Spurned Lover
a sermon on Exodus 33:12-23
by Rev. T. Hall, DPS homiletics editor

Ever felt alone? Really alone? We hear every once in awhile about those little babies left on door steps in Philadelphia. Or placed in trash bins, or just abandoned on sidewalks. Abandoned and alone. Even in our lives I think we’ve all faced being abandoned by another—at least for several agonizing moments. Perhaps an argument ends in silence. Sitting together in the same car, but the slammed door says, I’m furious with you. I’m angry with you. Leave me alone for awhile. And then, during those long moments you feel it—cut off, abandoned. Perhaps it was your fumble in the final seconds of the fourth quarter that led to your team’s defeat. But the worst is yet to come. You have to ride back to the school in that bus in silence. You desperately want a teammate to talk with you, tell a joke and smile. You long to hear, "it’s all right." But instead the silence leaves you abandoned even though crowded by people.

If you got to know my dad well, he might tell you his story. My dad never once saw his dad. The family split up when he was born. So he grew up always looking over his shoulder to see if maybe his father would finally show up at his sixteenth birthday or his graduation from high school, or college. Never happened. Always struggled—perhaps still does—with the feelings of where his dad was during all his life, if he had any feelings at all for him, if he cared even a tad for his life. Abandoned. Left to go the journey alone.

If you have your own story abandonment this morning, then you’ll be able to appreciate our first lesson. Israel is facing their darkest hour. Abandonment. Last week when we entered Exodus, we entered the disaster chapter par excellence. In essence, Israel has two-timed the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Went off in some corner bar to flirt with another god. They have this fling with a calf-god, apparently the god of choice among Israel’s neighbors. The calf-god certainly had qualities to recommend it—it was popular, portable, and might bring good luck. Wasn’t much of a leader, however, but a great follower. So everywhere that Israel went, the calf-god was sure to follow. Just hoist him into his mobile box and carry him. Not a bad idea, Israel thinks.

But the affair which turns out to be more a one night fling ends in disaster. God, like a spurned lover comes crashing into the bar to break up the party. People get roughed up a bit. The calf-god—poor thing—gets crushed into powder and mixed in with the drinks. Yahweh, Israel’s marriage partner, gets furious with them. This ticked off, red-faced, angry God pushes Israel out the door and yells "Get out of here; go on with you journey alone. I’m finished with you. I’ll find someone else who is serious about a relationship. Why, if I went with you I’d get so mad I’d burn you up, for you are a stiff-necked people." Yahweh is so angry that he wants to be left alone to fume in his terrible, holy anger. By noon the next day Israel is sitting in the lawyer’s office. They know that the marriage between Yahweh and them is history. They know that their true and living God has abandoned them. All Israel can do is plead "no contest."

That’s what I call the disaster chapter of the Bible. How does the disaster chapter fit our image of God? Is this the kind of God that we worship? A God who gets furious and angry at those who two-time him for money or position or instant gratification or promises of better treatment? God angry at us? Most of us see a milder version of God—one who is gracious and kind and very, very forgiving. Certainly a God who would never get out of control with us. Personally, I grew up with the "God is good, God is great" dinner deity. The "Jesus loves me this I know" kind of God. But here we are this morning stuck with a God who is not only un-politically correct, but a God who bares teeth, a God who gets good and angry with us.

So what do we do with this vision of God? We can do the same thing that most of my preaching colleagues have done this week—they simply chose another passage. Not one preacher, out of many I conversed with this week, chose this passage. We could do that—just ignore our angry God. Or we might discard this passage altogether by playing the biblical criticism game. "Well you see, this is a primitive tribe and a primitive version of God. You see, God, ah, well, never gets angry."

Well, as you might well imagine, the people let out a tremendous wail. They know what is at stake when God says that God is through with them. That means, they’re finished. Israel, as a community is about to die. Cities die. Store chains die. Neighborhoods die. People die. Churches die. And here, Israel is about to close its doors forever. If the marriage between God and Israel breaks up, Israel doesn’t stand a chance of surviving the desert, or fending off troublesome neighbors. If God and Israel part ways, they will lose everything. For without the promise of God’s Presence, they have not covenant, no leadership, no future.

"Well, let me talk to God," Moses says. "I’ll see what I can do for you." So Moses makes a desperate attempt at shuttle diplomacy and catches the red-eye to Sinai and up to the God who still smolders in holy anger. Can you believe this Moses? There he goes off playing marriage counselor—trying to change God’s mind, trying to get God to hold this shaky marriage together. Did you catch how Moses treats his prayer life? He demonstrates a very risky kind of praying. No the usual Prayers of the People kind of praying.

"Okay, God. Where’s the support that you promised me? You sent me to lead this crowd of ne’er do wells, so I need your support" he pleads. "Besides," Moses continues, "this nation is your people. You invented them, called them and made binding promises to them. So what I’m saying is that they’re your problem."

But throughout this incredible discussion with Israel’s God, Moses is really after one thing. Nothing else. He’s not brokering for assurances of blessing or land or wealth or lots of kids. He yearns for an assurance of Presence. Presence. He wants to go to sleep at night knowing that God’s Presence is with them. That when they break camp and move on toward the next place, that God will be right there with them—surrounding them, ahead of them, behind of them, beside them, and over them. Without God’s personal presence, he knows they’re all history.

Presence. That’s the prayer we’ll always need to pray. "God, be present here with us, not in anger, but in peace and comfort, for we are a stiff-necked people." You’d think that it would not be a problem to pray that prayer—God be present with us. In Communion, we believe that God is present in a very special way. In our liturgy this congregation acts as boldly as Moses did—inviting God to be present among us. That’s what Jesus promised us when he left. "And lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the age." And "where two or three have gathered together, there—in that place and time—I am with you."

Should be an easy prayer to pray. Except that such a prayer is risky. So be careful about praying that kind of prayer. Moses took a great risk in asking for God’s Presence to journey with them. He had seen the terrible anger and jealously of God and barely lived to tell about it. The God of Abraham, of Isaac and Jacob refuse to be tamed or domesticated. When we ask God to come into our lives and congregation, we’re really praying for God to lead us—not the pastor or church administrator or trustees. We’re asking God to lead us toward God’s purpose. And don’t we all have this uncomfortable feeling that God usually goes forward toward the promised land rather than backward to previously trodden paths. Death comes to any person, group, or church who trades Presence for comfort. Trades Presence for what we’re used to doing, or to the way we’re used to thinking.

Letting God journey with us will require change and new vision. It will require changing the way we look at our community and resources. It will challenge us to evaluate who we want to invite in to our congregation. When God journeys with us, it means we have to keep up with God. It may even mean trading in some dust-worn vision for new vision. It certainly will mean change. Well, not everyone may want to pray for God’s Presence to journey with us. There is comfort and blessing and peace in following God’s guiding Presence.

God’s Presence is a gift for the community. But that same presence is also good news. Listen to Sister Cherl Chen. She’s a nun at Santa Rita Abbey. She entered the Abbey because she wants a life spent in God’s presence. Gets plenty of practice at praying—begins at 3:25 each morning. Sister Cheryl has made an intriguing discovery. She says,

"God is never absent . . . He is always seeking me, whether or not I am seeking God. God comes to me in the events and circumstances of life . . . there is nothing better than to live in the actual presence of God. For God is always present to us."

At 87 years old, John Wesley was at the end of his life. He now had 300 preachers in England serving 71,000 members of his Methodist societies. The American Methodist s had gone their own way. And at home in England, he faced the potential destruction of Methodism upon his death. Yet at his death his last words might have come right our of our lesson in Exodus. He said, "The best of all is, that God is with us. Farewell."

God is with us. Hear that good news, church! The best of all is that God is with us. That means we can let go of our fears because God is with us. God is reshaping the church, preparing us for our mission in the future. And though the future is unknown, God’s Presence will lead us into our future. The best of all is that God is with us. That means we can let go of our security in the past. Because God is with us, we can let go of our fear of death. For as God has been with our friends in death, so is God with us.

So let us all invite the God of Moses and Israel to be Presence with us to lead us, to give us new vision, and to be our Savior. Amen.