A sermon by the Rev. Charles James Cook, Class of 1974 and Professor of Pastoral Theology, delivered on March 3, 2005, in Christ Chapel.

"First, you get thirsty. You wake up thinking about water. You go to bed thinking about water. You walk, talk, and eat thinking about water. You dream of water. You wonder, 'Do I have enough water? Am I drinking enough water? Where is the water?' But you stay calm. You know water. You know how much water you need. Twelve liters a day. Or is that thirteen? And what if it's hot? Does that mean more? What if it's windy? Does that mean less? Just drink. Drink when you're thirsty. Because, if you're thirsty, it's too late. And you're thirsty, so that's bad. But you know yourself. And you know water. So you tell yourself, 'I can go longer than most people.' But you're wrong. Everybody needs water. Needs it now. Go wandering in the desert, for days, weeks, or forty years at a time, and water becomes the most important thing, the only thing. Water becomes life. Becomes salvation…or as God puts it in Isaiah 55, 'Oh, all you who thirst, come to the waters…incline your ear and come to me.'"

Those words are written by Bruce Feiler, and they shape the lead paragraph in a chapter from his remarkable book, Walking The Bible. The chapter bears the title "Wandering" and it is an account of his own retracing of the steps of God's chosen through the wilderness; a personal encounter with the simmering heat of the desert. Nothing tests like the wilderness, for it brings out the most basic instincts to physically survive, and it demands creativity and imagination. It also tests something else. Thousands of years later, after the Israelites first wandered through the rock and heat, the appeal of the desert remains the same. As Feiler so appropriately states -- "By its sheer demands -- thirst, hunger, misery -- it asks a simple question: 'What is in your heart?' Or put another way, 'In what do you believe?' Go there, physically or metaphorically, and you will be pursued, if not haunted, by those questions."

All ministry begins with the hope of unlimited possibility. There must have been a time when Moses, leading the people out of bondage, through the Red Sea, and safely to the shoreline on the other side, fairly danced with enthusiasm as he delivered homily after homily on the Promised Land. "Wait and see, there will be shade trees, grapes for the harvesting, and boundless supplies of milk and honey. For once, we'll have the luxury of dreaming great dreams, acting on them, building all we need -- not just for survival but for living -- and the promise originally given to Abraham and Sarah will be ours." From maintenance to mission. Moses, their new rector, called by some mysterious search committee, who came calling at an unexpected moment in time, and while not even having completed a deployment profile, he still got the job. And so the people followed, the search committee beamed with satisfaction, and they all crossed over -- risking the future.

The period known as the "honeymoon" between a new rector and a congregation can be either relatively short or long in duration. In Moses' case, we might say that it was non-existent. After all the hoopla, the early excitement of making the transition, they all stood together, looking out into the unknown. There were no shade trees, no grapes, nor any milk and honey. There was a vast wilderness, as far as the eye could see, and little else. Moses pulls himself together, remembers something about being a non-anxious presence in an anxious environment, and decides to administer a little pastoral care. The words he spoke may not have been all that encouraging, but they would have to suffice. He told his congregation that there was indeed a Promised Land, but in order to get there, they would have to make their way through the desert. Going back to Egypt would not be an option. The people reluctantly nodded in agreement. The search committee sighed. The flock, with not a small amount of fear and trembling, forged ahead, following their leader, while wondering why. There are rocks in the road from some place called promise to a destination named fulfillment.

There is that moment in ministry -- somewhere on the far left edge of the honeymoon -- when two things happen. First. It is a chilly Monday morning in the pastor's study. The Sabbath had not gone well -- the liturgy had been a bit ragged and the response to the homily less than fulfilling. Critics now outnumber admirers. Moses carefully takes the parish profile from the middle desk drawer-the one with the glossy cover, whose content contained pages of pictures of a happy, thriving and active congregation. The search committee had placed it in his hands early on and he had kept it all this time. He reads the description that the people fashioned about themselves -- "We are a warm, loving and caring community" -- it begins, and then he closes the booklet; then shuts his eyes. He gives himself permission to bask in the darkness and he whispers, "They didn't tell the truth!" "They lied, just so I would agree to come here!" "The demands are too great -- first they want bread, and when that isn't enough they want water, and then something more -- the demands are simply too great." "Don't they know that I can't do this all by myself?"

Second. Outside, probably in a parking lot, the congregation's leaders are gathering. It is the meeting after the meeting, so to speak. There are rumors about Moses' inability to lead -- but mostly there is murmuring -- born of impatience, uncertainty, and not a small amount of fear. The old search committee knows that in order to save face, they must now go and ask the question. "Are you the one who is to come or shall we look for another?" Maybe it's not a good match. Surely there is someone else who can lead us out of this wilderness into a more comfortable and compatible place.

It is this particular moment -- on the far left edge of the honeymoon -- when the pastoral leader despairs and the congregation murmurs -- that both death and life present themselves. Choose the first, and you might as well go back to Egypt. Choose the latter, and you have at least a shot of getting a glimpse of the Promised Land. But to choose the latter is to have made the more difficult choice. To get to the Promised Land, you have to decide to stay with the tension, learn how to live together, and not only find what manna and water there might be-but to share it along the way. The choice is difficult because you have decided to stay in the desert -- make the pilgrimage through the wilderness -- in order to see the promise fulfilled. Intentionally choosing the wilderness as a place to be is not the natural thing to do, but if you want to get to the Promised Land, you've got to learn how to live there. Both Moses and the People of God had to come to terms with that reality. The reality has everything to do with coming to terms with openly acknowledging one's own vulnerabilities -- that is true for pastoral leaders and that is true for pastoral followers. Thus, the wilderness requires collaboration -- a healthy dependence on one another, and on God.

One of the wonderful, and rather challenging images for the church in our own time, endorsed by many, is the image of a church in exile. I like that image -- and given contemporary cultural conditions, and the place of religious communities within it, there is much to draw on, using this analogy -- not to mention the rich prophetic witness that accompanies such an experience. But I would like to suggest that the wilderness experience -- rooted in desert spirituality and the liberating themes of exodus may be equally, if not more important for this age. The church on pilgrimage, the sojourning community on the move, has always appealed to me more than the church in captivity -- mainly because I have a suspicion that if we are held captive by anyone or anything -- we usually discover at the end of the day that we are the ones who have imprisoned ourselves. These distinctions are true for seminaries, parishes, dioceses, synods, provinces, and ultimately in the higher councils of this holy Communion. Can we intentionally choose to live in this wilderness time, embrace the reality of the experience, and dare to be creative and imaginative enough to make the pilgrimage together? We can only respond in the affirmative if we as pastoral leaders and followers acknowledge that we can not do this alone -- we need each other -- and we need God's sustaining and life-giving spirit. Surely, this is foundational in understanding the connection between Moses and Jesus of Nazareth. Both were called to be liberators and both understood that there is infinitely more power in becoming the people of God rather than God's single person.

Barbara Brown Taylor has this to say about Jesus own understanding of the need for God and one another in working to bring the kingdom a little closer to reality:

"At church, the loser shows up right above the altar. If success [as a leader] was ever on his list of things to do, then it was not the kind that anyone around him had much use for. Once, in the presence of large crowds, he blessed the poor in spirit, the mournful, the hungry and the reviled. Some of the people who fell into those categories no doubt wished he had done something to improve their conditions instead of saying grace over them. But I am guessing that there were others who were vastly relieved to hear that there was nothing deeply wrong with them." In drawing close to his presence, and hearing his words, they knew in their hearts that his work was their work -- they would walk through life's wilderness together.

One last word on pastoral leadership in a time of sojourning in the wilderness. Moses never got into the Promised Land. He watched the people of God, his community, the ones he led, cross over. In the light of Jesus' life, death and resurrection, we still wait for the fulfillment of God's reign. Pastoral leadership always remains unfinished, and incomplete. Some day, the Divine Mystery will complete the task. Our role is to faithfully make the journey -- as a community -- helping each other find the manna and water along the way. Mindful of that, and trusting in God's care, this work to which we are called cannot fail.

Resources:
The Holy Bible. New Revised Standard Version. Exodus 17:1-7
EXODUS. The Anchor Bible Commentary.
Feiler, Bruce. Walking The Bible. William Morrow Publishing. 2001
Taylor, Barbara Brown. The Christian Century. "Faith Matters". February 22, 2005.