Tag: Moses

God Fights for Us – Remembering Jane Puckett

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Memorials1 Comment

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I believe this ground, this sacred place where tears have cried a river, is reminiscent of that place the Israelites found themselves in after they were liberated from Egyptian bondage.

With Pharaoh’s army advancing behind them, it was as if their whole world was suddenly crashing down upon them. Because standing before them stood what they perhaps feared the most, the Red Sea. It stood before them like the casket of a loved one for it most certainly represented the end of the line, the end of dreams, the end of hopes. For the Israelites, encamped by the sea with an army closing in behind them, the sea represented certain death.

Overcome by fear, the Israelites did not know what to do. They could not go back to the good old days, and going forward into the promise of good new days seemed impossible. Paralyzed by grief, unable to take one step forward, they did the only thing they could do. They cried out. They cried out to the Lord. They cried out to Moses. They cried out to anyone who would hear. They cried out in disbelief. They cried out in anger. They cried out in fear. They cried out in grief.

But then, the good news. Moses said to the people: “Do not be afraid, stand firm, and see the deliverance that the Lord will accomplish for you today; for the Egyptians whom you see today, you shall never see again. The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to keep still.” (Exodus 14: 13-14).

And we know the rest of the story: The Red Sea was not the end of the line. It was not the end of their dreams. It was not the end of their hopes.

“Then Moses stretched out his hand over the sea. The Lord drove the sea back by a strong east wind all night, and turned the sea into dry land; and the waters were divided.”

Then the same Israelites who were unable to move forward, unable to see beyond the sea, or the casket in front of them, rose up and walked into the sea of their fear as if it were dry ground. They rose up and moved forward into the future with a renewed confidence and a resurrected strength. And this is how they were able to make it to yet unimaginable promised land.

Gary, Josh, Heidi, Amy and Mike, although you cannot go back to the good old days, this is how you and your family will be able to move forward this day into unimaginable good new days. The good news is that the Lord will fight for you. And the really good news is that you only have to stand firm and keep still.

There is no other way that I can possibly explain the industrious strength and the unfailing patience of Jane Puckett. There is no other explanation for her tenacious work ethic, serving her country working for Vance Air Force Base with aircraft maintenance for 42 years. She only recently retired because her unbeknownst cancer made her work physically impossible.

And how else do you account for her courageous battle she fought once she discovered her stage-four cancer that started in her lungs but had metastasized into her brain? How do you explain someone who was as sick Jane, but never complained?

And if anyone had any reason to complain it was her. To work as hard as she did for 42 long years without the opportunity to enjoy a well-earned retirement would make even the sweetest personality bitter. The truth is: a diagnosis like Jane changes most people.

But not Jane. Jane remained firm. She was still the sweet, fun-loving person that she had always been.

The one who loved to go snow skiing in Colorado and water skiing in Canton Lake.

The one who loved to patiently cross stitch gifts for her family and friends.

The one who loved to make baby blankets that were so beautiful that the mothers who received them would hang them on the wall for all to see instead of wrapping them around their babies.

The one who never said anything negative about anyone else.

The one with terminal cancer who had every right to be jealous of those who arbitrarily live into their seventies, eighties and nineties, but still refused to join in any conversation that demeaned another.

The one refused to be bitter and impatient with anyone, including herself and God.

She was still the same firm and patient one who not only tried to make caramel once, only to have it explode sending its sticky shrapnel flying all over her kitchen, but she was the one who had the audacious forbearance to try it again, albeit with the same result.

Even with a terminal disease, she was still the same person who loved to sit on the back porch with Gary and her beloved pet Weazer enjoying a cold drink on a summer evening, thanking God for the gift of her life.

Now, some may say that her kids should probably take some credit for some of her patience and strength, for they were both known to test it a time or two or thirty. Like the time one winter Josh decided to go skiing in the back yard. However, the flat plains of Oklahoma have never been very conducive to backyard snow skiing. But Josh, being a crafty and smart kid, some would argue “perhaps a little too smart for his own good,” decided he would ski off the roof of the house.

Sitting inside, Amy was watching the snow fall out the window, when here comes Josh flying off the roof like some Nordic Olympic ski jumper. “Mama, Josh just skied off the roof!”

Amy also remembers trying her mama’s patience by doing foolish things like walking through a glass door, without first opening that door, requiring a multitude of stitches.

However, as much as these kids tried her patience and tested her strength, I still believe that her strength, her courage, and her patience, especially in the face of her illness, came from a much higher place. I believe it came from the God who continually whispered words to her throughout her living and perhaps especially in her dying. It was the same words whispered to Moses and to the Israelites when they were tested in the wilderness: “The Lord will fight for you, and all you have to do is be still.”

The good news is that her fight is now over. Jane has crossed the sea. Her enemy, her cancer, has been defeated like Pharaoh’s army. She has been led by a pillar of fire and cloud, led by the very hand of God, into a promised land.

And the good news is that as the Lord fought for her, the Lord will fight for you too, and all you have to do is be still. Be still, and then move forward, holding onto one another, holding onto the memory of Jane’s courage and strength, while holding onto the hand of God.

I want to close by reading some words that I read at my grandmother’s graveside service. She also died in her sixties with lung cancer that also had metastasized. However, because of her courage and strength, because she, like Jane, never complained, never had a bitter bone in her body, never uttered a word of malice against anyone, there was no doubt in my mind that before she died, God was there fighting with her and for her. And I knew that everything was going to be alright.  The following are those words (author unknown):

Although Cancer seems to destroy so much, when God is fighting for us, it is obvious that there are many things that cancer cannot do. Cancer, in fact, is very limited in the presence of God. [Like my grandmother, Jane Puckett was a testimony of this].

Cancer is limited.

Cancer cannot cripple love.

It cannot shatter hope.

It cannot corrode faith.

It cannot eat away peace.

It cannot destroy confidence.

It cannot kill friendship.

It cannot shut out memories.

It cannot silence courage.

It cannot invade the soul.

It cannot reduce eternal life.

It cannot quench the Spirit.

It cannot lessen the power of the resurrection.

Thanks be to God.

I Smell Smoke

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year C6 Comments

Fire.jpgLuke 3:15-17 NRSV

Sometimes it astonishes me that I am a pastor today, because as a child, I remember going to church on Sunday mornings and being bored out of my mind. Each Sunday my family in the same pew. We followed the same order of service, sang the same hymns, prayed the same prayers, heard the same ol’ stories, and looked at the back of the same ol’ heads.

I remember doing all kinds of things to pass the time, like counting the number of times the preacher would wipe the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief. I also remember holding mama’s hand and playing with her jewelry, turning the rings on her fingers, messing with her bracelets. And when she would get tired of all of that, I would just sit there and twiddle my thumbs, while secretly hoping and praying for something, anything, to happen.

Lord, if you really love me, why don’t you send a mouse running down the aisle, or through the choir loft? And Lord, if you really loved me, maybe a cat chasing the mouse! Please, Lord, let something, anything happen!

I’ll never forget that one glorious Sunday my prayers were answered. In the middle of the typical, predictable service, while we were singing the offertory hymn, we began to smell this smell. Then came the whispering. The hymn became more mumbling than singing. I heard Daddy murmur, “I think I smell smoke.” Mama whispered back, “Gene, where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

Then, in the middle of the half-hearted singing and murmuring, someone in the congregation shouted it: “Fire!”

We then did what most folks do when someone yells “fire” in a crowded building. We got out. Standing outside we discovered that the furnace had overheated.

It was too smoky to go back inside and too cold to stay outside, so after the pastor made the announcement about the furnace, he passed an offering plate (that he just so happened to conveniently grab on his way out door), skipped the sermon, and immediately pronounced the Benediction.

It was one of the best worship services that I’ve ever attended!

As a pastor, there have been many Sundays I’ve thought about that exciting day in church and secretly wished that it could somehow be repeated. In the middle of the service, oftentimes in the middle of my sermon, I have looked at the congregation, some distracted, some nodding off to sleep, some flipping through the hymnal, some playing on their phones, and thought, “What we need here is for somebody, anybody, to stand up in this place and yell “fire!”

Well, this week we’re in luck, because somebody is coming to do just that! In the middle of our order of service comes this shocking introduction by John the Baptist:

 I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming…He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing-fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing-floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.

And nine chapters later, Jesus affirmed these words by proclaiming:

Do you think I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you…I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!

I believe we really need to hear these words because of how these words cut across the grain of why most of us, especially us grown-ups, come to this predictable place to worship Sunday after Sunday. Children may still pray for something exciting to happen at church, but we adults know better. We know that nothing ever really happens here. Nothing ever changes. If we’ve never done it that way before, then we’re not going to be doing it anytime soon! And you know something? We like it that way.

We come here seeking a place of comfort and rest. Because, after all, it seems as if our lives are always running on fast-forward, always moving, constantly changing. So, each Sunday we gather here, to slow down and sit down, to center ourselves, to get grounded, to touch base with the things that are stable and dependable, even if it is sometimes boring.

In our fast-paced world where we have grown accustomed to burning the candles at both ends to make ends meet, we like to come to this sacred place to cool down, quiet down and settle down. In a world ablaze with constant change and ceaseless activity, we need a place, if just for an hour or so, to just chill out. So here we are. The problem is: Here comes someone who does something as audacious as yelling “fire” in a crowded building!

When we least expect it, and perhaps least desire it, John the Baptist stands up and says, “Someone who is more powerful than me is coming, and he’s bringing the heat!”

Moses was running away from his problems. He was looking for some sanctuary, a place to escape from it all. He was laying back, and he was laying low. Then, out of nowhere comes, you guessed it, fire! A bush burst into flames. Then comes a voice that lights a fire under Moses. “Moses, I have a purpose for you, yes even you Moses, with all of your problems and excuses. I expect you to stand up to the Pharaoh, speak truth to power and liberate the oppressed!”

And John says that Jesus is coming to those of us today who just want to sit back and lay back, “I’m consumed with that “burning-bush” blaze and I intend to light a fire under you for I have a purpose for everyone of you. Like Moses, I also expect you to always stand up, speak up and speak out on the behalf of the oppressed and the marginalized, proclaiming with your words and your deeds liberty and justice for all.”

The children of Israel were set free. But shortly thereafter, they began complaining, “You know Moses, at least as slaves of the Pharaoh, we had three meals a day. At least the status-quo gave us some sense of stability, security and certainty. But out here in the wilderness, we sometimes don’t know whether we are coming or going!”

Do you remember the response of God?

God said, “You poor, poor babies. I’m so sorry. Let me slow things down a bit and let you build a comfy and cozy sanctuary to shelter you from the wilderness. Let me give you some nice padded pew cushions, so you can sit down and take a load off. I’ll send you a preacher to sooth your spirits, a pastor to hold your hands and tell you only the things you want to hear.”

No, God said, “I’ll give you fire, a pillar of fire leading you out into the darkness, driving you towards your purpose, pulling you into my future. I’m giving you fire to lead you out of the sanctuary into the wilderness to be the embodiment of my grace for all people.”

And here comes John, saying to those of us today who just want to unwind and relax, saying to a new pastor whose kids are grown who may be tempted to spend the second half of his ministry playing a little golf while playing a little church: “Jesus is coming, and he is kindling that same Exodus fire. And he’s going to light you up and show you gifts you never knew you possessed, reveal opportunities your never dreamed possible, and take you to places you’ve never been!”

To give hope to an Israel conquered by Babylon, the prophet Daniel described the throne of God. But unlike most thrones, God’s throne is not stationary and immovable. No, the prophet says that God sits on a throne that has wheels. God’s reign is active, turning, moving, going places. And they are not just any wheels. Daniel says that they are wheels of blazing fire.

And here comes John saying to those of us who oftentimes feel conquered and defeated, cowering behind stained glass windows, set in our ways: “Jesus is coming with his kingdom on those same wheels of fire to liberate you, but not without first changing you, challenging you, and moving you to take action.”

The disciples were gathered together going through the motions, following the order of worship. The deacons were making sure everyone had a bulletin, everyone was comfortable and seated, typical boring service; then, at some point, perhaps in the middle of the offertory hymn, somebody stood up and shouted, “fire!”

We call that day the day of Pentecost, the day the Holy Spirit showed up as fire. William Willimon says that on that day, “the church was born in the crucible, in the furnace of God’s fire. [And here comes Jesus, saying to those of us today who have come to this place to check out and chill out], ‘My Spirit is ablaze with that same Pentecostal fire, and I’m looking for a few good men and women, boys and girls, who are combustible!’”[i]

The truth is that when our church becomes nothing but a safe, static sanctuary, a place of secure stability where nothing ever changes, a place where we can cool off, cool down and just for sixty-minutes a week, chill out, we are not fulfilling our purpose as disciples of Christ, and we are not the incendiary force that Jesus ignites us to be. And we are one boring sight, to God as well as to the world.

Yet, when we be become ignited, fired up, and disrupted; when we allow ourselves to be engaged and challenged by the Christ; when we decide to not only worship Jesus but to follow Jesus; when we commit to not just go to church but to be the church; when we move our church out of the sanctuary into the world, each of us using the gifts we have been given by the fiery Holy Spirit to serve others, to truly love all people as we love ourselves; when we lose ourselves and become caught up in the mission and movement of God, discovering God’s purpose for us, I believe we become a purifying blaze, a glorious site to behold, to God, as well as to the world.

When others see that this church looks like the fiery Holy Spirit of Jesus, when they see that we understand…

Church is not about bringing people in to receive a blessing. It is about sending people out to be a blessing.

Church is not about changing people to be who you want them to be. It is about allowing God to change them to be who God wants them to be.

Church is not about feeding our souls. It is about feeding the hungry.

Church is not about finding a home. It is about welcoming the outsider.

Church is not about acquiring spiritual riches. It is about giving to the poor.

Church is not about learning how to be successful and get ahead. It is about sacrificially sharing with people who can barely get by.

Church is not about gaining eternal life for ourselves. It is about dying to ourselves…

When they see us adopting an entire class at Vance Airforce base, meeting and accepting them where they are; when they see us opening our doors to a Hispanic congregation; when they see us visiting the nursing homes and caring for the most vulnerable among us; when they see us throwing a dance party for the disabled; when they see us defending the rights of the marginalized; when they see us feeding and clothing the impoverished; when they see us continually participating in various hands-on mission projects in our city, throughout our region and around the world; when they read on our website, “All Are Welcome,” and they experience our commitment to a gracious inclusion and begin to realize that, that unlike many churches, all really does means all; when they see that we are willing to change and adapt, even reorganize, to meet the needs of a hurting and changing world; when they see that we have different beliefs, follow different politics and even different orders of worship, yet are forged together as one by the love of Christ; when they see the warm glow of Jesus burning in us and through us and from us, I believe that many here in Northwestern Oklahoma will want to catch fire with us and join us in lighting up this city and and our world.

The question today is: Will Central Christian Church accept a baptism of unquenchable fire? I believe I know the answer to this question. Because today, here in this place, the good news is: I smell smoke.  Let us pray.

Lord Jesus, rekindle us, ignite us, set us on fire and enflame us in passionate love for you and for others. Draw us out of the confines of our safe and predictable faith. Prod us, move us, pull us into an adventuresome discipleship. And may we forever burn brightly with your love for us all.  Amen.

[i] This part of the sermon was inspired and adapted from a sermon preached by William Willimon, entitled Fire!

Christmas Begins in the Wilderness

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Advent and Christmas, Sermons Year BLeave a comment

TheGriswoldFamilyChristmasTreeMark 1:6-8 NRSV

When does Christmas begin for you? Was it on Black Friday at the mall, or while watching A Charlie Brown Christmas or National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation? Was it last Sunday morning as the first candle of Advent was lit in this place? When does it start? When do you begin to realize the good news that is Christmas? Where are you when it happens? On the Town Common during the annual Christmas tree lighting? Walking down Main Street during the Taste of Farmville? Going caroling with the children from church? Maybe it is not until Christmas Eve, as you light your candle and sing, Silent Night. Perhaps it is when you are alone at home, listening to Christmas music and decorating your own tree.

For Mark, the good news of Christmas begins in what most of us would call a strange and unexpected place. Unlike us, the good news of Christmas does not start with some warm sentimental scene. And unlike Matthew and Luke, for Mark, the good news of Christmas does not begin with heavenly visitations, choirs of angels, the worship of shepherds, a star rising in the East, or Magi bearing gifts. For Mark, Christmas does not even begin with a little baby wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in a manger.

For Mark, the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the good news of Emmanuel, God with us, the good news of Christmas, begins somewhere out in the wilderness. And he is not talking about some snow-covered winter wonderland where the Griswold’s find their family Christmas tree.

For Jewish people aware of their history, Christmas begins in that place that was experienced somewhere between slavery in Egypt and the Promised Land. Somewhere out in that place of testing, trial and temptation, somewhere out in that place of doubt, dread and despair, that place where you do not know if you want to live or die, that place with the Red Sea swelling before you and Pharaoh’s army advancing behind you. That place where Elijah fled to save his life from Jezebel’s army and then prayed for God to take his life away. That place where even Christmas himself would be haunted by wild beasts and tempted by Satan. For Mark, Christmas begins in the most strange and unexpected place, a raw, dangerous place called the wilderness.

The beginning of the good news that is Christmas occurs in that place where God seems to be against you, or appears to be so far away that you doubt God’s very existence—suffering in an intensive care unit at the hospital, laying in utter misery in a nursing home, holding the hand of a parent with Alzheimer’s, picking out a casket for a spouse in a funeral home, at home anxiously trying to pay your monthly bills, in the middle of a fight with a loved one, in Pearl Harbor 73 years ago this hour, in any place where people are overtaken by tension and terror, overwhelmed by despair and disappointment, or overcome by sin and shame.

Last weekend, I was at home trying to get my own Christmas started as I do every weekend after Thanksgiving. However, this year it began a little differently, you might say it began strangely and unexpectedly.

Instead of decorating my tree this year with Christmas music playing in the background, I decorated it while watching the local news. As I hung ornaments, I listened to the tragic story of a high school student killed in an automobile accident outside of Pinetops. As I turned on the lights of the tree, I glanced up to see pictures of mothers with their children escaping from war-torn Syria into refugee camps in Lebanon. I saw images of many children: some starving, others injured, some dying, others sick, all very afraid. I saw gruesome images of parents holding the lifeless body of their child. And I thought to myself, “I need to turn this depressing mess off and put on something a little more Christmasy.”

Then it occurred to me. This may be as close to Christmasy as it gets, for this is Christmas in the wilderness. The Good News according to Mark concurs that this is Christmas, raw Christmas. This is where Christmas truly begins. This is Christmas untamed and undecorated. For Christmas began when God came into a depressing mess.

And no matter how hard we try, no matter how much energy we expend or how much money we spend; we cannot escape the raw truth of it. Christmas begins, says Mark, with a “voice crying out in the wilderness.” And there is no music, no matter how Christmasy, that we can play loud enough to drown out this voice. There are no decorations glitzy enough and no lights bright enough to temper this voice.

This voice can be heard throughout every refugee camp in Lebanon and by every parent mourning the loss of their child. It can be heard in every intensive care unit, in every nursing home and funeral home. This voice can be heard in every wilderness, in every depressing mess on earth.

Through the good news of Christmas, God is crying out: I am for you; not against you. I am with you; not away from you. And I am more real, more alive, and more at work in this world than you can sometimes believe. As the prophet Isaiah said: “I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert” (Isa 43:19).

The good news is: Christmas does not begin with us. It does not begin when we get the house all decorated or get all of our shopping done. We do not have to host a Christmas party or even go to one. We don’t even have to go to church, light a candle or sing a carol. Christmas begins with God and with a voice crying out in the wilderness, in those places where we may least expect it, but need it the most.

Some of us know that Luke tells his beloved Christmas story in chapter 2 of his gospel. However, I believe he perhaps tells it more poignantly in chapter 10.

A man was traveling down a wilderness road that was so dangerous that it was sometimes called “the way of blood” or “the bloody pass.” And there out in the wilderness, the man fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, leaving him half dead on the side of the road. As the man lay on the roadside, somewhere between Jerusalem and Jericho, somewhere between life and death, wanting to live, but also maybe wanting to die, he is ignored by two religious leaders who are also traveling down the same road.

God only knows why these men who you would expect to stop and help ignored the man. Perhaps they thought the robbers were still nearby, or maybe they thought the man lying on ground was only pretending, playing some sort of trick, so that when they came near him, he would beat and rob them. For whatever reason, they believed it was much too risky for them to stop.

Then came this one, Luke calls him a Samaritan, which means this was someone who was despised and rejected by the religious establishment, someone who was often misunderstood and rarely respected, someone who knew something about pain and brokenness, betrayal and abandonment, God-forsakenness; someone who had spent many days and nights in the wilderness himself, tempted and tried.

This one who was the least expected to stop and help, saw the man. He saw the man’s wounds, saw the man’s fear, saw the man’s despair and was moved with mercy and compassion. And there in the wilderness he risked his own life, as he sacrificially came to him, selflessly bent himself down to the ground, and joined the man.

The man did not have to do anything to make this one come to him. Out of pure love, unconditional and unreserved, this one just came. He then touched the man where the man most needed touching, pouring oil and wine on the man’s wounds and bandaging them. He then picked the man up and safely carried him out of the wilderness. He stayed with him, at his side through the darkness of the night. When morning came, he paid for the man’s debts, and made the promise: “I will come back. I will return.”

Of course, we call this “The Story of the Good Samaritan.” However, I believe it should be called, “The Story of Christmas.” A story that begins with a voice of mercy and compassion crying out in the wilderness, in those strange, dangerous places where we least expect it, but most need it.

Hospice caregivers will often speak of a dying person “rallying” for a brief time right before death. A person who has been non-responsive will begin to talk. One who has been confused or disoriented will become suddenly coherent. And those who have not had any food for sometimes days may request something to eat or drink. As a pastor, I have seen this “rally” more times than I can possibly count. I am not sure exactly why it happens; I just know that it happens, and it happens often.

My faith tells me that it is Christmas. It is God seeing one lying in the wilderness in their weakest, most broken state, seeing one in their most desperate, most vulnerable need, and it is God being moved with mercy and compassion for that one. It is a voice crying out from the heavens into the wilderness: “I am for you, not against you, I am with you, not away from you. I am Emmanuel. I will risk my own life for you. I will give my all to take care of your wounds and to pick you up, to forgive all of your debts. And when you are ready, I will come back, and I will take you unto myself, so that where I am, you will also be.”

The good news for us this day is that Christmas comes to us all when we confess that we are all half dead, lying on some wilderness road east of Eden, beaten up so badly by this sinful world that no one can tell whether we are Jew or Gentile, male or female, black or white, slave or free.[i] Whenever we confess our brokenness, our sinfulness, and our need for a Savior, a voice from heaven cries out in our wilderness and Christmas comes. Christmas always comes.

When does Christmas begin for you? When does it start? Where are you when you begin to realize the good news that is Christmas? The good news, according to Mark, is that Christmas begins when and where you may least expect it, but need it the most.

[i] This sentence is adapted from words spoken by Frank Tupper in one of my theology classes at Southern Seminary, Louisville, Kentucky, 1989-1992.

Baptized into a Living Hope

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year ALeave a comment

two rainbows1 Peter 1:3-9 NRSV

They were yearning for the good old days—days when their lives were far less chaotic, days when their lives had some sense of routine, normalcy.  They had been through so much; overcome so many storms.  It was no way they could handle anymore.  At the ends of their ropes, they had simply had enough.

There they were, tired and broken.  No lights, no power, no heat. As soon as they half-way recovered from one storm, another storm was almost on top of them.

With the angry Red Sea before them and Pharaoh’s Army behind them, they cried out to Moses, “We would have been better off dying as slaves in Egypt than out here in the wilderness.  At least they had fine cemeteries back in Egypt to lay our tired, broken bodies.  Out here, we have nothing!”

They continued: “Moses, we can’t take it anymore.  We can’t handle any more stress.  We can’t face another storm.  Moses, we can’t take another step.  We can’t go on any further.  We can’t fight another fight.”

It is then that Moses gives them the good news.  I believe it is one of the most comforting verses in the Old Testament.  To all the people who could not go any further, who had reached the end of their ropes, he said: “You don’t have to take another step.  All you have to do is be still, and the Lord, the Lord will fight for you.” 

And fight the Lord did, making a pathway through their storm, through the middle of the sea.  But God did not stop there. That’s what’s so great about our God.  Our God never stops there.  God then provided the Israelites with an all-you-can-eat buffet of quail and bread from heaven, even cool, fresh water from a rock.  And in their dark, cold world, God said to them, “I will be your light.  I will be as a pillar of fire leading you through this storm.”

This is of course what we call the Exodus story—the story of God providing a way when people thought there was no way, the story of a God not only granting salvation and life, but granting it abundantly.  It is THE story of the Old Testament.  It is the one story of the Old Testament that best describes how our God works in this world.  There is something built right into the very nature of God to create something very good out of something very bad, and abundantly so.

It should not surprise us then that the Exodus story of the Old Testament directly corresponds with the THE story of the New Testament—the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.  The story of God making a way, when there was no way, the story of God not only granting life, but granting it abundantly, the story in the New Testament that best describes how our God works in this world—creating and recreating, transforming and resurrecting.    

When wine gives out at a party, God not only turns water into a little bit of wine for one or two people.  God makes 180 gallons of wine for everyone.  When night is falling on a hungry multitude, God not only feeds 5,000 people, God feeds 5,000 people with an abundance left over.  When angry, sinful people crucified Jesus, God not only resurrected him to reign in heaven.  No, God didn’t stop there.  God resurrected him and gave him back to the very same people who killed him.  And promises that one day, they too will be resurrected.

And the good news is that this New Testament story, this story of resurrection, which in a way is a culmination of the great Exodus story, is not just a story or an event in history to remember, and it is not merely an event in our future we look forward to, it is an event to be lived in the present.  In 1 Peter we read, that God has given us a new birth, we have been baptized into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.   

During this week’s winter storm, the second storm to cripple the South in four weeks, I was listening to the radio as people were calling in reporting damage, snow or ice accumulations, and sharing how they were coping. I don’t believe I will ever forget one woman who called in from South Carolina.  She said that a tree came down on her carport crushing her car and her husband’s truck.  And another tree is leaning on the back of the house.  She said, “We made a small pathway outside the back door so we can get outside.” 

The man on the radio asked her, “Do you have any place to go?  Can you go over to a friend or relative’s house?”

She said, “No, but we’re fine.  We have each other and the Lord is good.  I don’t have any power.  But thankfully my house has got a gas stove. And we have wood for the fireplace.  And I just made us a big ol’ pot of chicken ‘n dumplin’s!”

That is when the man on the radio said, “That’s one thing about us Southerners.  Our power can be knocked out.  Our cars destroyed.  Trees on the house.  Can’t get out the front door.  But, one thing’s for sure, we’re going to eat and we’re going to eat good!”

I laughed.  For I had been through enough hurricanes to know that was true.  I thought, “Yes, there’s probably no other place in a world where people go through a natural disaster and gain weight!”  However, I believe that radio jockey missed something else that was in that woman’s voice.

When that woman said, “The Lord is good.”  She was not referring to God being good raising Jesus from the dead in the past.  And she was not looking forward to one day in the future God being good and resurrecting her. She was talking about God being good in the present. In the midst of her storm, she had found a way when there was no way. She was taking a bad situation and making something very good come from it. She was living the hope of the resurrection, today.

This is especially good news for many of us.  For the snow and ice this week are just the least of our troubles.  We face so many storms. Crime seems be up as just in the past weeks we have seen both Southern Bank and Zippy’s robbed. And then there are the storms of sickness, cancer, heart disease, Parkinson’s disease, diabetes, auto-immune diseases—it’s everywhere we turn.  Someone we love is either diagnosed with something dreadful, or someone we love passes away.

And, at the ends of ropes, we feel like we cannot take another step. We cannot go any further. The good news is, that we don’t have to. God will fight for us right now, here in the present, and will make a way when it seems to be no way. God is here now, resurrecting and recreating and restoring filling us with the hope that although we cannot go back to the good old days, before the storm, before the diagnoses, before the accident, we can go forward with God into good new days.

 

Another man called into the radio station from Georgia this week to report that the sun was starting to peak through the clouds. And then he said, “And would you believe that there are two great big rainbows in the sky over the field behind my house!”

The radio jockey acted surprised, “really?” he said, “Two rainbows? How about that!”

But, from what we know about our God, none of us should have been surprised. Because that is just the way our God works.  God never stops at just one rainbow.

Benji, Anna, Johnathan and Jenny, your baptisms this morning, you rising up out of the water symbolize that no matter what storms come your way, you will always rise up. For God is going to be there, not to just remind you of something God did in the past–resurrecting Jesus, or something God is going to do in the future–resurrecting you.  God is going to be with you helping you live the resurrection in the present.  In the middle of your storm, there will always be a rainbow, and there is a good chance there may even be more than one.