Years ago, I used to drive home from work along Sheridan Road in Evanston. And when it was dark, at a certain point I’d look up and see a vision:
A warmly lit window, an armchair, and a floor to ceiling bookcase.
It’s not a very sexy fantasy, I know, but at the end of a long day of hauling gear, juggling staff and guides, managing clients, and - of course, a ringing phone, incessant email, and most days, something wrong that I couldn’t fix – a life full of books sounded like heaven.
Your vision might be different. But I used to look into that window as I drove past and think, “God, I want that.”
Five years later, one seminary evening when I was up to my ears in deadlines, theology to read and papers to write, meetings to attend, services to plan, I reached up to switch on a lamp and recognized my vision.
I was sitting in a chair in a warmly lit window, right next to a floor to ceiling bookcase.
Oh.
What do you do when God answers your prayer?
Or when God answers what you didn’t even think was a prayer?
It happens all the time.
Thousands of years ago, out in the dry and lifeless wilderness, the Israelites weren’t actually talking to God. They yelled at Moses and Aaron,“What kind of dumb idea was this, hauling us out of Egypt to die out here? At least in Egypt there was food. This place has nothing but rocks. Couldn’t you have left us in Egypt to die?”
It’s actually a clear and honest assessment of the mess they’re in, an entire nation out in the middle of nowhere with no chance of dinner in sight, much less breakfast or supplies for a long and dangerous journey.
And in that moment, God speaks to Moses: I’ll feed them. I will give them what they want, and everything they need. And that will be a test.
Huh? It’s a test when you get everything you wanted?
Well, it might be. Extravagant good fortune is as good at pointing out true character as horrible bad luck and distress. But I think the question God is raising here is exactly the question the Israelites raised themselves: Are they ready to be out of Egypt?
It’s not an exam, it’s an experiment.
So far the people of Israel have only known God in crisis. God appears in the midst of genocide and oppression, swoops them out through plagues and wonders and whisks them dry through a sea that crashes in to drown the pursuing army. They see God’s dramatic power, and they believe.
But now here they are in the wilderness. Rescued. Free. But hungry and facing the everyday problem of something to eat.
They don’t turn to God. They turn to what’s behind them – the predictability of working for Pharaoh – and blame their leaders for losing it. For a story with so much complaining in it, it’s remarkable to note that no one is ever scolded for whining. Instead, over and over we hear that God hears.
And God responds.
They need bread. God gives them bread.
They want meat. God brings quails.
It’s not dramatic. It’s mundane. And the “bread” that appears isn’t readily recognizable. The name manna actually comes from the Hebrew for “What’s that???”
So it’s quite possible, despite all Moses and Aaron can say, that the Israelites don’t quite understand that their prayer has been answered. They didn’t think they were praying, after all, when they complained about their leaders and their practical, daily needs.
And that’s why this bread is a test. An experiment, to see if we’re ready to live in the promised land, in the kingdom of God.
Are we ready for God to be this involved in our daily lives? To know God not as the one we turn to in crisis, but as the one we breathe with, the one we eat with, the one we trust for basic, practical, and intimate daily needs – and wants?
Are we ready for our daily lives to be this engaged with God – so that what we murmur is answered and the very bread of life is so clearly not our possession or our pay, but a gift?
In God’s country, it’s not our own resources and efforts that keep us fed and safe and even comfortable.
In Egypt, food and safety come from following the rules and working hard.
But in God’s country, daily bread is a gift.
And it’s completely different to receive a gift than to earn a living.
That’s what Jesus says about the kingdom of heaven: It’s like a crowd of day laborers – people who quite literally have to find work today to eat tonight. Some of them are hired for a day’s work that assures they’ll feed their family. Some of them are still standing there, waiting to be hired, all day long, so dependent on being hired to eat that they do an hour’s work for the hope of “whatever’s right.”
And every one of them goes home with daily bread.
No less. But no more.
Because in God’s country, you don’t need more to have enough.
In God’s country, life is a daily gift.
And receiving is different from earning.
Earning is about expectations, limited resources, and “productivity.” Receiving is about open hands and delight, and our relationship with the giver.
To earn, you have to do things right. To receive, you have to trust.
The laborers in Jesus’ parable get in trouble when they focus on what they earned, instead of noticing what everyone received:
Daily bread.
The thing you and I pray for all the time, whether or not we’re paying attention.
Give us today our daily bread.
And you know, most of the time we get it.
But as we eat, we’re often too distracted to recognize each meal as an answered prayer.
Our wilderness has grocery stores instead of quails, and a different set of dangers and fears. But our daily bread is still the same: the answer to a prayer, and a test. An experiment to see if we’re ready to live from trust. Ready for the knowledge that God is listening powerfully, not just in crisis, but in the murmuring of our wants and daily needs.
We’re ready to live in God’s country when we can look around at the answers to the prayers we never knew we prayed and say,
Oh.
This is where I belong. Because this is where God is.
This is what I need.
Because God is here.
No comments:
Post a Comment