Rendezvous With God
Commentary
A colleague of mine and I decided to meet one day for lunch. The communities where we are serving are about three hours apart, and so we picked a little family-style restaurant that was in a small-town about halfway between our two locations. Neither of us had been to that particular restaurant before: it just came up when we were searching for something conveniently located. And, as it happened, this particular restaurant was located right at the corner where the two roads we’d be traveling intersected. It was the perfect location, and so we just hoped the food would be good, too.
I arrived a few minutes early, parked my car, and went up to the door. I figured I would get a table for the two of us, and then watch for my friend to arrive. When I got to the door, however, I found a sign indicating that they were closed on Mondays. Who knew? So, I went back to my car and waited for my friend to arrive. I figured that we’d be able to find some alternative nearby once we were together.
Fortunately, I had brought some reading material with me, so I contented myself to sit in my car and read. After a little while, I was very glad that I had something to read, for my friend was running late. A little more time passed, and I began to wonder if something had delayed him. A little more time passed, and I began to wonder if I had the right day and time and place.
Finally, about forty-five minutes after our scheduled meeting time, my phone rang. It was my friend. I greeted him cordially, but with the assumption that he was calling to explain why he was so late. After a moment of awkward conversation, it became clear that he was calling me to see why I was so late.
Well, because the restaurant was on a corner at the intersection of the roads he and I had traveled from different directions, he was parked on the other side of the restaurant waiting for me. He had gone up to the door on his side and made the same discovery I had, and so he decided to sit in his car and wait for me. And so, there we had been, so near to each other, but not quite making the connection.
I wonder how often that happens with individuals and God. I wonder how long some folks wait and watch: they are nearby, but they’re not quite there. They have gone to the wrong door. Or they are watching for him without realizing that he is already right there.
This week’s assigned readings give us an opportunity to explore having — and missing — a rendezvous with God.
Exodus 17:1-7
In Exodus 11, the Israelites seemed hopelessly enslaved. The Lord had sent Moses, but things had only gotten worse. A series of plagues had battered Egypt, but still Pharaoh kept his tight grip on the slaves. Yet by the end of chapter 12, the children of Israel are free and on their way toward the promised land. This, like so many stories in scripture — and perhaps also in our own lives — is evidence of how suddenly and perhaps even unexpectedly God’s will can be accomplished.
Once the newly-freed slaves are on their journey, some essential needs must be met. This is, after all, a massive undertaking: to migrate a small nation of people across a desert. And so, in the succeeding chapters, the scriptures tell us about how Israel will navigate, how their hunger will be fed, and how their thirst will be quenched. Guidance, food, and water are the essentials that are provided in chapters 13, 16, and 17. And this, then, is where our particular passage comes in: the water from the rock.
As the scene unfolds, the people arrive at a place where there was no water. That was to be expected from time to time given the particular journey they were making. In a reaction that proves to be something of a pattern, the people complain to Moses. And Moses, in turn, took the complaint to the Lord.
The people’s complaint is revealing in at least two ways. First, it is fascinating that they have such unreasonable expectations of Moses. Why did they imagine that he could suddenly produce water in an arid place? We might chalk it up to the miracles they had seen Moses perform back in Egypt. But even in our much more ordinary relationships, we observe the pattern of blaming someone else when we are cranky, and our needs are unmet.
The second thing that is especially noteworthy about the people’s complaint is the flipside of the first. In other words, it is interesting that the people take their complaint to Moses. On the flipside, it is significant — more than that, troubling — that the people did not take their complaint to the Lord. Who did they think was really responsible for all of those miracles back in Egypt? And who did they think was really capable of providing for the needs of a multitude in an inhospitable place?
Moses, by contrast, knows exactly who his source is. “Take it to the Lord in prayer,”1 the poet sang, and that’s just what Moses did. He laid out the need before the Lord, and the Lord gave Moses the instructions that would lead to the provisions.
The method of the provision is also interesting and surprising. Would we not think that the natural place for a water supply would be either the sky or the ground? Why not reveal or create a spring? Why not send an abundance of rain? Water from a rock seems unnecessarily complex. Yet that rock proves to be an enduring symbol of growing significance. Later Jewish tradition asserted that the rock continued to travel with the Israelites. And in the New Testament, the Apostle Paul associates the rock with Christ (1 Corinthians 10:1-4). And in light of that, it becomes that much more meaningful that the rock was stricken once (here in Exodus 17) but was not meant to be stricken again (see Numbers 20:2-13).
At a minimum, our Old Testament lection bears witness to the God who is willing and able to meet his people’s needs. And, it should be noted, the need was immense, given the size of the crowd, and the probability very low, given the surroundings. Yet God provided. And when we take the story a step further and find in it Christ, then all the more it bears witness to the God who is willing and able to meet his people’s needs.
Romans 5:1-11
A great museum can be an overwhelming place. “There’s so much to see,” we exclaim as we walk in. “Where do we begin? How can we see it all?” It is a great help to the novice, therefore, if a trained guide is available to lead them through a coherent exploration of the place.
The selected passage from Paul’s letter to the Romans is similarly overwhelming. Where do we begin? There is so much here that is beautiful — so much to look at, so much to preach! And, it should be noted, if that is the effect of just eleven verses, how truly overwhelming is the profundity and beauty of the gospel as a whole!
Our job is to serve as trained guides for our people. Let us lead them through this passage and its truths in a coherent way: a way that will help them to feel that they have seen it all and understood it. My approach — though this may be merely a way of catering to my simple way of thinking — is to understand this passage chronologically. In other words, if we were to place Paul’s message on a timeline, what would come first, and then next, and then next, and so on?
Chronologically — as well as theologically — the starting place is the grace of God. For when we explore these verses for what comes first, we discover that our past status is characterized as “helpless,” “sinners,” and “enemies.” Clearly, that is no longer the present state of affairs for us, but that is where we began. And what could possibly intervene to change our state from what it was to what it is? The grace of God!
Paul marvels at the magnitude of the love that motivated Christ to die for us while we were still sinners and enemies. He notes that, in human terms, it is an enormous ask to expect a person to die for someone who is deserving. Yet Christ died for us while we were altogether undeserving! The starting place, therefore, is that marvelous grace of God, and his saving initiative in our world.
Then there comes his saving initiative in our lives. In other words, the saving work was accomplished by Christ on the cross and at the empty tomb, but that salvation needs to be appropriated one life at a time. And so Paul affirms that saving work in the individual Christian’s past: having “obtained our introduction by faith into this grace,” “having been justified by faith,” “having been justified by his blood,” and having been “reconciled to God through the death of his son.”
That, in turn, leads to our new reality in the present. That present reality — which is a beautiful sermon all its own — features peace with God, grace in which we stand, and all sorts of celebrations. We celebrate “in hope of the glory of God,” we celebrate in our tribulations, and we celebrate “in God through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
Paul’s theological timeline, meanwhile, looks beyond the beautiful present to a promising future. There is our future in this life, which takes a strange — and sometimes bewildering and unwelcome — path to God’s purposes. It is the path of tribulation, but Paul, who was well-acquainted with tribulation, sees tribulation giving rise to perseverance, to character, and to hope. And we should observe that when Paul talks about “hope,” it is not the sort of against-all-odds finger-crossing that we sometimes mean when we refer to “hope.” I hope, for example, that my team wins the Super Bowl next season. But Paul has in view a hope rooted in God, and that is a hope which “does not disappoint.”
Finally, there is still another phase of the future that Paul has in view. It is an eschatalogical future in which we shall be saved. “Are we not saved already?” someone asks. Yes, but this is the salvation “from the wrath of God” — an acknowledgement of the cataclysmic judgment that will come, and an assurance that we need not fear it since we will be saved by him.
John 4:5-42
It is perhaps unfair of the lectionary’s architects to assign us so generous a passage as our gospel lection for this week. We could have been given any five or six verses from this chapter and we would have had plenty to preach. By assigning us almost all of John 4, however, we are presented with a large menu from which we'll have to make a choice. Here, briefly, are some of our options.
We might explore the character juxtaposition that the gospel writer offers the reader. For in John chapter 3, we read of Jesus' encounter with Nicodemus, a leader and teacher in Israel. Meanwhile, in John chapter 4, we read of Jesus' encounter with this Samaritan woman, who on the surface seems like a much less promising character in every respect. Yet Nicodemus disappears into the night, confused and indecisive. This unlikely woman, by contrast, meets Jesus in the light of day, proclaims him boldly to her neighbors, and ends up being a catalyst for leading a whole town to Christ!
We might also preach on the enduring truth that is captured in Jesus' words, “If you knew...” Initially, you see, this woman did not know with whom she was dealing. If she had known, Jesus said, then her response would have been different. Different how? She would have asked of him! And it is worth our considering how that continues to be true. If only people knew with whom they were dealing when it comes to Jesus, they would respond differently. How? They would ask, and their deepest needs would be met.
We might also preach the loveliness of this woman's discovery that Jesus already knows all about her. In most of our encounters with other people, ever since Adam and Eve first sewed together their infamous fig leaves, we human beings have been eager to cover up parts of ourselves. Not just parts of our anatomy, but all sorts of things that we are embarrassed about or ashamed of. We cover parts of our past, aspects of our temperament, undesirable habits, unthinkable thoughts, and more. We fear that, if folks knew the whole truth about us, they would feel differently about us. But this woman experiences the liberty of discovering that Jesus knows all about her, and he is there offering her living water in spite of all.
We might also explore Jesus' provocative word that the Samaritans worship what they do not know. It is perhaps reminiscent of Paul’s discovery of “the unknown god” in Athens. How many, many people through history — and still today — worship in ignorance. They are seeking the true and living God, but they do not know him.
And those are just a few possibilities! There still remains Jesus’ important and surprising choices to pass through Samaria and to converse with this woman. There is his significant redefinition of both water and bread, of thirst and hunger. There is his promise and offer of living water. And there is Jesus’ confirmation that he is the Messiah accompanied by the townspeople’s affirmation that he is the Savior of the world. John 4 is a smorgasbord of preaching opportunities. We cannot preach it all on a single Sunday, just as we cannot eat everything provided at a buffet. But we can be sure that our people don’t go away hungry this Sunday!
Application
The people of Moses’ day went to the wrong door. They were in the right area, but they didn’t get it quite right. They had a need — indeed, a complaint — and they took it to Moses. That was close, but they hadn’t gone to the right place. After all, as we noted above, what could Moses do to provide water in a desert? But Moses knew to which door he should go with his needs. He went to the Lord, and the Lord provided.
The Samaritan woman asked Jesus, in effect, which door was the right one for rendezvousing with God. She acknowledged that the Jews pointed to the temple in Jerusalem, while the Samaritan tradition focused on a certain mountain in their region of Palestine. Jesus intimated that she and the other Samaritans were close, but not all the way there. “You Samaritans worship what you do not know,” he said. They were earnest, to be sure. Jesus wasn’t questioning that. But they were missing out just a bit. Still, he assured her, a time was coming — very soon!
Meanwhile, her story nicely parallels the Exodus episode because of the water theme. In the days of Moses, the Lord had provided water in the wilderness that kept the people alive. The Samaritan woman, meanwhile, came to the well looking for water. And, at a physical level, she had come to the right place. The irony was that, when she met Jesus there, she didn’t know (at first) with whom she was dealing. If she had known, Jesus told her, she would have asked him, and he would have given her living water. She had come to the right place for the eternal needs of her soul to be met, but she didn’t even know it.
At least not at first. As she continued to converse with Jesus, however, the reader watches the light gradually dawn on her. At first, all she knows is that he is a Jewish man. After a little bit, she concludes that he is a prophet. And then, by the end of her encounter with him, she is wondering aloud to her fellow townspeople if he is the Christ.
And then they come. The whole Samaritan village comes to the right place — comes out to meet him. The people who had been worshiping what they did not know now, by the end of the chapter, know him for themselves. They had been nearby, and now they have had their rendezvous with the Lord.
Alternative Application(s)
Exodus 17:1-7 — “Familiar Journey”
As Christians, we are accustomed to having our own individual testimonies. My story of when and how the Lord intervened in my life and saved me is no doubt different from your story. But perhaps there are a few times a year — especially the holy days and seasons surrounding Christmas and holy week — when we Christians remember that we also have a collective testimony. For while our individual details differ, the when and how of our salvation is all traced back to the same saving work of God in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ.
The nation of Israel maintained perhaps a stronger sense of collective testimony than the American church does. They had a salvation story, and they celebrated and recited it together regularly. And that salvation event was the story of the Lord delivering them from their bondage in Egypt and, ultimately, leading them to the promised land.
Their story enjoys many parallels to ours. We recognize the language of bondage and slavery, for that is how the New Testament understands our relationship to sin. We, too, needed the Lord to intervene and save us from that bondage from which we could not save ourselves. We recognize, too, the prospect of a promised land. And we have even borrowed the language of crossing a river to get there.
In the interim between the bondage and the river, meanwhile, is where most of us — as well as most of the people in our pews — live. And our Old Testament lection speaks symbolically of that interim. It is a journey. And we, like Israel, journey by stages.
We may feel sometimes impatient with — even discouraged by — this method of progressing. Indeed, it is discouraging chiefly because of the fact that it is not always a method of progressing. Rather, it is a pattern of stops and starts all through the wilderness. That can be dispiriting.
Yet we take comfort from the fact that this precisely how God’s people did it so long ago. While he miraculously set them free from their bondage, and while he miraculously provided the necessities of life for them along the way, he did not miraculously transport them. The children of Israel were not, in an instant, transported from the border of Egypt to the Jordan River. No, they journeyed by stages through the wilderness. That, evidently, was the will of God for them. And so, we rejoice in our familiar journey — with its halting progress, with its hardships, and with the daily process of learning to rely on him and upon his grace.
1 “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” Joseph Scriven, UMH #526.
I arrived a few minutes early, parked my car, and went up to the door. I figured I would get a table for the two of us, and then watch for my friend to arrive. When I got to the door, however, I found a sign indicating that they were closed on Mondays. Who knew? So, I went back to my car and waited for my friend to arrive. I figured that we’d be able to find some alternative nearby once we were together.
Fortunately, I had brought some reading material with me, so I contented myself to sit in my car and read. After a little while, I was very glad that I had something to read, for my friend was running late. A little more time passed, and I began to wonder if something had delayed him. A little more time passed, and I began to wonder if I had the right day and time and place.
Finally, about forty-five minutes after our scheduled meeting time, my phone rang. It was my friend. I greeted him cordially, but with the assumption that he was calling to explain why he was so late. After a moment of awkward conversation, it became clear that he was calling me to see why I was so late.
Well, because the restaurant was on a corner at the intersection of the roads he and I had traveled from different directions, he was parked on the other side of the restaurant waiting for me. He had gone up to the door on his side and made the same discovery I had, and so he decided to sit in his car and wait for me. And so, there we had been, so near to each other, but not quite making the connection.
I wonder how often that happens with individuals and God. I wonder how long some folks wait and watch: they are nearby, but they’re not quite there. They have gone to the wrong door. Or they are watching for him without realizing that he is already right there.
This week’s assigned readings give us an opportunity to explore having — and missing — a rendezvous with God.
Exodus 17:1-7
In Exodus 11, the Israelites seemed hopelessly enslaved. The Lord had sent Moses, but things had only gotten worse. A series of plagues had battered Egypt, but still Pharaoh kept his tight grip on the slaves. Yet by the end of chapter 12, the children of Israel are free and on their way toward the promised land. This, like so many stories in scripture — and perhaps also in our own lives — is evidence of how suddenly and perhaps even unexpectedly God’s will can be accomplished.
Once the newly-freed slaves are on their journey, some essential needs must be met. This is, after all, a massive undertaking: to migrate a small nation of people across a desert. And so, in the succeeding chapters, the scriptures tell us about how Israel will navigate, how their hunger will be fed, and how their thirst will be quenched. Guidance, food, and water are the essentials that are provided in chapters 13, 16, and 17. And this, then, is where our particular passage comes in: the water from the rock.
As the scene unfolds, the people arrive at a place where there was no water. That was to be expected from time to time given the particular journey they were making. In a reaction that proves to be something of a pattern, the people complain to Moses. And Moses, in turn, took the complaint to the Lord.
The people’s complaint is revealing in at least two ways. First, it is fascinating that they have such unreasonable expectations of Moses. Why did they imagine that he could suddenly produce water in an arid place? We might chalk it up to the miracles they had seen Moses perform back in Egypt. But even in our much more ordinary relationships, we observe the pattern of blaming someone else when we are cranky, and our needs are unmet.
The second thing that is especially noteworthy about the people’s complaint is the flipside of the first. In other words, it is interesting that the people take their complaint to Moses. On the flipside, it is significant — more than that, troubling — that the people did not take their complaint to the Lord. Who did they think was really responsible for all of those miracles back in Egypt? And who did they think was really capable of providing for the needs of a multitude in an inhospitable place?
Moses, by contrast, knows exactly who his source is. “Take it to the Lord in prayer,”1 the poet sang, and that’s just what Moses did. He laid out the need before the Lord, and the Lord gave Moses the instructions that would lead to the provisions.
The method of the provision is also interesting and surprising. Would we not think that the natural place for a water supply would be either the sky or the ground? Why not reveal or create a spring? Why not send an abundance of rain? Water from a rock seems unnecessarily complex. Yet that rock proves to be an enduring symbol of growing significance. Later Jewish tradition asserted that the rock continued to travel with the Israelites. And in the New Testament, the Apostle Paul associates the rock with Christ (1 Corinthians 10:1-4). And in light of that, it becomes that much more meaningful that the rock was stricken once (here in Exodus 17) but was not meant to be stricken again (see Numbers 20:2-13).
At a minimum, our Old Testament lection bears witness to the God who is willing and able to meet his people’s needs. And, it should be noted, the need was immense, given the size of the crowd, and the probability very low, given the surroundings. Yet God provided. And when we take the story a step further and find in it Christ, then all the more it bears witness to the God who is willing and able to meet his people’s needs.
Romans 5:1-11
A great museum can be an overwhelming place. “There’s so much to see,” we exclaim as we walk in. “Where do we begin? How can we see it all?” It is a great help to the novice, therefore, if a trained guide is available to lead them through a coherent exploration of the place.
The selected passage from Paul’s letter to the Romans is similarly overwhelming. Where do we begin? There is so much here that is beautiful — so much to look at, so much to preach! And, it should be noted, if that is the effect of just eleven verses, how truly overwhelming is the profundity and beauty of the gospel as a whole!
Our job is to serve as trained guides for our people. Let us lead them through this passage and its truths in a coherent way: a way that will help them to feel that they have seen it all and understood it. My approach — though this may be merely a way of catering to my simple way of thinking — is to understand this passage chronologically. In other words, if we were to place Paul’s message on a timeline, what would come first, and then next, and then next, and so on?
Chronologically — as well as theologically — the starting place is the grace of God. For when we explore these verses for what comes first, we discover that our past status is characterized as “helpless,” “sinners,” and “enemies.” Clearly, that is no longer the present state of affairs for us, but that is where we began. And what could possibly intervene to change our state from what it was to what it is? The grace of God!
Paul marvels at the magnitude of the love that motivated Christ to die for us while we were still sinners and enemies. He notes that, in human terms, it is an enormous ask to expect a person to die for someone who is deserving. Yet Christ died for us while we were altogether undeserving! The starting place, therefore, is that marvelous grace of God, and his saving initiative in our world.
Then there comes his saving initiative in our lives. In other words, the saving work was accomplished by Christ on the cross and at the empty tomb, but that salvation needs to be appropriated one life at a time. And so Paul affirms that saving work in the individual Christian’s past: having “obtained our introduction by faith into this grace,” “having been justified by faith,” “having been justified by his blood,” and having been “reconciled to God through the death of his son.”
That, in turn, leads to our new reality in the present. That present reality — which is a beautiful sermon all its own — features peace with God, grace in which we stand, and all sorts of celebrations. We celebrate “in hope of the glory of God,” we celebrate in our tribulations, and we celebrate “in God through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
Paul’s theological timeline, meanwhile, looks beyond the beautiful present to a promising future. There is our future in this life, which takes a strange — and sometimes bewildering and unwelcome — path to God’s purposes. It is the path of tribulation, but Paul, who was well-acquainted with tribulation, sees tribulation giving rise to perseverance, to character, and to hope. And we should observe that when Paul talks about “hope,” it is not the sort of against-all-odds finger-crossing that we sometimes mean when we refer to “hope.” I hope, for example, that my team wins the Super Bowl next season. But Paul has in view a hope rooted in God, and that is a hope which “does not disappoint.”
Finally, there is still another phase of the future that Paul has in view. It is an eschatalogical future in which we shall be saved. “Are we not saved already?” someone asks. Yes, but this is the salvation “from the wrath of God” — an acknowledgement of the cataclysmic judgment that will come, and an assurance that we need not fear it since we will be saved by him.
John 4:5-42
It is perhaps unfair of the lectionary’s architects to assign us so generous a passage as our gospel lection for this week. We could have been given any five or six verses from this chapter and we would have had plenty to preach. By assigning us almost all of John 4, however, we are presented with a large menu from which we'll have to make a choice. Here, briefly, are some of our options.
We might explore the character juxtaposition that the gospel writer offers the reader. For in John chapter 3, we read of Jesus' encounter with Nicodemus, a leader and teacher in Israel. Meanwhile, in John chapter 4, we read of Jesus' encounter with this Samaritan woman, who on the surface seems like a much less promising character in every respect. Yet Nicodemus disappears into the night, confused and indecisive. This unlikely woman, by contrast, meets Jesus in the light of day, proclaims him boldly to her neighbors, and ends up being a catalyst for leading a whole town to Christ!
We might also preach on the enduring truth that is captured in Jesus' words, “If you knew...” Initially, you see, this woman did not know with whom she was dealing. If she had known, Jesus said, then her response would have been different. Different how? She would have asked of him! And it is worth our considering how that continues to be true. If only people knew with whom they were dealing when it comes to Jesus, they would respond differently. How? They would ask, and their deepest needs would be met.
We might also preach the loveliness of this woman's discovery that Jesus already knows all about her. In most of our encounters with other people, ever since Adam and Eve first sewed together their infamous fig leaves, we human beings have been eager to cover up parts of ourselves. Not just parts of our anatomy, but all sorts of things that we are embarrassed about or ashamed of. We cover parts of our past, aspects of our temperament, undesirable habits, unthinkable thoughts, and more. We fear that, if folks knew the whole truth about us, they would feel differently about us. But this woman experiences the liberty of discovering that Jesus knows all about her, and he is there offering her living water in spite of all.
We might also explore Jesus' provocative word that the Samaritans worship what they do not know. It is perhaps reminiscent of Paul’s discovery of “the unknown god” in Athens. How many, many people through history — and still today — worship in ignorance. They are seeking the true and living God, but they do not know him.
And those are just a few possibilities! There still remains Jesus’ important and surprising choices to pass through Samaria and to converse with this woman. There is his significant redefinition of both water and bread, of thirst and hunger. There is his promise and offer of living water. And there is Jesus’ confirmation that he is the Messiah accompanied by the townspeople’s affirmation that he is the Savior of the world. John 4 is a smorgasbord of preaching opportunities. We cannot preach it all on a single Sunday, just as we cannot eat everything provided at a buffet. But we can be sure that our people don’t go away hungry this Sunday!
Application
The people of Moses’ day went to the wrong door. They were in the right area, but they didn’t get it quite right. They had a need — indeed, a complaint — and they took it to Moses. That was close, but they hadn’t gone to the right place. After all, as we noted above, what could Moses do to provide water in a desert? But Moses knew to which door he should go with his needs. He went to the Lord, and the Lord provided.
The Samaritan woman asked Jesus, in effect, which door was the right one for rendezvousing with God. She acknowledged that the Jews pointed to the temple in Jerusalem, while the Samaritan tradition focused on a certain mountain in their region of Palestine. Jesus intimated that she and the other Samaritans were close, but not all the way there. “You Samaritans worship what you do not know,” he said. They were earnest, to be sure. Jesus wasn’t questioning that. But they were missing out just a bit. Still, he assured her, a time was coming — very soon!
Meanwhile, her story nicely parallels the Exodus episode because of the water theme. In the days of Moses, the Lord had provided water in the wilderness that kept the people alive. The Samaritan woman, meanwhile, came to the well looking for water. And, at a physical level, she had come to the right place. The irony was that, when she met Jesus there, she didn’t know (at first) with whom she was dealing. If she had known, Jesus told her, she would have asked him, and he would have given her living water. She had come to the right place for the eternal needs of her soul to be met, but she didn’t even know it.
At least not at first. As she continued to converse with Jesus, however, the reader watches the light gradually dawn on her. At first, all she knows is that he is a Jewish man. After a little bit, she concludes that he is a prophet. And then, by the end of her encounter with him, she is wondering aloud to her fellow townspeople if he is the Christ.
And then they come. The whole Samaritan village comes to the right place — comes out to meet him. The people who had been worshiping what they did not know now, by the end of the chapter, know him for themselves. They had been nearby, and now they have had their rendezvous with the Lord.
Alternative Application(s)
Exodus 17:1-7 — “Familiar Journey”
As Christians, we are accustomed to having our own individual testimonies. My story of when and how the Lord intervened in my life and saved me is no doubt different from your story. But perhaps there are a few times a year — especially the holy days and seasons surrounding Christmas and holy week — when we Christians remember that we also have a collective testimony. For while our individual details differ, the when and how of our salvation is all traced back to the same saving work of God in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ.
The nation of Israel maintained perhaps a stronger sense of collective testimony than the American church does. They had a salvation story, and they celebrated and recited it together regularly. And that salvation event was the story of the Lord delivering them from their bondage in Egypt and, ultimately, leading them to the promised land.
Their story enjoys many parallels to ours. We recognize the language of bondage and slavery, for that is how the New Testament understands our relationship to sin. We, too, needed the Lord to intervene and save us from that bondage from which we could not save ourselves. We recognize, too, the prospect of a promised land. And we have even borrowed the language of crossing a river to get there.
In the interim between the bondage and the river, meanwhile, is where most of us — as well as most of the people in our pews — live. And our Old Testament lection speaks symbolically of that interim. It is a journey. And we, like Israel, journey by stages.
We may feel sometimes impatient with — even discouraged by — this method of progressing. Indeed, it is discouraging chiefly because of the fact that it is not always a method of progressing. Rather, it is a pattern of stops and starts all through the wilderness. That can be dispiriting.
Yet we take comfort from the fact that this precisely how God’s people did it so long ago. While he miraculously set them free from their bondage, and while he miraculously provided the necessities of life for them along the way, he did not miraculously transport them. The children of Israel were not, in an instant, transported from the border of Egypt to the Jordan River. No, they journeyed by stages through the wilderness. That, evidently, was the will of God for them. And so, we rejoice in our familiar journey — with its halting progress, with its hardships, and with the daily process of learning to rely on him and upon his grace.
1 “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” Joseph Scriven, UMH #526.
