Preached at The Cathedral of St. Philip, Atlanta
I got pretty excited when I read today’s passage from Exodus. That may seem like a strange response to a story of people misbehaving—so much so that God tells Moses that the creator of heaven and earth has HAD IT.
But this story reminds me of one of the most beautiful practices of the Hebrew tradition—arguing with God. Not arguing with God like a petulant child who refuses to eat her vegetables… but arguing with God out of relationship and love and devotion and faith.
Moses does this in our lesson for today because Moses knows that this almighty and changeless God has the capacity and willingness and graciousness to change the divine mind.
That sounds like a contradiction, doesn’t it. That a changeless God would change the divine mind? But what is changeless about God is God’s presence and character—not God’s ability to change God’s mind.
Because the nature of God is relationship—the Blessed Trinity—Father, Son and Holy Spirit—God cannot by nature be some rigid, static, stagnant entity. There is a fluidity to God that can only be comprehended in the context of relationship.
We are created by God to be in relationship with God. And because we are created in God’s image, God’s nature in us is relationship. Even if we prefer to be alone, we are always in relationship because we are always with God.
And relationships shape us. Right? We can’t be in relationship with a building or a chair or a golden calf. Because there’s no back-and-forth. No empathy. No love. No growth. Indeed Moses arguing with God highlights the difference between the God of all creation and the false god the Israelites had constructed in the golden calf.
Moses reminds God who God is—a merciful God who is slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. And God listens. And God is moved to compassion.
How many of you have argued with someone you love? It’s different from arguing with a stranger at a stop light or on the internet, right? Not that any of us would know anything about that. Arguing with someone you love requires trust in the unconditional love that you share.
Do you have that kind of relationship with God? Can you wrestle with God like Jacob did? Can cry out to God, “Where are you God! How long must I go on like this!” like so many psalmists have done? Can you respond to God like the woman in Gospels who, when Jesus denies healing for her daughter, talks back in faith that Jesus can and will heal her child?
I think sometimes we focus so much on God’s omnipotence, wisdom, power and might—that we forget how God chooses to reveal Godself in the person of Jesus. We forget that our omnipotent and mighty God chose weakness and vulnerability for the sake of love and relationship with us. God chose to gestate in a womb, nurse at a breast, be carried on a hip, crawl, walk and run, cry, suffer, and die. Our God is so much stronger than a golden calf because our God chooses vulnerability alongside might.
It is because of this chosen vulnerability that our constant and changeless God is not an unmoved mover, but a God moved by our joy and our suffering.
Let that truth sink in a little. God is always God. Yes.
And God is always with you.
And God is always love.
And this almighty God is moved by you. Out of love for you.
Not a golden calf, not an unmoved mover, but a God who sees you and hears you and is moved by you.
This is why God would move mountains in search of you. This is why God would turn a house upside down and rejoice when finding you. Because you are nor more a pawn in some game than God is a golden calf. No, you are a child of God created in the image of God deeply loved by God.
So pray like it. Use your biggest voice and your truest words to pray brave unfiltered prayers. Wrestle with God, argue with God, cry out to God, talk back to God, even as you rejoice with God, and praise God, and love God. Because this loving relationship can take it.
And no, not all your prayers will be answered in the ways you would like. You’ll still get hurt, and the people you love will also hurt. There will still be things to grieve. But when you grieve them, you’ll grieve alongside God, knowing your grief moves God, and that will move you too.
I hope you’ll take some risks in how you talk to God this week. I hope, first, that you will talk to God! And I hope you’ll approach God with the same vulnerability that God extends to us. It’s a brave thing, it’s a bold thing, and we are bold to pray.
Amen.
lauren laughs 