Sermon: Facing Up
Texts: Numbers 21:4-9, John 3:14-21
Date: March 29, 2009
Rev. Dee Eisenhauer, Eagle Harbor Congregational Church
The story is told of a young man who entered a very strict monastic order. It was so strict that members were permitted to speak only two words per year to the abbot. At the end of year one the young man appeared before the abbot and spoke his two words, "Bad food." At the end of the second year the young man appeared before the abbot and spoke two more words, "Hard bed". At the end of year three he came to the abbot and spoke his last two words, "I quit." The abbot responded, "Well it is about time. Complain, complain, complain - that’s all you’ve done since you came here."
The bizarre little story in Numbers begins with complaint. The lectionary through Lent has been exploring various covenants. We’ve recalled the covenant with Noah and the whole earth, and the covenant with Abraham and Sarah. If we’d been on the lectionary track last Sunday we would have heard the story of the covenant with Moses when the Israelites were given the gift of the Law. This week the Old Testament lesson is not so much about a new covenant as it is about the straining of a covenant. The people have been brought out of slavery in Egypt and are wandering in the wilderness toward the Promised Land. God has provided them with manna so they don’t starve on the journey. Their response: some variation on the novice’s first complaint: “Bad food.” They seem to be wondering whether God and Moses have brought them out on this journey in an elaborate plot to kill them.
They’ve complained before, and apparently this complaint is one too many for God to absorb on this occasion. In a move that reminds me of the classic threat of many an exasperated parent “If you don’t stop crying, I’m going to give you something to cry about,” God sends poisonous snakes into the community. The Lord’s response seems a bit overdone, if you ask me; all they were doing was complaining about the menu (manna today, more manna tomorrow). Whether God actually sent the snakes or the people just thought God sent the snakes, the fiery bites of the serpents speedily inspire repentance. Complaining? We are so over that.
God demonstrates that it was not the divine intention to kill the people, but to save them. The means of healing is wondrous strange. Moses is instructed to make a bronze serpent, put it on a pole, and have the people who have been bitten look at it. If they do so, they will live.
There are several aspects of this story that leave me scratching my head. One, the snakes are not dispatched. They are still around causing problems. Two, this looks an awful lot like making an idol per God’s specifications, which if I recall correctly was something the good Lord was/is very much against. Images of snakes were frequently worshiped by people in other cultures in those parts; why would the usually strict Yahweh encourage his own people in this direction? Three, it seems kind magicky. Four, the very thing that is causing trouble is the image they have to look at. Why not a smiley face on a stick, or the like?
Apparently I am not the only one scratching my head. The rabbis who commented on this text in the Hebrew Mishnah were also uneasy. They concluded ages ago that it was not the snake that healed but what looking at the raised snake caused the people to do. The Mishnah Rosh Hashanah explains: “Does the serpent either kill or sustain life? Rather whenever Israel looked upward and submitted their heart to their Father in heaven, they were healed.” The Wisdom of Solomon concurs: “The one who turned toward [the snake] was saved, not by the thing that was beheld, but by you, the Savior of all.” [1] It was about facing up to God in the background through the terrifying serpent in the foreground.
The Bible study students this week got a taste of the Wisdom of Stephen Soderland, when he suggested that the story makes a lot of sense in psychological terms. The reason it’s a snake on the healing pole—the image of the thing that was causing problems—was that humans must turn and face their fears if they want to rise above them. So true. It’s when we cannot face whatever we are afraid of that our fears themselves become more dangerous to us, leaving us paralyzed, as good as dead.
Does that psychological logic—the perception that we must turn and face our fears—hold true when we listen to the gospel for this week? In John’s gospel, Jesus, who is in the middle of teaching Nicodemus a lesson, uses the old story from Numbers to interpret the crucifixion. “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whosoever believes in him may have eternal life.” Is looking at Jesus on the cross akin to looking at the image of a poisonous snake on a pole?
Of course not! Beautiful Jesus, fairest Lord Jesus, beautiful savior…There is nothing analogous to a frightful, lethal serpent here. Is there?
Well…this is Christ on the cross we’re talking about. We on the Protestant side of the Christian family aren’t required to think about that as often as our Roman Catholic sisters and brothers who are confronted with the sight of a suffering Jesus in most of their sanctuaries. Protestant crosses are generally empty of suffering saviors. I’m not sure of the history of how or why our two branches of faith diverged on how our sanctuaries are decorated. I would have to say I generally appreciate the absence of a representation of the crucified Jesus in the places I worship; I prefer to meditate on the resurrection rather than the crucifixion. I find the images of suffering Jesus on crucifixes disturbing.
That may be because I’m just not used to looking at them. It may be because I find such images vaguely barbaric, to be perfectly honest. But reflecting on the texts this week made me think I may be merely avoiding an uncomfortable topic. If it is a natural human being thing to avoid what we fear—and I believe it is—then it is no wonder I don’t want to dwell on Christ on the cross.
Christ on the cross is a remarkable convergence of fearful things. The crucifixion represents all kinds of things human beings are afraid of. Mockery. Pain. Desertion of friends and family. Public humiliation. Being the victim of an unjust legal system. Hunger and thirst. Perishing dreams. Feeling abandoned by God. Long, drawn-out suffering. Persecution by a powerful oppressor. Despair. And the mother of all fears, Death itself.
The more I think about it, the more sense the gospel’s analogy makes—that Christ lifted up on the cross is like the serpent on a pole that Moses lifted up. All these fears, and the reality of suffering in our very human lives, are crawling among us inflicting their fiery bites. Avoidance is an understandable inclination. Yet the good news suggests that there is something healing about looking at Jesus lifted up and suffering on the cross; that we might look on this gruesome sight, and believe, and have life.
So what is it? How is seeing Christ lifted up in this way life-giving?
Many Christians would be quick to speak of the theology of atonement, the belief that Jesus paid the price for our sins with his life so that we would not be condemned to the death our sins so richly deserve. I respect that idea as a life-giving interpretation of Jesus’ crucifixion for many of my brothers and sisters. I personally don’t find atonement theology very meaningful, so I don’t promote it, but I don’t want to dismantle anyone else’s beliefs on this topic. If seeing the crucifixion as an act of love that paid for your sins so that you might have life is one of your cherished beliefs, bless you.
I do find meaning in Christ on the cross but not because I think of him paying the price for my sins. It is the vulnerability of Christ that moves me. The fact that Jesus was so loyal to his calling to show and tell God’s kingdom as an alternative way of life that he was willing to suffer and die rather than shut up and ship out is awesome to me. Jesus was a reformer and a liberator. His vision of the extravagant love that God wants us to live by was radical and revolutionary, not just for his day, but for any era of human history. His unwavering commitment to live by love alone was what got him into trouble with both the religious and political leaders. It’s his courage in the face of their persecution, his willingness to suffer for his mission that I find incredibly life-giving.
And even though I don’t relish dwelling on Jesus’ suffering, I believe that we miss out on a powerful dimension of Christian faith if we studiously avoid looking at it. There are at least two reasons I say this. First, in the suffering of Jesus we have a connection point between divine and human life. Part of what makes us human is that we inevitably suffer, some more than others. When Jesus suffers, it is a sign of his humanity; it is God identifying with what we go through. Jesus’ suffering is a mark of Christ’s oneness with us, God’s solidarity with us. Those who suffer, looking up at Christ on a cross, can be assured that God fully understands what it is like for us. It is one aspect of the beautiful mystery of incarnation, God taking on flesh, flesh that bruises and bleeds, in order to be with us, teach us, and lift us up.
Second--and this is something I’m not keen on but believe to be true—suffering itself can be redemptive. I have been studying and memorizing Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “Principles of Non-Violence” as my Lenten discipline this year. The fourth principle is a real challenge, and it’s the one I have been working with this week. Here it is: “Non-violence holds that suffering can educate and transform.” That is a truth with one fiery bite. The sub-points under Kings’ exposition of this principle are these: “Nonviolence accepts suffering without retaliation. Nonviolence accepts violence if necessary, but will never inflict it. Nonviolence willingly accepts the consequences of its acts. Unearned suffering is redemptive and has tremendous educational and transforming possibilities. Suffering has the power to convert the enemy when reason fails.”
Most of us don’t talk a whole lot about Jesus as an exemplar of non-violence. Didn’t Gandhi once say something about how everybody knows Jesus was non-violent except the Christians? Certainly Gandhi, Martin Luther King, and countless others have drawn inspiration from Jesus’ life and death as they have carried out acts of non-violent resistance to the powers that be. Among the many meanings of Jesus’ crucifixion is this: he resisted the Empire, he was tortured and killed because of it. He willingly accepted the consequences of his acts. For that reason his suffering continues to educate and transform.
There are implications, of course, for disciples. Namely, true discipleship may lead to suffering. We may be called, like Jesus, to put our lives on the line for an important cause. In less extreme situations, we may be led to choose self-sacrifice rather than self-indulgence as we spend our time, energy, money, and so forth. Suffering does not mean that discipleship has gone off the rails; it may, in fact, mean that we’re on the right track. That is a difficult truth to face. Kind of like a snake on a stick.
And yet it is a healing and life-giving truth. Eternal life, the eternal life that is promised in this gospel text is not just about duration of life. It’s not just about life after death. It is about quality of life, the quality and depth of this life, living in this earthly realm. Eternal life is life lived in the light of assurance of God’s indestructible love. Eternal life is life lived in the light of God’s compassion for our suffering, and God’s comforting touch on bruised bodies and souls. Eternal life is life lived in the light of God’s promise of resurrection. Eternal life is life lived in the light of courage, hope, joy, and purpose.
Christ Jesus came into the world not to condemn us but to save us. To save us from paralyzing fear, to save us from aimlessness and sin. Not to save us from suffering, but to offer us eternal life in the very midst of the gritty business of human living and dying. In the wilderness, God didn’t send the snakes away but redeemed the people by helping them to look up to the Eternal past the threat of present danger. God doesn’t remove from us what we most fear either, but through Christ’s death and resurrection helps us to see past present dangers to the light of eternity.
Suffering Jesus, beautiful Savior, give us the courage to face up to all our fears, live courageously, and see the dazzling light of eternal life behind the shadow of the cross.
[1] Quoted in “Snake on a Stick” by Patrick J. Willson, Christian Century, March 2, 1994, p. 223