Goin Through It

Then the Israelites set out from Mount Hor, by the way of the Red Sea, to go around the land of Edom. The people became impatient because of the journey. So the people spoke against God and Moses, saying, “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? There’s no food and no water, and we’re disgusted with this miserable food.”

Then the Lord sent fiery serpents among the people, and they bit the people, so that many Israelites died. So the people came to Moses and said, “We have sinned, because we have spoken against the Lord and against you. Intercede with the Lord, that He may remove the serpents from us.”

And Moses interceded for the people. Then the Lord said to Moses, “Make a fiery serpent and set it on a pole. And it shall come about that everyone who is bitten, when they look at it, shall live.” So Moses made a bronze serpent and put it on the pole, and when a serpent bit anyone, they looked at the bronze serpent and lived.

So, Sarah, Naima, and I were at a park in Southfield the other day, going on a hike. And just so you know: going on a hike with a toddler is more like going on a hike with a sandbag on your hip.

Except the sandbag wiggles and shifts whenever it feels like it. It has very strong opinions about which way to go and which sticks to stop and gather. Sometimes the sandbag drops the sticks and then tells you to pick them up again. The sandbag also asks for snacks. And it’s actually socially unacceptable to leave this sandbag in the car unattended while you enjoy a quiet walk.

When we came to the trailhead, it was evening, and the wooded path looked more like a shadowed cave. Naima—the sandbag—looked at me and said, “Hey, Daddy-O”—my latest nickname—“this one looks pretty scary.”

I laughed and agreed. Then she quoted her current favorite book: “Oh no. We can’t go over it. We can’t go under it. We have to go through it.” She was quoting We’re Going on a Bear Hunt by Michael Rosen. (Anyone read it? Show of hands?)

In the story, a family decides to go on a bear hunt—like, you know, a lot of young families do—and along the way they bump into obstacle after obstacle. There’s resistance from the world—or perhaps, we might say, resistance from God.

First it’s the grass. Then a river. Then a slew of mud. A random snowstorm. A forest with lots of roots for tripping. And the whole time they chant, “We’re going on a bear hunt. We’re gonna catch a big one. What a beautiful day. We’re not scared.”

Now, I know we’re a people of love and that perfect love casts out fear. But a little fear—say, if you’re going on a bear hunt—is actually a very good thing, especially with small children.

Their final obstacle is the cave itself. Ironically, the thing they’ve been seeking is right there, a few steps ahead. Still, they look for a way over it, a way under it, and they have to remind themselves again: you have to go through it.

We’ve all met resistance, haven’t we? An obstacle blocking our way to something we’re seeking. Something we fear pops up just as things were going well. Something we don’t want to deal with. Sometimes someone we don’t want to deal with. And it stops us from what we set out to find, be, or do.

Last week Pastor Sarah read about Moses’ call from the burning bush. Moses is sent to free his people so they can have a day off from work, worship God together, and remember they are human beings—not human doings, as I’ve heard one of my friends say, or simply machines feeding Pharaoh’s ambitions. After the bush, Moses and Pharaoh go back and forth through deadly plagues until the people are finally allowed to leave Egypt for the land God promised—a place to worship and be.

On the way out, God appears as a pillar of cloud by day and fire by night—a sight that terrifies the Egyptians and probably some Israelites too. At Sinai, God thunders in fire and smoke and terrifies them again. These are not the images of God we’re used to, and I’m sure they weren’t what Israel expected. This doesn’t seem like a God of comfort. This God is not “safe.” It’s not the companion they thought they’d have in the wilderness. This God must have seemed more destroyer than savior—even as they were being preserved.

By the time we arrive at today’s passage, years into the wandering, the people have grown impatient. On the way to the promised land they grumble about Moses and God—the two who got them into this mess. They regret leaving Egypt and wish things could just go back to how they were. They’re even sick of the manna—the bread from heaven—and call it “worthless.” Apparently, gratitude is as scarce as water in the desert. I’m not sure we can blame them.

In response, the writer of Numbers tells us God sent a tangle of venomous snakes—“fiery serpents,” interestingly the same Hebrew root used for seraphim, the fiery angels. These angel-like snakes, come, apparently, from heaven and bite and kill many. The people assume God is punishing them for the grumbling—for being human.

So they come to Moses: “We’ve sinned. We spoke against the Lord and against you. Please ask God to take the serpents away.” I imagine a collective, “Whoopsie daisy—we’re sorry,” followed by, “We were just blowing off steam,” or, “We were just kidding,” or, “We heard complaining helps on long trips.” And about wanting to turn around—“Did we say that?” Also: “By the way, Moses, we love eating the same bread every single day. Can’t get enough of it.”

After their apology, they ask Moses to find a way around the problem. Moses prays. God answers—but the answer is refusal. The snakes stay. The deadly bites stay. The obstacle will not be removed.

It’s as if God says, “Oh no—some snakes. You can’t go under them. You can’t go over them. You have to go through them.” Then God instructs Moses to make a bronze serpent, set it on a pole, and anyone bitten who looks at it will live. So that’s what they do: they continue the journey through the snakes. Each time someone is bitten, they look to the pole—and live. Here again is a God who is neither safe nor comfortable—and yet is savior.

Back to the bear hunt: the family tiptoes into the cave and finally finds the shiny wet nose, the two big furry ears, the two big goggly eyes of the bear they’ve been hunting. Only then do they admit they’re scared—very scared—and realize they didn’t want a bear hunt at all. It would have been better to stay home where it’s safe and comfortable.

This is true for any of us chasing something—a bear in a cave, a health goal, a promised land, a dream, a job, or (for many of us here) the revitalization of a dying church. We meet resistance. We find obstacles we can’t go over or under—obstacles we certainly don’t want to go through. So we run. We want to go back to the comfort of the past: back when we were young and responsibility was lighter; back when that one pastor was here; back when committees functioned; back when people just showed up; back before fraught history fogged the air between us; back when we couldn’t wait to come here; back when we weren’t running from everything but to something.

We all reach for what’s familiar to avoid what’s unknown and mysterious—and we want a God who gives us that on demand. But we don’t serve a God who promises to remove every immediate problem or satisfy every immediate want. God doesn’t promise to clear the path. But God does promise to walk with us through it—to the end of time. More often than we would like, God does not spare us our suffering, but sits and suffers alongside us.

And walking with God gets messy. To walk with God is to be formed into the divine image—and that isn’t easy. We get dirty. We stumble. We say the wrong thing. We trip up. We get whipped around. We get bit. There’s no perfect path, no way over or under. But there is a way through.

The call is really for us to embrace our reality—wherever we are on the journey, whatever resistance we face. Whether it’s grass, river, mud, a forest, a nest of snakes, or a scary cave, God is calling us to be present, to stop wasting energy looking for shortcuts, and to trust that the Spirit has gone ahead to make a way where no way exists. Trust that whatever we’ve been brought to, we will be brought through, as so many have said before me. And God will be beside us every step of the way.