A Devotion on Exodus 2:11-14 for Mid Morning Suffrages,

Thursday of the Third Week of Easter.

Given to the the Association of Confessing Lutherans of Ohio at Fairborn,

May 12th, 2011

Moses looked left, and Moses looked right, and then Moses slew the Egyptian in a righteous rage. Yes, Moses hated injustice and oppression, Moses loved righteousness and the Law. Because of this trait God had seen to it that he would be drawn from the Nile by Pharaoh's daughter. Moses was the right man for the job.

He looked left and he looked right and there was no one. A curious gaze. Was it just to make sure that no one was watching? Was it a gaze to see if someone else was going to do something about this outrage in front of him? Was an Egyptian coming to stop this madness? Was a Hebrew coming to stand with his brother? Was it a gaze to see if someone was there to help Moses stop this?

But Moses did what those who are passionate about justice, those who love the right are prone to do: Like any activist, he acted. In his blow on the Egyptian, he used all the skills of war and sword that the palace of Pharaoh could teach. It was no wonder that the palace responded as it did. Using Pharaoh’s generosity against Pharaoh never ends well, even today. It is no wonder Moses’ life was going to be sought from him.

And the oppressed? They see the splendrous skills of the artists of war and oppression every day. They have seen many swords. They know swords do not distinguish between Hebrew and Egyptian blood. Another sword in the hand of another prince of Egypt is merely another sword in the hands of another prince of Egypt. Their question is: “Do we need another sword? Are there not enough swords? We will die now at their left hand, we will die then at their right, so what is the difference? If they make us powerful enough to fight with them now, they must deal with us after their victory. Does it not occur to the conquering king that he neither needs or wants catapult operators living close to the walls of the castle once it is his?”

He backed up God’s great plan by 40 years, this Moses. He was the right man now at the end of the first third of his life, his heart was filled with the passions he would need. He knew Egypt’s court better than most. He knew their ways and means and the language, he knew their arts of war. He had seen the plight of the Hebrews. In short: He was not ready.

I found myself at Jim’s* house in September of 2009 and “the vote” as we now euphemistically call it, arose ever so briefly “It is quiet in the desert,” was his response and he spoke them with the kind, knowing, undeserved smile that often graces his face and is shared with friend and foe alike, “There is a lot of peace there. Don’t disturb it. Just let is settle over you.”

Moses entered the desert of Midian with all his faculties of war and fight for righteousness fully intact. He showed it at a well in Midian right away, fighting again for the underdog. Yet, the noise of Moses soon faded and the peace of the desert settled on him like its sand; sand he once thought was good for burying dead Egyptians. He spent the next third of his life there, looking left and looking right and seeing himself alone; a nomad. So, the desert forced him to look deeper and deeper, again and again, but now within and there also he looked left and he looked right and eventually he saw inside no one at all.

The desert in all her peace is a killer as well. She killed the Egyptian inside of Moses and buried him in sand. All the skills of war, all his training in the fine art of palace intrigue and palace politics left him. There was no one on his left as he looked that way within. He looked right and there was no one there any more either. The desert had killed the Hebrew, so used to being the obedient servant, so used to live in the continuous compromise of being a captive minority, as well. He took up being slow of speech in the desert. She has time like she has sand. Moses no longer drew on the language of a prince at court, a man of power and means, nor on the language of the defeated. Those men within were dead. He looked left, he looked right, and there was no one left to speak. All that was left was the desert with billions of grains of sand below and billions of stars above, stars and sand once promised to Abraham.

At the end of the second third of his life, now too old to fight, too old to compromise God comes to visit Moses. Moses has now learned not to look left and not to look right. There will be no one there who will last. Their absence was no longer a cause of grief or anger. Their presence would not have been cause of strength or celebration. Moses will now look up and learn the language of God.

Santa Claus and the Liturgical Church

There is something good to be said for living in a liturgical church that values history. I am realistic enough to know that not all of the ELCA is interested in history, I know well that many think history is a waste of time. I am here to suggest that maybe in the case of Christmas and the fat little man who has become a rival symbol of it, valuing history and remembering it in liturgy is a good corrective.

To make my case, let me tell a little story: My daughter was 7 years old and, being a pastor's kid, had grown up in church. For a number of her conscious years, she had celebrated the 6 of December or the Sunday closest to it as a remembrance of St. Nicolas of Myra. You remember him, yes? Patron saints of children, secret givers, butchers, sea farers; attendee at the council of Nicea where history suggest that he walked up the the heretic of the day, Arius, and decked him. An aside: my kids are studying martial arts; is it because they knew of that story and want to be ready for the attack of the heretic? Never mind . . . He was kicked out of the council but readmitted after making a repentant apology. Anyway, the good saint has a place in my heart and is somehow remembered in the liturgy of the church where I am presiding at worship.

My kid and I were at the local IGA, waiting at the cash register. An older man was in line behind us and leaned down toward my daughter asking: "SO, what is Santa going to bring you tomorrow?" My sweet daughter, without hesitation replied: "Santa Claus was an important man in the church, he was a great man and a saint, he loved Jesus very much but he is dead. We give each other gifts at home in honor of Jesus' birthday." In my head I was doing a victory lap around the check out lanes. "The kid gets it!" The old man sputtered, looked in my smile crossed face, and with some annoyance replied: "Well I believe in Santa. Too bad he is not coming to your house."

Kids learn from what adults dare to teach. My kids grew up with Saint Nicolas of Myra as an example of good Christian charity but no more. They know him as mortal, unable to squeeze down chimneys, without nary a reindeer or a home where they would have been prevalent. They know him as a devout and passionate Christian who dared to live the Faith into which they also where baptized. I would submit that that is far more lasting and important than some romantic notion of Norman Rockwell childhood believes that adults sometimes idolize as a cute stage of childhood. History can and should be allowed to help form true Christian faith. The liturgical church has history and a means to make it a catalyst in that faith. Are we church enough to use it?

Get off the Lawn, you darn kids!

I admit it- I am very grouchy today and not but a bit tired.  The problem?  Well, it all started 200 years ago and, as often is the case, a lawyer was at the center of it.  You see, this guy got himself involved in government.  Somehow lawyers and government meet all too often but I digress.  He got himself involved with government and in 1814 found himself in the position of hostage negotiator.  Why they did not take him as a hostage as well I don;t know but then- he was a lawyer.  Anyway: he negotiated the release of his hostages and was ready to cross the battle lines over to his own side but while he was talking a naval battle had commenced so he was left watching the whole thing from the other side of things as the Brits shelled Fort Mc Henry.

It appears that fashionable gentlemen of those days were required to engage themselves in artistic pursuits and he was no exception.  He was a poet and belonged to the Anacreontic Society a group of men who enjoyed poetry and had named themselves after the Greek poet Anacreon who had written many a love poem and many a drinking song.  In a way, they enjoyed poetry and drink, but I digress again.  

The story is that he was remembering the theme-song of the society, a song penned by John Stafford Smith known as: "To Anacreon in Heaven" and wrote a poem that described the battle in verse to fit the song.  His name was Francis Scott Key and the result was the national anthem.  A nice effort of poetry and song if it had not been for the; "rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air" line, but I get ahead of myself.

Meanwhile, 600 years earlier someone in mainland China became increasingly concerned about the spirits of the dead that were hanging around and decided that a really, really loud boom would drive them away.  The Chinese are a quiet people- it makes sense.  Anyway, gunpowder was the result of it all and not only that, they discovered that by adding lithium carbonate they could color the boom red, by adding magnesium they could color the boom white and by adding copper chlorite they could make a blue boom.   

Put all these streams of history together and you end up at Crazy Charlie's in Indiana or Kentucky where they will gladly sell you Class 1.4G Explosives, also known as "Fireworks," if you but sign on a piece of paper promising that you will not light the stuff.  Again a lawyer was involved.  You can sell the stuff as long as the customer promises he wont' use it.  Brilliant!

So July 3rd came.  Now, the sheriff had made it known that, even though fireworks are illegal in Ohio, they would not enforce that during the Independence Day weekend because there would just be too many complaints to handle anyway and fireworks started to go off at sunset.  I lay in bed until 2AM when they finally stopped that night.  The same happened on the 4th, and the 5th.  Only, on those days the neighbors did not knock it off until 4AM.

On Sunday I rose for church with a glorious 3 hours of sleep and therefor tired and very grouchy.  But that is O.K.  I have lawyers I can blame.