Trail Mix

1 Corinthians 10:1-14
Third Sunday of Lent

I came to the conclusion this year, that I’m not supposed to give up anything up for Lent.  For the past couple of seasons, I had been taking up a fast, but this year I’ve gone in the other direction.  I don’t mean gluttony; I mean I’ve taken up a practice rather than giving something up.  God put a spiritual practice on my heart at the beginning of Lent and, sure enough, it’s been a very meaningful experience.  

Frankly, I was a little relieved in the direction God led me.  There’s no way around the fact that, no matter how meaningful your particular fast is, after forty days, it gets to be a drag.  I’m not going to advertise what my Lenten practice is, but I can tell you it’s a lot more fun than giving something up… most things are.  

Now, having said that, I would certainly not want to discourage anyone from a fast if that’s where God leads you.  There are important lessons in giving things up as a spiritual journey.  The big lesson, of course, is in seeking God’s order of things.  Giving up a thing, even basic thing like food, for a specified time, helps us to remember where those good things come from; it helps us remember that our devotion to God is always more important than the thing.  A fast reminds us that there is a fine balance between the things we want and the things that God wants for us.  Those lists can often have the same items on them, but they are never the same list.  It is good for us to sometimes remember that God’s list is always better.  

Understanding the difference between what God wants for us and what we want is central to our Scripture lesson today.  I admit, that may be a tricky point to find; as perfect as this may be for us this Lenten Season, this is an odd lesson.  It’s odd, first of all, because Paul is making a point based on the Exodus story; a story his readers may not have been very familiar with.  Keep in mind, this was Corinth: what made this church so complicated—so complicated, there’s also a 2 Corinthians—was how diverse a city it was.  This complex mix of cultures, identities, and histories (as you might imagine) were tricky to pull together into one faith community.  So Paul does an interesting thing: he assumes them all into his family.  

It’s not surprising.  We do it all the time; I feel I’ve been doing it more than ever lately.  I’ve been learning a model for what the church does and is that’s quite a bit different from how we’ve been doing it.  I think it’s a lot more like how Jesus intended, but somehow we’ve gotten away from it.  You see, I’m starting to think that Jesus didn’t come into the world to form a religion; I think he came to build relationships.  The church, then is simply about building and fostering relationships; here in this place and in the world.  It’s a wonderful thing to discover and we’ll be talking more about it as we go.  

But more to the point of our lesson today: Paul is simply taking this complex mix of complicated people and inviting them to be family.  Like I said, we do it all the time: we make a new friend and we find our common ground.  We create a united culture through our unique pasts.  We share our experiences and create values that connect through those experiences.  A smaller example might be: say you liked watching the TV show The Office and then find out I liked watching The Office.  We never watched The Office together, but it’s a thing that we share and whatever values we took from it become our shared experience.  

In a bigger way: Paul tells this story—and tells it as if it’s the story of “our ancestors,” even when it’s not the story of our ancestors—but it’s still our shared experience.  It is a story that has created the relationship and culture we share.  

Which actually highlights another odd thing about this story: because Paul is using this historical-story as an allegory.  It’s a preaching technique.  He’s taking this story from Israel’s biblical-history, he makes it our shared story, then he takes elements from that story and uses them as object lessons.  

If you look closely, you’ll notice there are two contrasting narratives that he points to from the Exodus story: there’s what God has done for the people of God; and then there’s what the people chose for themselves instead.  

Paul takes a few liberties with the first part.  Again, it’s a preaching technique, but he’s not wrong: he’s making the point that what God did for the Israelites in the wilderness, are the same things God continues to do for the church today.  Instead of a pillar of smoke and fire to lead the people and remind them of God’s constant presence, we have the Holy Spirit.  Instead of the baptism through the Red Sea to escape death and captivity by the Egyptians, we have the baptism of eternal life through the death and resurrection of Jesus.  Instead of manna from heaven, we have the Body of Christ.  Instead of water from a rock, we have his Blood.  In all of the ways that God has provided for the people, God continues to provide these things for and more.  But here’s the thing: if God continues to do what God has always done, what about us?  Maybe we might continue to do the same things too.  

What Paul will call it is “idolatry”; but the profound part of it is, he’s not just talking about bowing down to a golden calf.  Their idolatry took a lot of different shapes—and of course, the point we’re meant to hear is that it still does.  Their idolatry started way before they melted their earrings down into the shape of a cow.  Their idolatry started like it always does: by putting own wants and desires over and above the will of God.  Their idolatry, at first, just looked like immorality.  Their idolatry at first put God to the test.  Their idolatry, at first, led them to complain.  

I miss my friend Steve; I may have told you about him.  He was the guy, when you’d ask him how he was doing, he’d always say the same ridiculous thing.  “How you doing, Steve?”  

“Can’t complain, even if I wanted to!”  And that would be his answer, no matter his circumstance.  You could visit him when he had the flu: “Can’t complain,” hack, puke, “even if I wanted to.”  

I made fun of him for it sometimes.  I told him he wasn’t even trying.  I told him he just wasn’t being creative; I can find things to complain about even when there wasn’t anything to complain about.  He’d just laugh it off as if to say, “Don’t worry about it, kid.  You’ll figure it out someday.”  

Of course, he was right.  Eventually I would figure it out.  Eventually, I would come to understand that, by not complaining, he was making an active choice to avoid his own self-centered idolatry.  He was shaping his mind to see what God was providing for him, instead of only seeing what he lacked.  I don’t know if that’s how he would describe it; I wish he was alive so I could ask him.  Like I said, I miss my friend, Steve.  

The point is today: what are we going to choose along this journey; and I don’t just mean this Lenten journey.  What are we going choose to feed upon, as it were, along this journey?  Will we be nourished by what God provides?  Will we trust, when it seems that God’s choice for us to go hungry?  Or will we make for ourselves, ourselves as an idol?  

This is one of those sermons that ends with more questions than answers.  As we talked about a couple of weeks ago, temptation is complicated because it takes shape differently in each of us; it’s exactly the same with the temptation toward idolatry.  

So I would challenge you—perhaps this morning, perhaps throughout the week—to consider various areas of your life.  Consider what in those areas is God providing for you and what in those areas are you trying to provide for yourself.  Think about it in terms of things like your finances, the things you buy and the things you’re willing to give away.  Your health, both emotional and physical: what does God want for you and how is that different from what you want for you?  In your relationships: how does God want you to care and be cared for?  Think about your hobbies; think about your job; think about what you’re going to make for dinner.  You see where this is going, right?  

We have a choice; we always have a choice.  We can remember and rely on the power and the providence of our loving God or we can make this life all about us.  As Paul reminds us today: history shows us that that making it about us never works out well.  Let us trust in our Risen Savior, let us seek to do his will, and may we be satisfied by the ways he cares for us every day.