God in Creation
October 1st and 15th, 2023
Year A; 18th Pentecost; Proper 21
Exodus 17: 1-7
Psalm 78: 1-4, 12-16
Matthew 21: 23-32
Exodus 17:1-7
From the wilderness of Sin the whole congregation of the Israelites journeyed by stages, as the Lord commanded. They camped at Rephidim, but there was no water for the people to drink. The people quarreled with Moses, and said, “Give us water to drink.” Moses said to them, “Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you test the Lord?” But the people thirsted there for water; and the people complained against Moses and said, “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?” So Moses cried out to the Lord, “What shall I do with this people? They are almost ready to stone me.” The Lord said to Moses, “Go on ahead of the people, and take some of the elders of Israel with you; take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go. I will be standing there in front of you on the rock at Horeb. Strike the rock, and water will come out of it, so that the people may drink.” Moses did so, in the sight of the elders of Israel. He called the place Massah and Meribah, because the Israelites quarreled and tested the Lord, saying, “Is the Lord among us or not?”
Homily by Rev. Megan Limburg
In the name of the Holy Three. Amen.
While one church is focused on Stewardship today, the other church will focus on the Season of Creation, which the Episcopal Church is celebrating from early September to early October.
Our readings today are well known and yet, we might miss the numerous references to creation. While our minds hear these familiar stories we might not even notice how God’s creation is woven into so much of our scriptures. We might actually, well, miss the trees for the forest.
In looking at our reading from Exodus we find the Israelites in the wilderness, out in the desert, they are upset because they have no water, and God responds to Moses’ cry for help with talk of the Nile River, and that God will be in front of Moses at the rock of Horeb, and that in striking the rock, Moses will be able to provide the lifegiving water.
Our psalm echoes these references and others from earlier stories of Moses and the Israelites: the sea, the waters, a cloud, fire, rocks, wilderness, streams, a cliff, and again that substance the Israelites, and still us today, can not live more than a few days without, water, water that gushed out like a river.
And our gospel continues with the series of parables that Jesus told, so many of them rooted in the natural world, the vineyard, the grapevines, the sower, the seeds, the mustard seed, the weeds and the wheat, and the fig tree and its fruit.
The Season of Creation reminds us that God is not separate from creation, but is of course the Creator, and is present in the creation, in the rocks, the water, the fire, the wilderness, the stars, the sky, the wind, the ocean, the waves, the world.
Thus we can find God in our churches and cathedrals, but we can also find God outside, in creation, right outside our doors.
And the Season of Creation reminds us of our call as Christians to be stewards of this earth, our island home.
Which brings me to our dog, Mocha, also part of God’s creation, and I’m very sure, beloved by God.
Mocha has an interesting way of getting our attention when he is ready for the day to begin in the morning. Mocha comes into our bedroom, walks through, goes to the bathroom door, gives it a strong push with his nose, and goes into the bathroom and lies on one of the rugs.
A few minutes later, Mocha begins what we call, “The Airing of the Grievances” (with apologies to “Seinfeld”). He does not barkbut he whines, grunts, grumbles and sighs.
After offering his grievances on and off for several minutes he finally gives one sharp bark and we either yell for him to go back to sleep, or roll over and Tim inevitably finds Mocha by his side of the bed, tail wagging and ready for the day to begin.
Mocha knows that Tim is his best shot to get the day going, and knows I’ll want to roll over and sleep more. But one morning, last summer, I was ready to get up and told Tim to sleep and I took Mocha out.
We stepped outside and the stars were so bright, and visible with no moon shining. And I immediately remembered that there was a meteor shower. As Mocha snuffled around the yard, I looked up and gasped as one, two ,three, four meteors made their short but burning streaks across the sky. And as I looked up, I found myself experiencing the night sky like I never have, feeling like I was entering the layers of stars, and though tiny I was part of this magnificent whole of the sky, created by God.
A few days later I dipped into a book called “Searching for Stars on an Island in Maine” by a theoretical physicist named Alan Lightman who teaches at MIT. As you might guess I don’t usually pick up books by physicists, but if Maine is in the title I’ll read it.
Thus, I found myself reading a passage that startled me, giving words to my holy experience with the night sky.
Lightman wrote:
“It’s a clear summer night and we’ve been sitting on our dock at Lute Island looking up at the stars. Overhead the diaphanous white sash of the galaxy sweeps over the sky. And I feel myself falling into its depths. I am falling and falling and I am surrounded on all sides by the stars. (“Searching for Stars on an Island in Maine”, Lightman, page 52)
Now Lightman went on to talk about atoms and quarks but still, the physicist and I both fell into the stars, the grace and gift of drawing so close for a moment to our God, in creation.
Encountering God in creation invites us into perhaps a fresh experience of God, of seeing with new eyes, God in God’s creation.
As wind and fire are named in the gospels as the way that the Holy Spirit first appeared to the disciples on Pentecost, I have slowly begun to notice the nuances of wind, and how it can speak to us, another way to listen for that nudge of the Holy Spirit.
Remember? The upper room, doors locked, frightened disciples, and God burst through with God’s creation to speak to them, to awaken them, with a powerful wind in the airless room, bringing the outside inside. And the movement of the Spirit for all to see in the courage of the disciples as they began to tell others of Jesus and to speak in many languages.
I try to remember to watch the movement of the wind, whether I’m sitting on the front step or walking in the woods or by the bay. The wind helps my cluttered brain, which is always somewhere else, puzzling over a problem or planning into the future, by pulling me into the now, the present, and makes me pay attention.
On a hot summer morning I look and search for the smallest movement of the flowers, the trees, to see the Spirit and to remember the Spirit’s quietest nudges. And during a tropical storm to see the power and force of the wind, tossing the trees and reminding me to listen for God’s persistent calls, the repeated urging to see fresh paths and the courage to go forward.
I’ll end this sermon with a prayer from the resources provided by the Episcopal Church for the Season of Creation; let us pray.
Creating God, your name is written on every leaf, every bird, every river, every stone, every living being. We praise and worship you for the magnificence of your creation. Make us attentive to the wounds of the earth and willing to work for the healing of the whole creation, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord. Amen.
(Seasons of Creation 2023, A Celebration Guide for Episcopal Parishes)