One thing that you might not know about me is that I love Shakespeare. In our move this week, my spouse was quick to point out that my well-worn works of Shakespeare had made it onto a shelf in the living room, and my extremely well-worn copy of Hamlet I read nightly as a teenager was tucked in a bookshelf corner, far away from cat claws and greasy toddler fingers.

When I was a sophomore in high school, my English teacher, one of my very favorite educators I’ve ever known, made us memorize three different significant passages of literature in our British lit class. She claimed it was good brain exercise, and she picked the passages each for their significance. We had to recite them in front of the class – we got extra credit for theatrical flourishes (I did not), but perhaps more importantly, if we laughed at anyone’s recitation, we got zeroes. As I used to tell my students when I was teaching, I am very old, so you can tell that this experience had a lasting impact on me, especially when we memorized a soliloquy in Hamlet – the advice that Lord Polonius gives to his son, Laertes, as he jets off to France.

Ms. Helm insisted that this advice was relevant to today, and she wanted us to hold it in our hearts. I could passionately recite the passage for you, but I’ll spare you and you can watch Bill Murray on youtube, instead. The masterful parental soliloquy reminds the son who he is and who he should be through a quickly rattled off list of advice: think before you act, hold fast to truly good friends, don’t spend too much money on clothes but look your best, don’t lend or borrow money because that ruins friendships, and the familiar line “to thine ownself be true.” If one is true to oneself, then one’s honesty will extend into every relationship. If we all followed all this advice, we’d be better for it.

I’ve told you this very long and personally nostalgic story not only because I love Shakespeare, but more because of the deep similarities I see between these two passages of identity, advice and hope for the future.

A wise friend once told me, I love to read the book of John, but I hate to preach from it. The book of John has some of our most beloved verses – think John 3:16, the I am Statements, the footwashing and new commandment of loving one another. But then it also has that lengthy cosmic Jesus origin narrative that readers either love or glaze over during, and then it has verbose discourses (like the one our Scripture today is from) instead of succinct parables.

Today’s Scripture comes from something called “The Farewell Discourse,” which takes place just after John’s reflection on the Last Supper (the one with the footwashing and the new commandment) in John 13. The Discourse spans John 14-17, and Jesus foreshadows his own departure (as Judas has already departed from them) with reminders of who they are, who he is, advice for life without him and hope for the future. At this point, the disciples…might? know who Jesus really is, and they might be confused, but I’m guessing that they were seeing the writing on the wall about the fact that beloved teacher and friend was to leave them. And not only would he leave them, but they would be left to themselves – no longer a cohesive group of followers – but eleven separate leaders – to figure out what the next right thing to do would be. The future was coming; their scattering was coming, but have you noticed that Jesus tends to be a little light with the concrete details?

Rev. Melissa Kessler Associate Pastor for Congregational Care at Grandin Court Baptist Church in Roanoake, VA shared with me this week that it was a year ago when she was standing in front of her congregation giving instructions for the next several weeks – they would take a few weeks at home to isolate and to show love for their neighbors by doing their part in flattening the curve. Little did she or her congregation or you or Jefferson or I know what was coming – what the next right thing to do was. I thin

John 3:16 might be one of the most well-known texts in all of the Holy Scriptures. “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him won’t perish but will have eternal life.” Preachers, athletes, sports fans, and people of all sorts have used and abused these verses to speak about God’s great love for the world. But there is one thing that I find to be challenging about this well-known text: though it proclaims the good news of God’s love, it does not say much about how we are to love and live with one another. For that reason, if there was one verse in all of the scriptures that I wish all people would know, this verse would be John 15:12, “This is my commandment: love each other just as I have loved you.” I find these to be some of the most beautiful words uttered by Jesus in the gospels: “love each other just as I have loved you.” These words of Jesus raise the standards of love for all who dare to follow him. These words not only proclaim Christ’s great love for us, but they also give us a concrete example of how we are to love others. In these few words, Jesus tells us: love one another, not as you please, not as you desired to be loved, not as you think it is best, not as you imagine they deserve, but as I have loved you. This commandment of Jesus brings the reality of love very close to us and gives us a new standard of measurement for how we are to love others.

Loving others can be a difficult business. You may know that I am the third child in a family of five. Between 1979 and 1985 all five of us graced the world and in the ‘90’s my parents were blessed with five teenagers under one roof. Despite the healthy doses of faith and scripture that were inserted into our everyday living, it seemed that the challenges of raising kids manifested themselves fairly often in our house. Arguments and fights were not uncommon among us siblings. One faithful afternoon as my brother and I argued over something trivial—as kids tend to do—my mother, being tired of referring arguments—as parents tend to be—decided to teach us a lesson. Using, I am sure, the scriptures as her guide my mother ordered my brother and me to stand in an embrace until we felt that we understood what it meant to love one another. Imagine a 10-year-old and 8-year-old standing, much against their will, hugging each other for several minutes. To this day, I am still not positive that this is what Jesus meant when he said “love each other just as I have loved you.” But this awkward encounter put flesh on the idea of loving others.

Love, as meant by Jesus it is not a sentiment that falls prey to changes in mood. Love as Jesus meant in these verses is an action—a really difficult action, an action that many people believe to be radical, outrageous, and unreasonable. But Jesus calls us toward the path of love because love is at the center of the character of the Divine—and we have been created in the image of the divine.[1] Love. John 3:16, “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him won’t perish but will have eternal life.” Love. 1 John 4:10, “This is love: it is not that we loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son as the sacrifice that deals with our sins.” Love is God’s radical answer to the brokenness of humanity. But this is a type of answer that makes many of us uncomfortable because a love that sacrifices itself for the sake of others may be wonderful to receive but it is much more difficult to give. This type of love calls us to live beyond the limitations of our self-interests and move with haste towards the needs of others.

You may have heard of the African Philosophy called Ubuntu. This term is commonly translated as “I am because we are,”[2] but its meaning is much more complex and encompassing. Ubuntu represents an ethic of living where my humanity cannot be unless I can see the humanity of others. Archbishop Desmond Tutu describes a ubuntu way of life by saying, “A

I may have said this a time or two before, the most challenging thing we can resolve to do in our lives is to follow Christ, for the way of Christ is contrary to the ways of the world. The way of Christ is contrary to our self-centered impulses. The way of Christ is contrary to any reality that places us in total control and makes others a casualty on our path to victory. Following Christ requires a Spirit-empowered inner transformation that leads us to a real understanding that full life is only possible when we make our home in Him—as he does in us. You see, Jesus is not speaking to those who aspire to follow him, but directing his words to those who had already said “yes” to the journey. He is speaking to those who had already committed to the path—those who had already left behind much of what they knew. To them, he says, “I am the Vine, you are the branches. When you’re joined with me and I with you, the relation intimate and organic, the harvest is sure to be abundant. Separated, you can’t produce a thing.”[1] What are we producing?

Despite my love and appreciation for nature, gardening is not a skill set that I have yet picked up. But our community of faith is blessed with dozens of individuals who love, appreciate, and know what it takes to cultivate the soil and produce good fruit. If you have never been down to the Connell Garden, I highly recommend a visit. This year, our sunrise easter worship happened in the garden and I am deeply thankful for all the hands who tend and care for that sacred space. Though I have not yet placed my hands in the dirt with our garden team, over the past two years it has been a joy to see (and consume) the fruits of their labor. And through casual conversation and observation, I have noticed that the garden goes through cycles, and while things may be most noticeable when flowers are in bloom and the vines heavy, this year I paid attention to the work that happens when it seems nothing is going on. I noticed those who spend hours pulling weeds. Those who till the soil. The tarps designed to maximize nutrients. The clearing of what is old so something new can emerge. For those of us, whose relationship with produce is mediated by Walmart, Aldi, Publix, Kroger, or other stores we just don’t see the bulk of the work. We simply receive a finished product. But Jesus, in his words to the disciples makes it clear that our relationship to him must be different. As branches attached to the “True Vine” we are called to produce.

What are we producing? This is an important question we people of faith must ask ourselves from time to time. For if we are branches of the True Vine the fruits of our living must be a reflection of the Vine itself. If we are connected to Jesus, the True Vine, what are we producing? John the Baptist, speaking with the Pharisees and Sadducees in the gospels of Matthew and Luke—besides calling them “brood of vipers” which is a really beautiful insult you can keep tucked in your pocket (I am kidding)—tells them “Produce fruit that shows you have changed your hearts and lives.”[2] Friends, it is not enough to talk about it, we must live the reality in our lives and show it to the world. We must produce fruit in keeping with the True Vine and so the world may see an alternative reality to the chaos that is so present everywhere we look.

Rufus Jones, who was one of the most influential Quakers of the 20th century, reminds us that “the primary function of a church, if it is to be the continuing body of Christ in the world, is to raise human life out of its secular drift and to give reality to the eternal here in the midst of time.”[3] There is a reality beyond the pain and suffering we see in the world. A reality of peace, joy, hope, love, and goodness which we can experience by faith, through the power of the Holy Spirit. A few months ago I quoted the great poet James Baldwin who said, “If the concept of God has any validity or any use, it can only be to make us larger, freer, a

In 1860, Anna and Susan Warner published a two-volume (now forgotten) novel titled Say and Seal. In the novel, a sick little boy, named Johnny Fax, asks his Sunday school teacher to sing. The teacher obliges and sings four stanzas of a simple and yet profound hymn: “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Little ones to him belong; they are weak, but he is strong. Yes, Jesus loves me! Yes, Jesus loves me! Yes, Jesus loves me! The Bible tells me so.”[1] The simplicity of these words masks what the great theologian Karl Barth called his most profound theological discovery.[2] Barth was once asked what is the most significant thing that he ever learned and after stopping to think for a moment, he said, “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.”[3] The love of Jesus for us is a powerful truth that we must hear, understand, and embrace. When Jesus tells us, he is the good shepherd, he is declaring his love and care for each of us.

No image in the Holy Scriptures reminds me of Jesus’ love and care quite like Jesus as the Good Shepherd—the one who lays down his life for his sheep. Shepherds were very familiar to those in the times of Jesus and ancient Israel. From the beginning of time caring for sheep was a part of the social context. You may remember that Abel, whose offering was found pleasing to God, was a “keeper of sheep.”[4] Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Rebekah, were shepherds.”[5] You may remember that when Joseph was sold into slavery his brothers were out in the fields tending to sheep.[6] When Moses fled from Egypt and encountered the daughters of Jethro they were taking care of sheep—an occupation that Moses also took up.[7] But they were not alone, many others including David and the prophet Amos all shared the common role of shepherds.[8] But more than just a profession, a shepherd was one who guided the people in the way of righteousness. (And) While the term was used in reference to Moses, Aaron, and Joshua,[9] none embodied the role quite like David. As the former boy shepherd[10] was commission king, he was told, “You will shepherd my people Israel, and you will be Israel’s leader.”[11]

David understood the role of shepherd and is credited with one of the most beautiful Psalms in all of the scriptures, “The Lord is my shepherd. I lack nothing.”[12] Or as the King James Version tells us, “The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want.” Whether we have encountered these beautiful words from Psalm 23 at home, as the first piece of scripture committed to memory, in funerals, or elsewhere, we have come to understand that because God is our guardian and guide, we are safe. The children of Israel too knew God as a shepherd—as the one who guided them through the wilderness, offering green pastures, tranquil waters, and protection from all harm.[13] There is deep power in the images and language of this Psalm, where God’s loving care is focused not on a whole flock, but a single sheep. The vision of care and comfort we find in Psalm 23 warms our soul whether we grew up in an agricultural environment or not. Here, first-hand knowledge and experience with agricultural life seem to make no real difference because our minds know what it means to feel safe—and our souls long for that state of being, especially in times of strife and pain.

So, here we encounter Jesus—the model shepherd.[14] The one who truly understands our need for care, protection, and guidance. The one who knows us, our limitations, our shortcomings, our pains, and offers us healing. In places where others see opportunities for condemnation, the Good Shepherd sees an opportunity for God to be revealed in a new way. This was so at the beginning of John 9, as Jesus the disciples encountered a man born blind. The disciples asked, “who sinned so that he was born blind, this man or his parents?”[15] Lacking understanding and perception, the disciples believed sin to be the only explanation for this man’s condition. But Jesus, the Model Shepherd

In our text today, the writer of Luke plants us in the middle of an ongoing story—a story of excitement, confusion, doubt, and fear. A story that we often struggle to understand for in many of our minds Easter is just a big celebration. But the disciple did not yet see things that way. A shift had happened, but they struggled to comprehend all that laid before their eyes.

Have you ever found yourself in a situation where despite telling the truth, others did not believe you? The early followers of Jesus, who witnessed the resurrection found themselves in such a place. Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, a few other women went to the tomb, very early in the morning. You may know this story well (Luke 24). As they approached, they saw the stone rolled away, they look inside but did not find a body. Suddenly, they encountered two sharply dressed men, who told them, “if you are looking for Jesus you are in the wrong place. This is home of the dead, but Jesus is alive!” The women raced to tell the other disciples this good news, but upon hearing it, they believed it to be pure nonsense. Though the women spoke the truth, the disciples could not imagine their report to be a possibility. Though they had seen Jesus performs signs and wonders their minds were locked in a limited reality where death still had the final say.

We should not be too hard on the disciple, for as the great theologian James Cone reminds us, the significance of the cross and the resurrection are not as obvious as we believe them to be. Cone tells us that “The cross is a paradoxical religious symbol because it inverts the world’s value system with the news that hope comes by way of defeat, that suffering and death do not have the last word, that the last shall be first and the first last.”[1] In a world where fear and intimidation ruled the day, it can be hard to accept that any other option is possible. For the disciples, the tomb may have been empty, the women may have encountered “two men in dazzling clothes,”[2] Peter may even have confirmed their story, but at that moment in time they did not understand the new reality at hand. Being locked behind closed doors in terror was the only response that made sense to them.

So, here we find these followers of Jesus, huddled together in a room—fearing for their lives. Then suddenly Jesus appears among them, saying “Peace be with you!” In a moment when fear controlled the actions of the disciples, Jesus breaks through the physical barriers that they had placed around themselves and offered them peace. The disciples are in a state of mind where they fail to comprehend the good news that they hear and see.  All those who insist that “seeing is believing” have certainly not read this account of the resurrection. The disciples saw the Risen Lord but did not understand what they saw. They believe Jesus to be a ghost. Fear led their thinking. When fear takes a hold of us we tend to put God in a small box and wish all the world could operate from the comfort and safety of that tiny space. But God is much greater than our fears and though fear may be a natural response to the unexpected it does not need to be a mode of operation. When Jesus comes into our lives—when Jesus comes into our space, he meets us wherever we are, even in the midst of our fears, and he offers us peace. Jesus came into the confines of the disciples’ safe space and showed them the marks of the resurrection, called them to go forward witnessing the good news to all the world.

Have you ever really noticed how often fear shows up throughout the Easter story? It seems that every time God transcends the expectations of the followers of Christ, fear manifests itself. But even then, in those moments when we barricade ourselves behind physical or metaphorical doors, Jesus still comes in and guides us to a place where faithful response leads to a new reality and deeper understanding. There is a simple complexity that the Easter story lays before us,

Some of you may be thinking to yourselves, “surely the preacher read the wrong text or left something out. This sounds like the Easter scripture but there is a lot missing!” So, if you are not too familiar with Mark’s resurrection account you will have noticed that the earthquake and angelic appearance found in Matthew; the angelic announcement and disbelief from the disciples found in Luke; the poetry and emotions found in John—along with the appearance of the Risen Christ… none of those things were recorded in this Gospel. And it may come as a shock, but through the years, the early scribes of the Holy Scripture were so uncomfortable with this lack of classic markers of the resurrection that two additional endings were later added.[1] So since we have lived through a year of discomfort, it just seemed appropriate that today we hear the good news of the resurrection in a way that invites both celebration and pause. For God is able to speak to us, whether we find ourselves in moments of comfort or in seasons of discomfort.

It is true that our text may seem unfamiliar, but the circumstances that lead Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome to the tomb have become very familiar to us. Over the past year many of us have walked through the deep waters of grief. There is a real heaviness and pain that we have experienced. The loss of loved ones through this season of pandemic has added layers of complexity to what already was a difficult process. When we lose a loved one, very suddenly we are flooded with memories, emotions, wishes, and regrets. Time almost stands still and minds race to comprehend that which is beyond human comprehension. Any other year, we can count on a well-worn pattern that guides us through these difficulties. But this year everything was different. The realities of the pandemic prevented many of us from following our sacred rituals and social customs. Some were not able to sit next to a loved one as they departed this world. Many were not able to gather with family and friends to mourn a passing. All were forced to make difficult decisions on how to best honor those who are no longer with us.

The women, who stood at the foot of the cross while others hid in fear, had to adapt to a less than ideal reality. It is not just that their teacher and friend had been deprived of his humanity, mocked, beaten, and hung on a cross between two common criminals. Those who loved him were deprived of the opportunity to serve in preparing his body for burial. So, they had to adapt—rising very early on the first day of the week to journey with the sunrise to a place where they imagine they would only encounter death. Can you imagine the pain and sorrow in their hearts? The confusion and anguish? Walking to the tomb to see the beaten and mangled body of Jesus. I wonder how they prepared themselves for that encounter. Despite the obstacles on the way, their faithful determination drove them back to the tomb. Our imaginations may be stretched attempting to understand the resolve to return to that place of sorrow. Yet we know this drive very well. We can look back and remember stories like Mamie Till-Mobley’s who insisted in seeing the body of her son, Emmett Till, who had been tortured and murdered in the Mississippi Delta.[2] We can speak quite eloquently of our own need to be with and say goodbye to those whom we hold near our hearts. Despite the challenges in front of us, we come filled with sorrow and questions. We come out of devotion and in search of hope.

The women came to the tomb perhaps seeking closure. After following and supporting the ministry of Jesus for years, now things seemed to be really done. They came hoping that the stone could be rolled away from the entrance, because they already knew what to expect inside. Unlike Mamie Till-Mobley, they were well informed of the realities that awaited their arrival. They had been firsthand witnesses to the torture and death of their beloved teacher. Those wh

Some of you might know that I am deep appreciator of children’s literature. If you come into my office some day, you’ll see some children’s books on my shelves, in their rightful place of importance next to textbooks and manuals. A new to me book is The Night World by Mordicai Gerstein, and the book tells a story of a little boy startled awake by his cat in the middle of the night or the early hours of the morning. As many of you cat-people (or even non-cat people) might find unsurprisingly, the cat persists in its desire for being taken outside (meow, meow, meout!), and the boy and cat stumble outside in the dark. As the boy begins to listen to the noise around him, he notices that animals are whispering excitedly, “It’s almost here! It’s coming! It’s on its way! Here it comes!” The boy is puzzled, I’m guessing in his bleary state, because nothing is making a lot of sense – what would be coming in these dark hours?

I love the image of the boy in that story because he doesn’t understand exactly what is happening, but he cannot help but be excited by the excitement he can feel surrounding him. My daughter has picked up a similar habit – after trying to use exaggerated speech to engage her in questions and wondering before she began speaking, now, anytime you ask her a “guess what” question, with full enthusiasm, she responds *sharp intake of breath*

Today’s Scripture tells a story full of that same kind of frenetic energy. The disciples and Jesus traveled to the city of Jerusalem as part of a pilgrimage to celebrate the Passover festival. This was an annual event for Jewish people (you might remember Jesus traveling to the temple with his parents as a boy – one of the first moments of foreshadowing of Jesus’ ministry) and scholars estimate that the number of people in Jerusalem swelled from 50,000 to 200,000.[1] Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan argue that not only was the number of people coming into Jerusalem massive – the entry Jesus made into the city was not even the only triumphal entry in town:

“The Roman governor of Judea would ride up to Jerusalem from his coastal residence in the west. He would come in all of his imperial majesty to remind the Jewish pilgrims that Rome demanded their complete loyalty, obedience, and submission. The Jewish people could commemorate their ancient victory against Egypt and slavery if they wanted to.  But if they tried any real time resistance, they would be obliterated.”[2]

They could celebrate their triumph over slavery and their oppressors and mourn the generational losses to the wickedness of Egypt – another empire – but the Roman emperor made sure that they knew that they were once again ruled by another oppressor, another empire. Freedom seems like it only comes for God’s people for mere moments, only to be seized by another evil, another empire, another oppressor. Picturing this stark militant procession, I can’t help but think of the same images, two thousand years later, of Black Lives Matter organizers peacefully gathering in protest of state violence being met with droves of police in riot gear.

But nonetheless, the Jewish people made their own triumphant entry into Jerusalem to recognize God’s faithfulness surrounded by God’s faithful. And with them was no Roman governor, no emperor, no king riding on a war steed. Instead came their own king, a king of the Davidic line, riding on only a colt – Genesis 49 notes the colt’s role in the coronation of a king of Israel.[3] The author of Mark paraphrases prophet Zechariah: “Rejoice greatly, Daughter Zion. Sing aloud, Daughter Jerusalem. Look, your king will come to you. He is righteous and victorious. He is humble and riding…on a colt, the offspring of a donkey.”[4] The writer of the gospel of Matthew quotes these verses directly in his re-telling of this triumphant entry. The writers of Matthew, Mark and Luke all agree that the people all around Jesus removed their cloaks and placed them on the ground, a tradition first enacted in

The Faith We Sing, hymnbook, contains a beautiful song by gospel pioneer, Dr. Margaret P. Douroux that says,

“Give me a clean heart

so I may serve thee.

Lord, fix my heart so that I

may be used by thee.

For I’m not worthy

of all those blessings.

Give me a clean heart,

and I’ll follow thee.”[1]

This beautiful song speaks of the deep longing within our souls—a longing to be made new and to follow the LORD, our God, with all our heart. The prophet Jeremiah spoke of a time when all people, from least to greatest, would come to know the LORD. A time when God’s instructions would not be engraved on tables or printed on paper but etched in hearts—so all our moments of knowing, thinking, reflecting, deciding, and willing would be aligned with God’s supreme will. God told the people that a new covenant would be established, not something like the covenant from Sinai, an external covenant that people broke. A new type of covenant imprinted in their hearts. At a time when the people were disconnected from their culture, their religion, and their land the words of the prophet offered hope, hope that God had not forgotten them. Hope that salvation was still possible. Hope that the challenges of the past will not dictate the future. Hope that we can live lives pleasing to God.

The prophet Jeremiah lived through some very difficult times in the life of his nation. The Bible tells us that he began his ministry at a time of hope and excitement during the reign of King Josiah.[2] Josiah, who had assumed the throne at the tender age of eight, brought forth serious religious and political reforms to the nation.[3] In the eighteenth year of his reign, during a renovation of the Temple, a scroll of the Book of Law was discovered. Encountering the Law of God, encouraged the King to bring great changes into the life of the kingdom. Josiah sought to return the nation to worship practices as prescribed in the Law. He worked to eliminate all traces of foreign worship and false gods throughout the kingdom.[4] The book of 2 Kings tells us, “There’s never been a king like Josiah, whether before or after him, who turned to the LORD with all his heart, all his being, and all his strength, in agreement with everything in the Instruction from Moses.”[5] As the great Langston Hughes said, life for the kingdom “ain’t been no crystal stair / It’s had tacks in it / And splinters / And boards torn up / And places with no carpet on the floor / Bare.”[6] Josiah was assassinated and within a short period of time, Judah was overpowered by Egypt. His reforms, though worthy of praise, did not last and the people returned to their old practices. The Prophet Jeremiah experienced an era of lived hope and as well as seasons of decline and hopelessness.

The words we have heard today, are words the prophet spoke to a people who had been defeated in battle and carried away from their land. A people whose king had been deposed and whose Temple had been destroyed. We will miss the power found in the words of the prophet if we do not understand the depths of despair of the people. As the king, the queen-mother, the court officials, the government leader, the craftsmen, and other skilled laborers were exiled, the prophet sent a letter to those in Babylon saying, “get comfortable… you are going to stay away for a long time.”[7] God, speaking through Jeremiah, told the people, seventy years! Don’t let the prophets among you mislead you, they are telling you lies! So, build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce; marry and give your children away in marriage; work so the city where you are a prisoner will prosper. These were difficult words to receive. Then the people heard, what today has become one of the most misquoted verses in the whole of the scriptures, “I know the plans I have in mind for you, declares the LORD; they are plans for peace, not disaster, to give you a future filled with hope.”[8] In the midst of their exile, when their temple was destroye

“Turn your eyes upon Jesus,

Look full in His wonderful face,

And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,

In the light of His glory and grace.”[1]

It’s almost impossible to read this text from Number 21 and not make some type of connection with the words of Jesus to Nicodemus in John 3:15. Jesus said, “Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the wilderness, so must the Human One be lifted up so that everyone who believes in him will have eternal life.”[2] The gore of the cross aptly reminds us “that sometimes suffering is the only path to redemption and often the road to healing and light runs straight through darkness and pain.”[3] This is a difficult message, but not one that is outside our reality. This may a challenging text, but this is not a text devoid of good news. Today we heard that is able to use an object of pain and death as an instrument of healing. This beloved is good news indeed.

It may not surprise you to learn that Numbers does not make the preaching cycles too often. The Revised Common Lectionary only offers texts from this book five times in the three-year cycle—but if you look closer you will notice that the texts offered there repeat themselves twice.[4] So, even if a preacher chooses those texts you hear either the priestly blessing[5] or complaints.

As you can imagine, the journey of the people in the wilderness was not easy. Life happened at what seems to be an incredibly slow pace. We modern people, who have lived a full year of wilderness life—in this pandemic—may understand a little something about this reality. Those of us who spent the early months of the pandemic locked indoors, looking at the same walls, talking to the same people, eating the same food, yearning for something new that seemed to never come, may have asked the question spoken by the psalmist, “How long, O LORD?”[6] Our wilderness reality repeated itself day after day, after day, after day, and it took a heavy toll on our lives. The people of Israel, who had fled the oppressive realities of Egypt, were tired of detours, bland food, and lack of water. Their desperation was so high that they looked back to times of slavery with nostalgia. (And) Even though God walked with the people, when challenges arose, time and time again, the people would raise their voices against Moses and God.

If you have followed the story of the people of Israel even loosely, you know that complaining was almost a spiritual practice. As Moses returned to Egypt and went before Pharaoh with Aaron to declare God’s word of liberation, the people complain that Moses’ talk of freedom had made life difficult for them.[7] As Pharaoh pursued the Israelites to the edge of the Red Sea and the people feared death, complaints arose once again.[8] As they journeyed into the desert and found no drinkable water, more complaints.[9] As they faced hunger, they complained.[10] As they faced thirst, they complained some more.[11] As they felt insecure, while Moses received instructions from God on Mount Sinai, they complained and sinned.[12]  As they missed the food of slavery, more complaints.[13] Even Moses’ siblings complained about his leadership.[14] But then we begin to look for a turning point as people arrive at the promised land. You may be familiar with this part of the story. Moses sent spies to survey the land,[15] as they returned, they offered a report saying, “We came into the land to which you sent us, and it’s actually flowing with milk and honey… But mighty is the people that dwells in the land, and the towns are fortified and very big, and also the offspring of the giant we saw there.”[16]Even as they arrived at the promised land, many believed the task of conquering the land was too hard, so once again they complained.[17]

It may seem amazing that a people who had seen God work in so many miraculous ways could struggle so much trusting God’s direction. God had made Godself know among the people and the nations. God journeyed with the people each step of t