Texts: Numbers 21:4-9; Ephesians 2:1-10; John 3:14-21
I like the story of the school principal whose tongue had a habit of getting him into a bit of strife. It was sometimes quicker than his brain – particularly when provoked. And, of course, when you have a job like his provocation is never very far away. He had often told his wife of this great difficulty, and one day when she was out shopping she found just the thing to help him.
It was a large wall poster, showing a head with two hands firmly across the mouth; and underneath, in very large black letters, the caption read, “Don’t say it!” He professed himself delighted with the gift, took it to school and stuck it on the wall opposite his desk. From time to time his wife would ask how things were going and he would assure her that the poster was doing the trick. Every time he was tempted to say something he might afterwards regret, he had only to look at the poster and he was able to resist the temptation.
But some weeks later his wife came to pick something up from his office, and noticed that the poster was nowhere to be seen. He confessed that he had taken it down some weeks earlier. When asked why he explained that he had found it “too inhibiting”. That story rings true to us because it shows us our human nature as we know it to be.
But what does this very old and rather weird story in our first lesson today show us? At its surface level it doesn’t seem to tell us much that we can relate to. Scholars tell us it is a very old story, and it may have been removed from its original context, and changed many times in the course of the oral tradition behind it. All of which gets us where? It still comes across to us as more about superstition than religious faith, doesn’t it?
But what if we dig a little deeper? The Israelites, having been miraculously released from slavery in Egypt by the direct intervention of their God, should have been filled with wonder, awe, praise and thanksgiving. Faced with such a marvellous demonstration of their God’s love and care and power, their faith in that God should have been rock-solid, their reciprocal love for God unfailing. But they, too, were all too human. When things were going well, their faith held. When things went wrong, their faith crumbled.
So the context of this story is one of growing impatience, with some justification. Wandering in the desert is no fun. In intellectual terms it might be more fun than working as slaves in Egypt, but it doesn’t feel like that at the time. They had hoped to be given safe passage through Edom, but this had been denied them, so they are once again on a trek to nowhere in the middle of the desert. They grow impatient, and they turn against God and against Moses. Their liberation now becomes the source of their complaint. “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the desert?” And the wonderful free gift of manna from heaven is also rejected. “There is no bread! There is no water! And we detest this miserable food.”
In short, they have lost their faith or trust in God. Then come the snakes. The text says that God sent them. We have some difficulty with that idea. It doesn’t seem to sit well with our view of God; but there may be another way of looking at it. Maybe in retrospect it seemed to be a real blessing, in the same way that people have sometimes come to see that some terrible event has proved to be a blessing in disguise. In this case the snakes, sent or not, had the effect of bringing the Israelites to repentance. They say to Moses, “We sinned when we spoke against the Lord and against you.”
So far, so good. Then comes the next strange element about this story. They ask Moses to pray that God will now take away the snakes, and Moses does so. But God does not take away the snakes; instead, he instructs Moses to make a bronze snake and put it on a pole. Whenever people are bitten by real snakes, they only have to look at this bronze imitation and they will live. If we are to take the story literally, then it is a very strange one indeed. But perhaps it means that, in trouble, we are to renew our trust in God, rely on God’s promises, to be saved. The bronze snake is to operate rather like the school principal’s poster as a reminder to hold their tongue and resist temptation.
To look at the snake is an act of faith. It makes no logical sense. In worldly terms it is utter foolishness. How can looking at some sort of talisman on a pole possible save anyone from the poisonous effects of a snake-bite? How could a poster on a wall keep a school principal quiet? And yet, both worked. The poster worked so well the principal took it down. Psychology can explain all that to us. The bronze snake worked because it represented God’s promise. Only theology can explain all that.
Which gets us to the Cross. How does that work? Well, our gospel reading this morning tells us that in one sense it works in much the same sort of way as the bronze snake. Jesus himself draws the analogy. “Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the desert, so the Son of Man must be lifted up, that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.” Again, the test is belief in the promises made. As St Paul was quick to say to the Corinthians, in a worldly sense the Cross is utter foolishness. What makes it life-giving is the faith we have that through the Cross we are saved from the serpent’s venom. We do not understand it, but we believe it because that is what we have been promised by our Lord himself.
And as this is the day for believing incredible things, let’s turn to this extraordinary passage from the Letter to the Ephesians. Learned people today will tell you that St Paul did not write this letter, and they will cite all sorts of historical and linguistic evidence to support their case. Who did write it then? Well, they say, a close disciple or follower of St Paul . How do we know that? Because it is entirely consisted with St Paul ’s teaching. Which is why I continue to refer to the author of this letter as St Paul .
Only St Paul had the extraordinary breadth of vision shown in this letter, and shown no more brilliantly than in today’s second lesson. And the key to this passage is surely to be found in St Paul ’s use of the past tense. He is talking to baptised Christians, remember, but look at what he is saying to them and to us. He is not making any promises to them about what God will do in the future – at the Parousia, or whenever. He is talking to them about what God has already done. And what is that? God has already saved them from death. God has already made them alive with Christ. And while we are still trying to get our heads around that, St Paul hits us with this: “And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms.” What on earth (so to speak) are we to make of that?
It surely means that our destiny is to spend eternity in the presence of God. All that was necessary to bring that about has been done And in the spiritual realm – in the realm outside time and space – it is already reality. Our Exodus from the slavery of sin and weakness has already taken place. It was achieved by God through Jesus Christ in the power of the Spirit. All we need to do is believe it, remember it, and live our lives accordingly.
The question for us this Lent and always is, do we want to? Do we want to live our lives looking always at the Cross as the ultimate reminder of all that God has already done for us?
Or would we find that too inhibiting?
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