’t
think I realized how much I was missing.
It took a few weeks for me to feel comfortable leaving my cell phone at
home. I almost always have it with me …
just in case someone calls and I need to respond. For the first time in a long time, I felt
like I had time to read something and reflect on it or journal about it, and
contemplate what it might mean for me, and for my relationship with God. I found myself leaning into whatever
experience I was having, paying attention to what was going on the moment, and
nothing in the future was pulling me away from the present. The mob was stymied. They had nothing to complain about. I was doing all I was supposed to do … giving
myself over to the moment and whatever that moment entailed … playing with my
daughter, embroidering, reading, kayaking on the lake, painting the back wall
of the cottage, laughing so hard my face hurt, inspecting my bee hive,
listening to someone else’s sermon, walking on a country road in Vermont, experiencing
church in different places, spending time with old friends, walking and talking
for hours, rekindling a love affair with daily prayer, sleeping soundly every
night and not waking to an alarm. I’m
sure some of you are jealous, and if I were sitting in your seat, I would be
too! But I am here. Standing in the front, and I am feeling
incredibly grateful. I had no idea how
very tired I was. You gave me time to
rest, time to go look for God, and I found that I could find God all over the
place. The Israelites ask Moses, “Is the Lord among us or not?” Well, God
is.
The
Lord is among us.
