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Leaving Midian, a sermon by Rev. Peter K. Perry A Sermon on Exodus 3:1-15 and Matthew 16:21-23 August 30, 2020 Take a deep breath and hold it in for a second or two longer than normal. Now let it out. This act of breathing in and out is what keeps you alive. And yet, ironically, it is the breathing in and out that spreads the tiny particles of the virus that has so rapidly paralyzed our world. And so we wear our masks and avoid crowded places, living in bubbles of isolation. But we cannot stop breathing. Lift up your hands face. Clinch your fists and relax them. Put your hands together in prayer. If you are with someone now, reach out and touch their hand. Our hands are can symbolize our strength, our prayers, our relationships. It is with our hands that many of us do work, embrace children, wipe away tears, extend hospitality to others. Yet it is our hands that spread the virus from surface to surface. But we cannot stop using our hands. Covid 19 has turned the world upside down in the past 8 months. Many of us have been able to create safe zones of existence where we can escape from a world where such fundamental human processes as breathing and touching have become fear-inducing behaviors. In our lives, in so many ways, willingly or kicking and screaming, we have learned to adapt. But I fear that we might get too comfortable in these places of retreat. I count my blessings every day because I know that there are many, many people who are not as well equipped to handle these days as I am. I am thankful to still have a job, one that with some moderate effort and adaptation I can do remotely. I am thankful that because of the job I have a place to live. I am thankful that when I shelter in place I do it with a life partner and I don’t have to feel lonely. I am thankful that I have access to the internet and can communicate across thousands of miles with my children and grandchild. I am thankful that there is food in our pantry, and clean clothes in our closet, and books on our shelves. I am thankful that I don’t have responsibility for school-aged children or infirm and housebound parents. I KNOW that there are millions upon millions who cannot say those things. Here’s the thing, folks. I am feeling a fair amount of angst over my ability to escape from the virus and so many of its impacts when so many people can’t. It’s not just the pandemic! This world of ours is hurting. There are the wildfires, and the hurricanes, and the boiling pot of racial unrest. There is the scourge of opioid addiction, the prevalence of mental illness, the wealth distribution inequality in our nation, the impact of generational poverty, and ultimately the fear of the collapse of American democracy. There’s gun violence on our streets and domestic violence in our homes. It is a bleak world out there, but hey... “I’m good.” I have found a way to survive, maybe even thrive. The pandemic isn’t the only source of anxiety for us, of course. Even before the pandemic hit, we all had our own issues weighing us down. Conflicts within and without the church, physical issues of health, emotional issues of heart. Everyone of us is broken in some way, right? Everyone of us is struggling to get it right, to figure life out, to live meaningful and fulfilling lives. Every one of us has things we hide in the back of our personal closet, things we avoid. A couple of years ago, I had to have some plumbing work done at the house that resulted in a hole in the drywall in the utility room. Rather than repair the drywall, I just stacked a couple of boxes in front of it. I hid the problem from view for over a year. Out of sight, out of mind. It took someone to complain a bit, to light a fire under me, before I finally got the project done. Speaking of lighting a fire, let’s take a look at this Moses story. Moses was minding his own business in Midian. Tending the sheep for his father-in-law Jethro. He had a history, you know. Moses, Prince of Egypt, saved from the bulrushes by Pharaoh’s daughter, a Hebrew child raised as royalty. Remember how he got to Midian? He killed an Egyptian taskmaster for abusing a Hebrew slave and had to flee. Now, it worked out pretty well for Moses. He found a good wife and a good life. But meanwhile, back in Egypt, bad things were still happening to God’s people. Moses knew it, but he counted himself lucky. He had escaped! But then Moses sees the burning bush. And he talks with God in the wilderness. God says, "Moses, my old friend, there are some things you need to take care of. I want you to go to Egypt. Deal with the problems." Actually, according to the scripture, what God said was, "I have seen the affliction of my people." Say that with me, church! “I have seen the affliction of my people.” God sees. God sees it all. Moses had been there. He had seen the affliction with his own eyes. He saw the problems, knew them first hand, and he ran away from them. It seems to me that there in the wilderness of Midian, Moses was having a crisis of conscience. It seems to me that God was speaking to Moses through his own guilt, anxiety, worry, sense of responsibility, hope for a better day. God has a habit of doing that. More often than not, if we listen to our conscience, it sounds an awful lot like God. This is the true miracle of the burning bush story: not that a living plant was burning without being consumed. No, the real miracle is that out there in the fields that day, God lit a fire under Moses. God shook him up, got him properly motivated, and set him to doing the right thing. Not just the right thing for Moses, but the right thing for all of us. Now Moses didn't want to go back to Egypt, despite the heat God was applying. So he came up with some excuses. Stumbling blocks, if you will. Barriers to getting the job done. "I'm not qualified, God." "I'm not eloquent, God." "Let someone else do it, God." I think we've all got a little bit of Moses in us. By that I mean, we've all got issues in our own life that we would rather not deal with. And by that I mean that we can all see some problems in the world that need to be fixed. And by that I mean that we all come up with excuses for NOT dealing with both our personal issues and the world's problems. We are happy in Midian, thank you very much. The New Testament lessons parallels this Moses story. In the reading, Jesus lets it be known that he needs to go to Jerusalem to take care of some important business and it’s not going to be pleasant. Indeed, he knows he is going to die. And Peter, loyal Peter, says to Jesus, "Don't go, Lord. Don't go. This can't happen to you. Stay here where it is safe." And Jesus says to Peter, those famous words, "Get thee behind me, Satan. You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things." Indeed, it is human nature to run from our problems, to avoid the important things that God would have us do! Even when God lights a fire under us, the way he did under Moses, we still find plenty of stumbling blocks … obstacles which get in the way of doing what God would have us do. At least I know I do. I've got my excuses, my stumbling blocks. I suspect they are very much like yours. There's the stumbling block of fear and uncertainty, fear of the dark, of the unknown. There is a story about a time when the electricity went out at the circus. The big cat trainer had just gotten into the cage with the tigers when the lights went out. Everyone held their breath. Several minutes later, when the lights came on, the trainer was still alive. He was interviewed by reporters who asked him, "How did that feel, to be in the cage in the dark with the tigers knowing they could see you but you couldn’t see them The tiger trainer's answer was this: "They didn't know I couldn't see them!... So I just cracked my whip and shouted commands." Sometimes responding to God's call for change in our lives and in our world seems like stepping into a dark cage full of tigers. We are afraid of the things we can’t see. Fear is a major stumbling block. And then there is the stumbling block that I will call the "Over- the-Hill" syndrome. I have to confess that this is increasingly a stumbling block I experience. "I've confronted enough demons already," we say. "It's someone else's turn.