Exodus 16,2-21

“WOULD THAT WE HAD DIED BY THE HAND OF THE LORD IN THE LAND OF EGYPT, WHEN WE SAT BY POTS FULL OF MEAT AND ATE BREAD TO THE FULL…”

This complaint of the people of Israel is striking, first of all because it was the people themselves who cried out to the Lord for help. Exodus 2:23 tells us that the Israelites cried out, and their cry from slavery rose up to God. They themselves wanted to leave Egyptian slavery; they themselves had begged for help—and now that God has freed them and is leading them to the promised land, they complain that they want to return to Egypt, to go back to baking bricks under the fifty-degree heat of an arid desert climate—at least they had food!

The story of Israel’s wandering in the desert (those forty years recounted in four of the five books of the Torah) is a constant back-and-forth of this kind. The people grow tired of something and want to return to Egypt or follow its example. When Moses goes up Mount Sinai, the people grow tired and want a god like those of the Egyptians. And now, as provisions run short, they complain and imagine themselves again as slaves—again under Pharaoh’s anger, again with their firstborn thrown into the Nile and the adults beaten with whips and rods.

Unfortunately, we ourselves must confess that we take part in the same spectacle. Far too often, we “grow tired” of being Christians: of having to carry our cross, of having to turn the other cheek, of having to keep God’s commandments while the rest of the world mocks us. We too are in our own desert—spiritual more than physical—and we too grow weary. Like the Israelites, we are tempted to think that, after all, the Egypt of sin was not so bad. Yes, we were slaves, but at least the burden felt more bearable. And so the world, the devil, and the flesh try to drag us back under Pharaoh’s fist in order to numb the pain.

Sometimes this is more obvious than at other times: many people, Christians and non-Christians alike, seek refuge in alcohol or pornography, just to feel a little less pain for a short while. At other times it is more subtle, but no less deadly: some harbor hatred and anger in their hearts and then unleash it like a volcano, devastating everyone around them, just to feel less pain. In this, social media often helps, hypnotizing us into a web of opinions and commentators who tell us whom to hate, whom to ostracize, whom to accuse… All of us must reckon with the fact that, in the short term, submitting to the forces of sin means feeling less pain.

Of course, in the long term, the situation is very different. Pharaoh would not have welcomed Israel back with open arms: he would have put them in harsher chains, punished them for the plagues, and perhaps even killed them. If we look at the long-term effects of sin, we see that they have nothing good to offer: they wear down relationships, consume our self-esteem (which we need, in a healthy measure, to live an honest life!), and fill us with anxiety and shame. And if we persist, if we do not repent, if we do not recognize the madness of it all, God responds in one of two ways. The better way is when He places obstacles before us again and again, so that by striking our heads against them we may come to our senses, recognize our folly, and repent. The worse way is when He gives us what we ask for: if we persist long enough, if we reject God often enough, there can come a point where He Himself gives us exactly what we want and leaves us to our sin, our blindness, our Egypt—as He did with Pharaoh.

Brothers and sisters, this is the greatest danger lurking in this valley of tears we call life. “All who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted,” says Saint Paul (2 Timothy 3:12), so the question is not whether we will suffer, but that we will suffer! And in the midst of this pain, it is very easy to give in to the anesthesia that the flesh offers, because (as we said a few weeks ago) there is nothing attractive about suffering. I have mentioned this before, but allow me to repeat it: we remember the apostles and martyrs with frescoes, songs, and hymns, but the reality is that most Christian martyrs did not have a glorious martyrdom, with visions, voices from heaven, and angels. Most Christian martyrs died with a single blow, were then thrown into a mass grave, and forgotten by the world.

This, dear brothers and sisters, is the suffering that awaits us Christians: not the heroic kind, not that of some celebrated figure in books and films, but that of an anonymous victim—a number, forgotten by history (though not by God). It has less “appeal” this way, doesn’t it? And in this pain, sin offers us a solution that is as easy as it is deadly. It is easy to abandon ourselves to anger, lust, hatred… until the time comes when we are asked to pay the price. It is easy to eat bread to the full, until the jailer comes and reminds us that we are in prison.

But I would like us to pay attention to the answer that the Lord gives to the people’s complaint. He does not justify it—and indeed, at other times He will be much harsher with their complaints. It is a foolish complaint, from a foolish people (like us), who do not remember what slavery is like. Yet He answers: “I have heard the complaints of the children of Israel. Say to them: ‘In the evening you shall eat meat, and in the morning you shall be filled with bread, and you shall know that I am the Lord your God.’” Even in the face of the greatest foolishness of sinners, the Lord does not forget His compassion. The Psalms teach us that “as a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear Him. For He knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust” (Psalm 103:13–14). The Lord has more compassion on us than we have on ourselves. We would put ourselves back under slavery; the Lord wants to lead us out of it, taking us by the hand. And He is not at all unaware of how difficult it is to cross this desert—He Himself crossed it in Christ!

God does not excuse our complaints; He recognizes that they are foolish. But as a father is patient with the complaints of a small child (which are often unreasonable), so God is patient with ours. He does not excuse our complaints, but He sends down bread from heaven. He does not excuse our sin, but He forgives it every time we come to lay it at His feet. He knows that this is a difficult desert, and He gives us the weapons to face it: He gives us the Holy Spirit, the Word and the Sacraments, the Church and the fellowship of brothers and sisters. All this does not make the desert disappear, but it gives us the strength to cross it until we reach Canaan.

We are in the desert, brothers and sisters, but our God walks before us. In times past He was in a pillar of fire and cloud; now He is a person, a man—Jesus Christ. We are a people on a journey through the desert, but we have a better Moses than the old one—a divine Moses, a Moses ready to give us the bread of heaven whenever we ask Him, a Moses ready to forgive us whenever we beg Him, even if we were to sin seventy times seven each day, because He knows what we are made of—He remembers that we are dust. Let us be on guard against the seductions of sin, which tries to offer us anesthesia against the pain of this life. But let us keep our eyes fixed on Jesus: from Him comes and will come every strength, every help, every support—against pain, against temptation, against our sins. Let us keep our gaze fixed on our Moses who goes before us, and we will never lack help. Amen.