Wednesday, March 14, 2018

Snakes and Salvation

A Sermon Preached at St. Stephen’s, Newton 3/11/18
Texts:
Numbers 21:4-9
John 3:14-21


Sometimes I have to sit a while with a text because it bothers me. Our first reading today
bothered me. I found myself turning to commentaries only to find they were moving quickly
past the question that was on my mind.


In our first text today, the people of Israel speak against God as they often did on their forty
year wander in the wilderness. They were well into their journey. Miriam and Aaron, Moses’
sister and brother were both dead, and Moses was leading people who were growing older
and crankier with the arrangement. And in return, the LORD got cranky with the Israelites.
Or so it seemed. The texts says that the LORD sent poisonous serpents among the people.
Some commentators say the word should be fiery, one even imagining that these were
winged seraphs, flying fiery snakes in the sky. I’m not sure I would go that far, but the imagery
is striking.


The whole story of God bringing snakes to kill God’s own people makes me uncomfortable.
It bothers me. And it’s in line with stories that are equally disturbing, Noah building an ark so
the world can be destroyed, the LORD bringing plagues upon Pharaoh's household after
hardening Pharaoh’s heart, eventually killing people’s children, the list compiles as the books
unfold. I can see where people get the idea of a scary Old Testament God who needed to
sacrifice his own kid as some ultimate release of anger against humanity.


But what if we could view this with a different lens? What if we allow the text to be more
human than divinely scripted? What if it were a text written by people trying to figure God out?
People trying to find their place worshipping one God in a world that had both good and
trickster gods, ones that created both joy and woe? What if they were building their
relationship with God and didn’t have it all figured out just yet? What if the whole book is an
exploration of the divine by humanity, holy not because it is always right, but because it allows
us to be both bothered and blessed, helping us critically examine our faith and our life,
connecting us with our ultimate source of life in new and profound ways?


I officially became an Episcopalian five years ago. I had come to seminary searching, and
found a community that just did things differently. Ultimately it was the Book of Common
Prayer that won my heart, weaving scripture and prayer together in ways that are both
ancient and profound. That weaving, that subtle movement between prayer and scripture,
especially in the daily offices, which are Morning Prayer, Noonday Prayer, Evening Prayer
and Compline, my relationship with the Bible changed. I had always studied it, but never
really prayed with it. Maybe the Psalms, but certainly never a book like Numbers. But I found
that in weaving scripture and prayer together, reading scripture in a prayerful state, I could
encounter God in a new and exciting way. I could examine the Bible in a historical critical way,
but I could also ask questions of the scripture as questions to God, expecting to find some
response in the working of the Holy Spirit. I have begun to explore the Bible as the Ultimate
Prayer Book, a book about people asking questions of God, sharing their stories as they seek
to figure out how they relate to the Holy Spirit, how God is moving through them. Sometimes
they get it wrong, but a lot of the time they find a beauty that is beyond all imagining, worth
sharing with the world. It is strange and sometimes very weird, but ultimately exhilarating to
experience the Bible in this way. It allows me to move through passages that pain in a way
that expresses that pain back to God and lets me sit with it, not as pain inflicted by God but
pain that has changed people’s experiences and perceptions of God.


I still don’t have a fully fleshed out explanation for why God appears to do bad or petty things
in the Bible. But I find myself comforted in the fact that God never just leaves God’s people
there to suffer. There is a turn, an act of profound grace. I personally don’t buy that God
actually sent snakes to God’s people, but I do believe that God would send healing, even in
something as bizarre as a statue of a bronze snake.


We have the Gospel of John to thank for helping us wrestle with these snakes, this weird tale
from the ages of wilderness wandering. Without it, the tale might be glossed over, something
to read with bemusement.


But Jesus uses it as an illustration. Our gospel lesson today begins in the middle of Jesus’
famous talk with Nicodemus, where Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews comes to Jesus at night,
where Jesus engages him in a conversation about being born again.


Jesus states: “And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of
Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. For God so loved the
world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but
may have eternal life.”


The odd ancient story about Moses erecting a bronze statue to save people against snakes
is used to show how Jesus will be lifted up to save people from evil and sin. Even those who
constantly complain against God, never satisfied with miracles like bread from heaven and
water gushing forth from a rock, who moan that it was truly better in their imagined “good old
days”, even they are given access to complete healing and transformation. And that is truly
good news, because I don’t know about you, but I am much better at complaining than I am
about giving gratitude to God.


We are just given one simple task, we have to look up. We have to see the weird bronze
snake statue against the blue sky. As we stare at the statue it becomes a cross, an ancient
horrific murder device that somehow is transfigured into the greatest story of redemption and
transformation ever told. As we stare, we have to trust that something can happen. We have
to put ourselves into God’s hands.


It’s painful coming to this truth, coming to this light. It’s easier to live with our heads down.
With our heads down, we don’t have to recognize how much of the world is not in our control.
We don’t have to see each other’s pain and recognize that what harms one harms us all. We
don’t have to find ourselves in a web of inter-dependence, relying on not just our own selves,
but on our neighbors, our planet, and our God. We struggle to create our own self-sufficient
lives, never recognizing how much connection plays a role in who has and who has not. We
live in a world of suffering, but we put on our blinders so we don’t see it.


But when we look up, we find God taking on that suffering for us. We are opened to seeing all
that is wrong, which is terrifying, but we can also see where God desires the world to be. We
find God’s dream, a reality we call the Kingdom of God. It is a bright shining light, giving hope
in the face of our deepest despairs. Because despite what the world seems to tell us, God’s
truth is that everything can be healed. All sorrows can cease. Every tear can be dried. We just
have to reconcile to one another, helping one another find healing in this broken world. It’s
hard. It’s pretty darn impossible if we think about it in purely human terms. There are a lot of
barriers I put between me and you. We have different wants and desires, different ambitions,
but if we look at the web of connection, if we stare into the dream of the divine, we find that
our wants and desires are good and noble gifts. They help us create a bright colorful tapestry,
God’s ultimate quilt of humanity, beautiful and rich. We’re supposed to be different, and we’re
supposed to also recognize the belovedness that each one of us holds as a child of God. We
have to give up our own desires for control in order to give the world to God’s control. In
return, God helps us grow, parenting us into amazing roles in building the kingdom. The quilt
grows brighter as it lives and moves and grows into fully alive people living in a fully alive world.

But we have to look up. We have to see the light. The light of God’s beloved child, taking on all
sorrow and suffering, lifted up like Moses’ bronze serpent, ready to both help us see all that is
wrong and also empowering us to be our full and true selves, helping to make the world right.
We are allowed to live and grow into this selfhood, looking for the Spirit and seeking answers
to the hard questions. We are given death and resurrection, continually seeking to die to the
self that wants to look down and growing into the person unafraid to look up to a God who
suffers with and for us that the world may have eternal life.