Sunday Sermon

23nd Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year C, 9/05/2010 Greeneville TN

Scripture Reading: Exodus 12:1-14

"Moving Day"

It’s hard to get ready for a trip. I love going on vacation, but I’m always afraid I’ll forget something. The van pulls out of the driveway, and twenty minutes down the road, just far enough not to turn back, he says, “Did you remember the beach chairs?” “No, I thought you packed them.” “How was I going to pack them? I was busy putting the mustard and the ketchup and the mayonnaise in the cooler.” “Well, I was getting the kids’ clothes together. Do I have to do everything around here?” Some families have over fifty beach chairs in their garages because it’s hard to remember everything. What are we taking? What are we leaving behind? Are we forgetting something?

It’s even harder to prepare if you don’t know where you’re going or how you’re going to get there. God said to the Hebrew slaves, “We’re leaving tomorrow. Get ready.” Glory hallelujah, the slavery of Egypt was about to be in the rear view mirror. But the Hebrew children didn’t have any idea. There was an old promise about a land of milk and honey. But what should they take? And who knew the way? It was a time of high anxiety.

Believe it or not, where we live used to be the American Frontier, the farthest known points west. You have to admire all those folks who poured over the mountains. They didn’t have highways or road signs. There were no Comfort Inns with swimming pools waiting on them, no Newcomers’ Club to tell them, “You made it! We’re glad to have you.” All they had were hills, forests and thinly marked trails. The journey seemed endless to some, and it drove them crazy. A few were so overwhelmed they wandered off into the woods and died. Bill Bryson walked the Appalachian Trail a few years ago and wrote a book about it. He said during some stretches he nearly lost his mind because you’re not on the mountain top most of the time, taking in some gorgeous vista. You’re going up or down the mountain, and all you can see are trees, endless tree trunks in every direction, trees above and trees below. What did he feel like? Like he was lost, alone and making no head way, the whole world closing around him. We’re creatures who need to know we’re making progress. And we can’t know we’re making progress unless we have some idea of where we’re going. But God didn’t give a road map to the Promised Land. “Get ready.” That’s all God said, “We’re leaving tomorrow.” Of course, the Hebrews wanted to leave Egypt. They needed to leave Pharaoh and all the suffering he imposed. But what was the destination and how would they make it? The pressure was on.

While the Hebrew children where chewing on their nails with anxiety, God gave them a sign. Not a sign to point them in the exact direction, but a sign to help them get ready. The sign included blood, a meal and dressing instructions. “Take a lamb and cook it the fastest way you can, over an open fire. Eat every bit of it. Won’t you don’t eat, burn. Come to the table with your britches hitched and your shoes on. Have your walking cane with you. Save the blood from the sacrifice and smear it over the door frame. It will be a sign to you – not to me; I don’t need a sign – it will be a sign to you that I promised to pass over your house. Egypt will go weeping in the night for her first born. But you shall remain unharmed.” The sign said in visuals what God said with words. “I’m with you. I’m for you. Pack up. Fill up. Let’s go.”

And that’s what the slaves did. As they lay on their mats, bellies and backpacks full, they couldn’t sleep for the sounds of misery coming from their masters’ houses. Egypt had dealt in death for so long. Now the super power was tasting its own medicine. Then a knock on the door in the midnight hour. Time to go! Pharaoh’s so sick of us and our God, he wants us to leave post haste. Ready? Ready. Let’s go. Under the light of the ancient moon, the Hebrews took their first steps toward freedom.

Events like the Exodus can’t be locked away and forgotten in the past. They matter too much to the hope and well being of the people. So every year the Jewish people remember moving day. They roast a lamb and eat with their walking shoes on. They mix in bitter herbs and unleavened bread. When the children notice the strange character of this bewildering meal, they ask, “Why are we doing this?” And the elders tell them, “It’s the Passover sacrifice of the Lord, for he passed over the houses of the Israelites in Egypt while Pharaoh’s house was brought low.” And they bow down and worship.

The Jewish people have suffered too much. They’ve been persecuted and vilified almost everywhere they have gone. Hitler wasn’t the first to try to wipe them out. And the church has too often joined the parade. But every year they make a sacrifice of thanksgiving. It’s a sign that God is with them, God is for them. Then, they turn and take those first few, precious steps into the future. Where are they going next? Only God knows, but God can be trusted.

I think arriving also gets in the way of mobility. Once you’ve put down roots, and you can’t even remember what oppression and misery looked like, you don’t want to move. If we’re enslaved here, it’s a sweet captivity. Greene County isn’t the frontier anymore. We’ve been a congregation for almost 170 years. We’ve worshipped at this place in this sanctuary for about 145 years. We’re not homeless immigrants, looking for a place to land. We’re about as established as you can get. Why leave this behind? Why pack up and go? We won’t, unless we have a sign that God is with us, for us and wants us on the move.

Maxie and Minnie Blevins had a place on Hwy. 60 near West Paducah, Kentucky. If you’ve never been to West Paducah, don’t plan a vacation there. It’s not exactly the Promised Land. But that’s not how Maxie and Minnie felt about it. When the state decided to widen the road into a four-lane, the Blevins were told their house was in the way, and they would get paid for it, but they had to move. Maxie and Minnie dug in with four heels and all their claws. They chained their ankles to a peg in the front yard. “Over our dead bodies,” they growled. It wasn’t just a house, it was a home where they ate homemade ice cream in the summer, played rook with their friends in the winter and shared each day across the dinner table. How do you put on your sandals and walk off from that?

Christian faith produces all kinds of comfort for the comfortless. And Lord knows, we’ve had our fair dose. I don’t know how you go out to the graveside, say good bye to a loved one and go back to an empty house without the comfort the resurrection gives. I don’t know how folks deal with the terrible mistakes they’ve made without drinking from the well of amazing grace. How do people get through the dark valleys of life on earth without the God of the 23^rd psalm? God comforts God’s people, thank heavens. But the faith also produces a peculiar kind of anxiety. We’re not allowed to settle down completely. Believers don’t merely like Jesus, contemplate Jesus or praise Jesus. We follow him, which means sometimes we leave behind very good things - very familiar, comforting things – for a new land only God can see.

To help us on the journey, God gives us a sign. It doesn’t tell us exactly how to go or when we’ll get there. But it promises God is with us and God is for us, that God can be trusted. I’m the one who decorated the sanctuary today with a robe, tobacco stick …I mean, walking stick, and the sandals. I know you’ve been admiring my artistry. You have to admit, though, you’re probably going to remember the story. But the props aren’t the sign God gives. Then what is the sign?

The cross is the sign. It has a meal attached to it (Too bad we’re not having communion today.) And once again blood is smeared on wood, this time from the lamb of God. We have our doubts about whether God can be trusted. So we come back repeatedly to see the sign and remember the promise. God is with us in Jesus. Name one pain he hasn’t faced common to the human condition. Are there any trials or tribulations that haven’t run out of his pores? Jesus understands us from top to bottom. But it’s a strange salvation he brings. He protects us by taking on our vulnerability. He saves us by being damned. He delivers us by suffering. There’s your sign, a cross that says we cant’ go anywhere Jesus hasn’t already been.

What’s our destination and how are we going to get there? We have an old promise about a land of milk and honey and freedom and peace. But we don’t have a road map. The first steps for those who follow Jesus are always steps of trust.

My father, as you know, is in a nursing home. His health has improved since he’s been there, and he’s made the adjustment pretty well. But he didn’t want to leave. My mother and he pulled every trick in the book to stay put. They brought in hospital beds. The purchased walkers and wheelchairs, put a ramp on the front porch. Somebody came in to give his bath, and they kept firing people until they found the right one. They weren’t sleeping well or eating right, but they wouldn’t give up. I understand. How could he leave his home behind? They had to exhaust every option before my father said finally, “Okay, I’ll move.”

But really moving is what they’ve always done. Out of the hollers of Kentucky; then to college, first and only in their families; then to one congregation after another. And although they’ve lost their mobility, the journey isn’t over. What to take and how they’ll get there, they don’t know. But they do have a sign. God is with them. God is for them. God can be trusted.

There’s an old promise that the future belongs to God. And Jesus, our Liberator, leads the way. Are you ready? Let’s go.