13th Sunday after Pentecost
September 3, 2017
Exodus 1:15-2:10; Romans 12:1-8
One of the things I knew I was going to miss about
leaving Eastern Baltimore County was its proximity to the water. On the map, we were “this close” to the
water. In reality, you almost never saw it because houses lined the inlets of
the rivers and the bay. Going and being able to stare at water is something
that has always brought me peace. It doesn’t matter whether it’s an ocean or a
bay or a river, just sitting and looking out on the water brings calm to my
soul. Now, we were reminded again last week that water doesn’t always bring
healing. Hurricane Harvey brought record
amounts of rain to Texas and Louisiana, measured in trillions of gallons. Water can do damage. We know that full well.
Egypt knows that, too, as the Nile River used to flood yearly until they built
Aswan Dam. Yet Ancient Egypt also couldn’t live without the Nile River, as it was
their only source of irrigation for their crops. They counted on its annual
flooding in order to water the fields that were farther from the river. The
answer to the question of our last hymn this morning, shall we gather at the
river, really seems to be that it depends. If the river’s flooding, no, we
don’t really want to gather at the river. But if the river is the river of life
that flows by the throne of God, a river that gives life, then, yes, let us
gather with the saints at that river.
We read Moses’ birth story this morning, and you may have
noticed, he’s the only one with a name, but he’s not one of the main
characters. Everything happens to him and around him, which I suppose makes
sense, since he’s only a three month old baby. Continuing on from last week,
Pharaoh is still so incensed over these Israelites that oppression and slavery and
bitter labor aren’t harsh enough. He still feels so threatened by them that he
commands that all the baby boys be killed, in fact, thrown into the Nile River.
Yet there are some who fear God more than they fear the king, and two midwives get
around Pharaoh’s edict. They claim that the Hebrew women are in labor for no
time at all and the baby’s born before they arrive to help. Then, Moses’ mother
manages to have him in secret. However, by the time he’s three months old, she
can no longer hide him, and in her hope to save him, she turns to the river.
Other babies are being drowned there, but she fixes a waterproof basket, puts
Moses in it, and sets him among the reeds of the river. This river that is
being used to kill, she is hoping and praying will bring life for her baby.
Moses’ sister, Miriam, hides nearby to keep watch and see what will happen.
What happens next is that Pharaoh’s own daughter comes
down to the river to bathe. You get the impression that this isn’t the spot on
the river where they’re putting the baby boys. Yet Pharaoh’s daughter must have
known about that. She comes to the river that is being used to kill in order to
clean herself. There’s a little bit of irony in this, or perhaps it’s that
Moses’ mother and Pharaoh’s daughter both remember that the purpose of the Nile
is life-giving, even if Pharaoh is twisting it for his own purposes. Pharaoh’s
daughter finds the basket, correctly deduces that this baby must belong to the
Hebrews, and has compassion on the baby. Miriam sees the compassion and bravely
steps forward to offer to find a wet nurse. Pharaoh’s daughter agrees, and
Moses’ mother is hired as a wet nurse for her own son. You wonder if there was
any family resemblance among Moses, Miriam, and his mother? Pharaoh’s daughter probably
suspected. Yet she, too, goes around her father to make sure this baby boy
lives. Moses spends his early childhood with his biological family before being
brought back to Pharaoh’s daughter, who adopts him. And it’s Pharaoh’s daughter
who names him, Moses, because she drew him out of the water. Moses is similar
to the Egyptian word for water, and similar to the Hebrew word for “draw out.” It
adds some nice foreshadowing as Moses will one day draw the Hebrews out of
Egypt. And the river did turn out to be a life-giving, life-saving place for
baby Moses. His mother took a risk, and it paid off.
In the church, we also turn to water for our salvation. In
the waters of baptism we are marked, sealed, and named as Christ’s own. We
become a member of God’s family, and not just any member but a beloved child. Yet
in thinking about water in terms of life and salvation, we often think that
means water shouldn’t be a means of death, or it’s being used wrongfully when
it is. Water is necessary for life, and yet floodwaters are destructive. The
truth is that both life and death are found in baptism. Baptism is dying to our
old self, our old way of life, and being born again. The waters of baptism are
both death and life. In fact, “the
early church often built its baptismal fonts in the shape of tombs.”[1]
Nowadays we tend to gloss over more of that side of baptism, and focus more on
life and washing clean. For the early Christians, baptism meant a very definite
marking of ending their old way of life. They didn’t live the same way after
their baptism. Life changed. They
didn’t worship the Emperor. They became part of a persecuted minority. It was a
big deal to become a Christian. The waters of baptism are both death and life,
just like the Nile River.
In
his letter to the Romans, Paul wrote, “Offer your bodies as a living sacrifice,
holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship.”[2]
That is what happened to baby Moses and what happens in baptism. Moses’ mother
offered him, a tiny, helpless baby, with forces at work that could well mean
death and destruction for him. In a similar way, we offer ourselves as living
sacrifices, go through the waters of baptism, and come out on the other side.
It’s what happens when we come to church for worship; we offer ourselves again
to God, to be used by him, shaped by him, focused on him and not on ourselves.
That’s why it’s “our true and proper worship;” it’s focusing on God, not on our
needs, our wants, our preferences. Paul continued in his letter, “Do not
conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of
your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his
good, pleasing and perfect will.” Only through your own transformation are you
able to best discern God’s will. Transformation through baptism, through
worship, they shouldn’t leave you the same on the other side. Water washes away
and makes things new again. The early Christians had the symbol of the tomb for
their baptismal font; ours are often eight-sided, representing the eighth day
of creation and everything being made new. And the truth is, you need both to
get the full picture. Moses’ mother put him in the river not knowing what was
going to happen to him or who was going to find him. She just knew she had to
try something.
The last hymn we’re going to sing this morning, Shall We Gather at the River, was
written by a Baptist minister, Robert Lowry, during the Civil War. He felt that
there were too many songs focusing on the river of death and not enough on the
river of life that flows from the throne of God.[3]
That’s an image that comes from Revelation 22 and it captivated Robert Lowry. “The
angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing
from the throne of God and of the Lamb.” And Robert Lowry had the thought, “’Shall
we be among the privileged number who stand before the throne singing the praises
of the Savior?’ Then he answered his own question, ‘Yes, we'll gather!’”[4]
Moses’ mother and sister decided to gather at the river
and brought Moses with them. Pharaoh’s daughter decided to gather at the river.
The river of life, the river of death, both describe the Nile River. They’re
two sides of the same coin. It’s the same river. Water can mean redemption or
it can mean destruction. The Nile River was both. The Red Sea that the
Israelites crossed and Pharaoh’s army drowned in was both. Baptism is both.
Transformation is both. Pruning is both. Making room for new life and new
growth means something has to go for there to be room. Transformation means
you’re different afterward. Baptism means you’re different afterward, whether
your parents chose for you like Moses and those of us who were baptized as
babies, or whether you chose for yourself. It means we continually offer
ourselves to God as living sacrifices for God to do with us as he will. We offer
ourselves, just as Moses’ mother offered up him, not knowing what will come
next. We trust that it will be plans to prosper us and not to harm us, plans to
give us hope and a future. So, may we always gather at the river, where there’s
room enough for all, like God’s table. May we always remember its power to
transform, God’s power to transform. May we keep our eyes and our trust on him,
and not on ourselves.
My Dad and me on the Nile River in Egypt, ca. 1983. The Nile had again become a place of filth and destruction, full of Cairo's sewage. My Dad was among the corps of engineers who designed Cairo's first sewer system so that the wastewater would be treated before being dumped in the Nile.
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