Carolyn L Roberts
March 2006
Numbers 21.4-9 26, John 2.1-21

When I was in high school, our youth group began a tradition of a week-long work camp every summer. We camped out in tents, made our own meals, taught Bible School in the morning, did some sort of physical work-from digging latrines to painting churches-in the afternoon, and had vespers around the campfire-with lots of singing-in the evening. Our first work camp was high in the mountains in the Idaho panhandle, so there were lots of the highway signs for curves ahead. You know the ones-a squiggly arrow usually pointing up. The road we drove daily also had a number of shallow troughs cut in it about 4-5 inches wide. Presumably, these were to channel water during heavy downpours, but it wasn't long before the group decided the curve signs-plus two dots at the head of the arrow for eyes- were a snake symbol, and the road cuts were the snake crossings. If we ever saw a snake during our entire time in Northern Idaho, it wasn't a memorable experience. For us, the snake was merely an "in" symbol, a symbol that united our group that particular week, and continued as a playful sign of that work camp experience long after the last campfire turned cold.

For the Exodus people, the Israelites on their seemingly endless journey through the wilderness, snakes hold an altogether different meaning: they have the power to destroy. That much is obvious-or so we think. But because we come from such a different time and culture, much about this story is not obvious. The writer tells us at the very beginning that the Israelites are impatient, speaking out against both Moses and God. After all, they have buried Aaron, their priest. They have had their first glimpse of the promised land. Impatience is palpable. "How much longer?" "Are we there yet?" "I can't stand another bite of manna." "I'm thirsty!" Each of us knows that frame of mind. The speech is whiney. It belittles the hearer and debases the speaker. And then the Israelites encounter something to really complain about: they find snakes-or snakes are finding them.

Once again, we find ourselves reading a story with at least two levels of meaning. In close enough physical proximity, a poisonous snake definitely can be life-threatening. But there is also a second level of meaning. In the course of their Exodus journey, these wandering Israelites encounter various religious traditions, including those of the Canaanites. The Canaanites' god is Baal, a fertility god, and the serpent is part of Canaanite worship. The serpents that attack the cantankerous Israelites are described as 'poisonous' or 'fiery,' which are both meanings of the Hebrew word seraph. The word can also mean 'to burn.' It's the same word used to describe the winged seraphim in Isaiah's vision (Isaiah 6); seraphim who have the ability to destroy and to purify the prophet. So literally, coming face to face with a poisonous snake can be a destructive or a purifying experience. And spiritually, an anxious, disgruntled, short-of-soul people-as the Hebrew translates-are just as vulnerable to the destructive enticements of lesser gods as they are to the venom of the viper. Spiritually, these Israelites are get so caught up in what's for dinner, they fail to give thanks that they have dinner.
Spiritually, they are not that far removed from John's Nicodemus. Those in the Lenten group, The Heart of Christianity, studied today's classic text of rebirth just this last week. Since it's in the gospel according to John, we're not surprised to find that the story also carries more than one level of meaning. Nicodemus is in the dark, so of course he shows up at night. He comes to the light-Jesus-but he can't see it. He's attracted something, but doesn't 'get it.'So when Jesus tells him that no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above, Nicodemus is...still in the dark. He is such a literalist that Jesus marvels that he can be a teacher. Jesus' speech about being born from above-and born anew-and born again-all nuances of the same Greek word-suggests that spiritual birth is vital to our place in God's realm.[2] But then Jesus continues, using the image of Moses lifting up the serpent in the wilderness. The source of destruction becomes the icon for healing. It's the genius of Alcoholics Anonymous, but it takes countless forms.

This past week, John was the guest speaker at the Baltimore Jewish Council, addressing UCC perspectives on peace between Israel and Palestine. For those who are unaware of that history, the United Church of Christ is the first Protestant denomination to work intentionally with our Jewish sisters and brothers in reviewing UCC curriculum to present our faith story in a way that is free from the scourge of anti-Semitism. The commitment to the right for Israel to exist as a recognized nation, within safe and secure borders spans decades.

At the same time, the United Church of Christ has gone on record repeatedly for equal rights for the Palestinians. Most recently, at our 25th General Synod in Atlanta this summer, the UCC voted to condemn the wall Israel is building through the occupied Palestinian territories. We also voted as a denomination to use what leverage we have-including economic divestment or strategic re-investment to increase the pressure against Israel's systemic ghettoization of the Palestinian peoples. To say that the Baltimore Jewish Council is opposed to such economic pressures is an understatement.

So you understand something of the context within which John was speaking. He was there along with his Presbyterian counterpart, Peter Nord. The panel included two rabbis who responded to John and Peter. The rabbi's summary comments were to the effect that John was idealistic and naive. But because John has been in Israel and portions of Palestine, because John has witnessed first-hand the daily indignities of the border crossing checkpoints, the harassment of the Palestinians, the economic strangulation of the peoples, he could not be dismissed entirely. It was as he was leaving, in one of those infamous parking-lot conversations that a woman came up to him. "I'm a Holocaust survivor," she said. "Thank you for your voice, your witness."

John's testimony was given as a person of faith to a community of faith. That community does not necessarily agree with all aspects of his testimony. But as the woman's comments indicate, the disagreement is not unanimous. Because John took the risk of testifying to what he has seen, even to an audience that was not entirely receptive, he was blessed by this poignant sign of God's grace. But God's grace does not end there.
I do not believe that God sent the snakes to kill off disgruntled Israelites. I don't believe God sent the tsunami or the many hurricanes that impact our southern shores as some sign of divine displeasure. Nor do I believe that God did anything but weep at the abhorrent inhumanity we call the Holocaust. But I do believe that God is present with us throughout every wilderness journey, whether or not it is of our own making. And I believe that even the most horrific of these journeys hold within them the icons that can become the symbol of our healing. For those peripatetic Israelites, that symbol became a snake and a rod. For we Christians, it became a cross. For an unnamed Holocaust survivor, it has become the tearing down of a wall. When we speak of what we know, when we testify to what we have seen, we talk the walk and give witness to God's grace.