October 1, 2023

Pentecost 18A

Lectionary 26

Epiphany, Winnipeg

Exodus 17:1-7

A week and a bit ago Val and I went to Joshua Tree National Park, an hour north of Palm Springs, California. It’s a part of the world that is very hot and dry, and this past while it’s been exceptionally hot and dry there. So the day that we went to Joshua Tree it was about thirty-eight degrees down in Palm Springs, but a cool refreshing thirty four or so where we were. It’s desert land, so there’s no forest for shade and no source of water in the park itself. We hiked a couple of hot desert trails, and at the start of each trail was a sign that said, in big bold letters, “How Not to Die Out Here Today.” Or something to that effect. One way not to die is to watch out for rattlesnakes and scorpions, but the most important way not to die is to bring lots of water. If I recall correctly the recommendation was about a litre an hour.

It’s really easy to die of thirst in the hot hot sun in the dry dry desert. Even if you’re the sort of person who has the money to fly around on fancy vacations. Even if the car back in the parking lot has air conditioning. Even if you’re the sort of person whose privilege might protect you in other situations. It’s really easy to die of thirst in the hot hot sun in the dry dry desert.

A few days after that we were higher up in the mountains west of the city. Up there there were trees, and the temperatures were much cooler and the breeze was refreshing but there were still signs that said something like “How Not to Die Out Here Today.” Some of the warnings were different, but the warnings about water were much the same. Because it’s really easy to die of thirst, even in a cool mountain forest.

I thought of all this as I read through that story from Exodus this week – the people are in the desert, and even though they’ve seen the miracle of being set free from slavery, and they’ve experienced the wonder of crossing the Red Sea on dry land, they’re afraid because there’s no water for them to drink in the desert. So they ask Moses, “Why have you brought us out here to kill us and our children and our livestock with thirst?”, and Moses has no answer other than to say to God, “Everybody’s complaining! Why are they being so mean to me?”

I’ve always thought that the problem in the story is that the people are just complaining, and they should trust God more because they’ve seen what God can do. But that’s not it. The problem in the story is that the people have no water. They’re not slaves any more, they’re free, but they have no water. They plundered the Egyptians and left with all kinds of gold and silver - that’s a part of the story we don’t always hear - but all of the gold and silver in the world doesn’t matter when you’re in the wilderness and there’s no water to drink.

So the people rise up, and they say, “There’s no water here, we will die in the wilderness,” and Moses says they are complaining. But they are not complaining. They’re afraid. They’re not complaining. They’re being realistic. They’re not complaining. They are thirsty, their kids are thirsty and their cattle are thirsty and they are out of options. Then God says “I’ll give you water. There’s that rock over there. I’ll meet you there. There’s water for you there.”

When Moses hears complaining, God hears thirst.

It’s good news for anyone who is at the end of their rope and has nothing left. There will be water. In unlikely places, maybe, and by unlikely means….but there will be water, even if someone has to hit a rock with a stick to get the water, like God tells Moses to do. There will be water.

When we hear complaining, God hears thirst.

That really matters, you know, because we’re seeing our world, even our polite and well-behaved Canadian world, become more and more divided these days. It’s been happening for years now, and we’ve pointed our fingers at the U.S. and at countries in Eastern Europe, and places further away. But we see it more now in our own politics and in our lives: in Convoys to Ottawa and the public reaction to them; in calls to search the landfill and in political ads that say No Way; in angry disagreements about how to handle sexual orientation and gender identity in schools and all the ways that those affect real children who are sorting out their orientations and identities. I see it in Facebook feeds that I follow or that I block, and I know that when I’m quite honest with myself I have to say that I am more likely to complain than to listen and to speak. And I and maybe any of us are more likely to hear “the other side” and to hear only complaining. And we dig in our heels and stand firm, and wish they would just see things our way…or be quiet and go away.

It could be that in any of these disagreements there is one side that really truly is right. But we won’t sort that out if all we ever think we hear is complaining. Maybe what we need to do is learn to hear thirst instead.

When someone seems like they’re complaining, maybe they’re just thirsty. Thirsty for love, or thirsty for a rest, thirsty for someone to hear them. When someone seems like they’re complaining maybe they’re just thirsty. Thirsty for relationships between indigenous and settler peoples to be right and just and life-giving relationships. Thirsty for safe schools or families not broken by fear. Thirsty for conversations and understanding instead of just bumper stickers and slogans and anger. Thirsty for safe water, or water for crops, or food for the family.

When we hear complaining, God hears thirst.

What would happen if we treated one another that way? If we tried to learn to hear thirst when we think we’re just hearing more complaining? If we always asked, “What are the people we disagree with the most really thirsting for out here in the wilderness?” And then we listened.

And what would it be like to be heard as someone who is not just complaining again but who is thirsty? Because that’s what God hears. Our thirst.

And what would happen, when that thirst is heard, if we put our attention into finding water from a rock, listening for how to find water, so that we can survive and thrive together in the wilderness, in the country, in the city, where we work and study and play?

What is the world’s thirst? The thirst of nations, the thirst of refugees, the thirst of people fleeing Nagorno Karabakh these days, the thirst of Manitobans who are voting and deciding these days?

What is the thirst of our neighbours? The thirst of First Nations and the thirst of newcomers, the thirst of those who hunger and thirst for plain old food and drink, the thirst of those who work too many hours and who have too much?

What is your thirst?

God hears thirst. And God says “I’ll meet you over by that rock, and you’ll find water there” - That rock in the wilderness; that rock called Golgotha. We’re not sure how that happens, and we’re not sure what it looks like. But this promise of God that there will be water….is a promise that doesn’t stop. We hear it and see it in Jesus, the water of life; in the flowing waters of baptism, in the gift of rivers and rain however they flow and whenever they fall. God hears our thirst. And there is water for us all.

AMEN.