Water in the Desert

October 1, 2023 / reverendjoannwhite / 2 Comments

Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Water in the Desert” Exodus 17:1-7

We all complain from time to time. I know I complained about all the rain we got this summer. It turned the community garden into a swamp, made some of my favorite trails mud bowls, and had me living in my raincoat. I felt like webbing would soon be sprouting between my toes, and I was weary of drying the tummy of our very short puppy. Perhaps you gripe about your spouse forgetting to take the garbage out, or the kids putting the juice carton back in the fridge with barely a sip in it, or your boss never being on time for anything. Researchers have found that we typically complain twenty to thirty times every day.

Complaint can be useful. Behaviorists say that instrumental complaint is goal oriented and change seeking. Think about those brave parents who lost children to gun violence at the Sandy Hook Elementary School. They have gone on to become effective spokespeople and lobbyists for tougher gun laws. Think about Greta Thunberg and other youthful climate activists, who are heightening global awareness of climate change. These practitioners of instrumental complaint speak out about painful realities in ways that bring change.

But for some people complaint can become a deeply ingrained habit that fails to see the good in anything. Behaviorists call this mode of chronic grumbling expressive complaint. These are complaints that aren’t in search of a solution; instead, they are a bid for attention, affirmation, or sympathy. We all have encountered people who are chronic complainers, dissatisfied with their experience and eager to tell us all about it.

If you are a longtime Saturday Night Live fan, you may remember Doug and Wendy Whiner, who always had something to complain about. In one Whiner skit, Doug and Wendy won a tour of NYC. First, they complained because they really wanted to visit Toledo and they hated New York. Next, they griped at the top of the Empire State Building, “Wendy, there are too many buildings! Ooo, Doug, this height makes me feel sick!” Then, they qvetch about an al fresco meal at a street vendor, “We have to wait in line. There’s no menu. Hotdogs inflame our diverticulitis.” The litany of complaint continues until, in response to all that complaint, the tour hosts arrange for the ultimate NYC experience for the Whiners: a mugging.

A study conducted by the Department of Biology and Clinical Psychology of Friedrich Schiller University found that hearing others complain raises our blood pressure and pumps the stress hormone cortisol into our bloodstream. Another study indicates that listening to thirty minutes of negativity, whether it is in person or on the television, can actually damage the neurons in our hippocampus. That’s the part of our brain that we rely on for problem solving. Professor Robin Kowalski at Clemson University has demonstrated that complaint is contagious. When we complain to someone, they are likely to follow suit, complaining to others. Kowalski says that chronic expressive complaint increases our dissatisfaction while decreasing our joy, sociability, productivity, creativity, and initiative. Maybe, just by talking about the effects of complaint, I’ve got your blood pressure and cortisol levels rising.

In our reading from Exodus, the Israelites were complaining. In fairness, they had faced hardship that might make any of us grumble. Finally free from slavery in Egypt, our Hebrew ancestors anticipated a better life in the wilderness. But at Marah, the water was bitter and undrinkable, and they complained against Moses, “What shall we drink?” Later, the Israelites grew weary of their limited diet, “If only we had died by the hand of the Lord in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the stewpots and ate our fill of bread; for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill the whole assembly with hunger.” In response to both crises, God provided what was needed. At Marah, the Lord showed Moses how to turn the bitter water sweet. Then, to meet their hunger, God had sent bread from heaven (manna) every morning, and in the evening, quails came up to cover the camp.

With all God’s generous providence, freely shared in response to every crisis, we expect the Israelites to trust more and complain less. But in today’s reading, as the water ran low, the complaining began. I imagine it started with some family grumbling, “I don’t like how little water is left in our skin.” It escalated to a community gripe, “You’d think that Moses would have better planned this trip. Where’s the spring?” As the days grew long and fresh water was nowhere to be seen, images of parched children and foundering livestock lurched across their imaginations. So, the Israelites unloaded on Moses, “Why did you bring us out of Egypt to kill us with thirst?”

In tough times, our concerns can get the best of us. Our anxiety and fear may even explode into a cascade of complaints. We imagine that the worst is right around the corner, we face it alone, and we don’t have what it takes to survive. We think our difficult diagnosis is a harbinger of future suffering and a terrible death. We’re sure our money troubles will lead to bankruptcy and homelessness. One more school shooting and we’re looking to move the family to Canada. One more act of terror and we want to close the borders. When we put our individual worries together and indulge in collective complaint, our families and communities can become highly anxious and filled with fear.

Given the ungracious tone of the Israelite’s complaint, we might expect God to say, “You want to go back to Egypt? Be my guest!” But God responds with compassion and providence. Like a concerned parent who picks up their fussing child, God loves us even when we are at our whiniest, even when we forget that God is generous and present and deeply aware of our needs. God sent Moses and the elders out ahead of the people, and God worked another miracle. The beleaguered Moses took his staff and struck the rock at Horeb. Suddenly, all the grumbling and grousing, griping and complaining, transformed to shouts of “Alleluia!” as fresh, clear water spilled forth to meet the people’s thirst.

There will always be something to complain about. Life can feel a bit like the wilderness. There will always be health issues and money concerns, natural disasters, senseless violence, and acts of terror. Occasionally, a little full-blown lamentation is in order. Yet when our complaint escalates into chronic expressive complaint and catastrophic thinking, we forget that there is water in the desert, and we indulge in a dark spirituality of anxiety that denies the goodness, compassion, and presence of God.

Those same researchers who have explored the nature of complaint have also determined that some simple everyday practices can be invaluable in shifting our focus from the negative to the positive. We begin by taking time to be present in the moment and notice what is good, here and now. Take time to simply use your senses. Attend to the beauty of changing leaves setting the mountainside on fire, the piping song of the cedar waxwings as they gorge on berries, the gift of love and intimacy, the breath of our child as we bend down to kiss them goodnight, the thump of the dog’s tail when we give him a good scratch. Our lives are filled with blessing. Research has proven that people who cultivate a practice of noticing those everyday blessings are happier than the rest of us and much less likely to engage in destructive expressive complaint.

Researchers also say that we can cultivate an enhanced sense of gratitude for our blessings by naming them. My Facebook feed this week has been reminding me that nine years ago I was in the midst of “The Gratitude Challenge,” posting three things for which I was grateful, every day for a week. Nine years ago yesterday, I was grateful for all the carrots I grew in my garden; the taste of homemade tabouleh with fresh parsley, lemon juice, and mint; and the practice of journaling, which I have done for more than 30 years. Whether we are on Facebook or not, we could take time daily to not only notice the good in our lives but to name it. Post it on-line. Write it in your journal. Share it with your family as you sit down to dinner. I suspect that as we share with one another those simple celebrations, we’ll feel happier and better equipped to manage the moments that make us want to complain.

Perhaps our faith can be our greatest resource in facing all that makes us want to grumble and gripe. Just as God worked to deliver Israel from slavery, hunger, and thirst, we can remember that God has been at work in our past, too. God has healed our hurting bodies. God has sheltered our children through those tough years. God has sustained us in work places that have felt a lot like the wilderness. God has held our marriages together through tough times. We can trust that God, who has worked in the past, is working even now – and will work in the future. God is faithful, active, and trustworthy. Alleluia!

Well, my friends, there will always be something to complain about. But there is water in the desert. God is at work. Attend to your blessings. Share them with others. Hold fast to the faith that is in you.

Resources:

Matthew Schlimm. “Commentary on Exodus 17:1-7” in Preaching This Week, Oct. 1, 2023. Accessed online at workingpreacher.org.

Terence Fretheim. “Commentary on Exodus 17:1-7” in Preaching This Week, March 15, 2020. Accessed online at workingpreacher.org.

Anathea Portier-Young. “Commentary on Exodus 17:1-7” in Preaching This Week, Oct. 1, 2017. Accessed online at workingpreacher.org.

Walker Meade. “Chronic Complaining” in The Herald Tribune (Sarasota), August 10, 2010. Accessed on-line at heraldtribune.com.

Dennis Prager. “Why Complaining Is Bad for Your Health” in Buzzle, September 26, 2013. Accessed on-line at Buzzle.com

Minda Zetlin. “Listening to Complainers Is Bad for Your Brain” in The Huffington Post, September 12, 2012. Accessed on-line at huffpost.com.

Exodus 17:1-7

From the wilderness of Sin the whole congregation of the Israelites journeyed by stages, as the Lord commanded. They camped at Rephidim, but there was no water for the people to drink. ²The people quarreled with Moses, and said, “Give us water to drink.” Moses said to them, “Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you test the Lord?” ³But the people thirsted there for water; and the people complained against Moses and said, “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?” ⁴So Moses cried out to the Lord, “What shall I do with this people? They are almost ready to stone me.” ⁵The Lord said to Moses, “Go on ahead of the people, and take some of the elders of Israel with you; take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go. ⁶I will be standing there in front of you on the rock at Horeb. Strike the rock, and water will come out of it, so that the people may drink.” Moses did so, in the sight of the elders of Israel. ⁷He called the place Massah and Meribah, because the Israelites quarreled and tested the Lord, saying, “Is the Lord among us or not?”

Acceptance Speech

March 14, 2023March 13, 2023 / reverendjoannwhite / Leave a comment

Poem for a Tuesday — “Acceptance Speech” by Lynn Powell

The radio’s replaying last night’s winners
and the gratitude of the glamorous,
everyone thanking everybody for making everything
so possible, until I want to shush
the faucet, dry my hands, join in right here
at the cluttered podium of the sink, and thank

my mother for teaching me the true meaning of okra,
my children for putting back the growl in hunger,
my husband, primo uomo of dinner, for not
begrudging me this starring role—

without all of them, I know this soup
would not be here tonight.

And let me just add that I could not
have made it without the marrow bone, that blood—
brother to the broth, and the tomatoes
who opened up their hearts, and the self-effacing limas,
the blonde sorority of corn, the cayenne
and oregano who dashed in
in the nick of time.

Special thanks, as always, to the salt—
you know who you are—and to the knife,
who revealed the ripe beneath the rind,
the clean truth underneath the dirty peel.

—I hope I’ve not forgotten anyone—
oh, yes, to the celery and the parsnip,
those bit players only there to swell the scene,
let me just say: sometimes I know exactly how you feel.

But not tonight, not when it’s all
coming to something and the heat is on and
I’m basking in another round
of blue applause.

in 180 More Extraordinary Poems for Every Day, ed. Billy Collins. New York: Random House, 2005, p. 99.

Lynn Powell is a poet, writer of creative non-fiction, and educator. She has been awarded an NEA Fellowship in Poetry, the Felix Pollak Prize in Poetry, the Studs and Ida Terkel Author Award, the Brittingham Prize in Poetry, 4 Ohio Arts Council Excellence Awards, and the Great Lakes Colleges Association New Writers Award. She lives in Oberlin, Ohio, where she teaches creative writing and serves as the director of Oberlin College’s Writers-in-the-Schools program.

Envy

March 13, 2022 / reverendjoannwhite / Leave a comment

Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Envy” Genesis 4:1-12

This is the second message in a Lenten series on the Seven Deadly Sins.

Aristotle described envy as the pain we experience when we learn of the good fortune of others. We see the ability, resources, or excellence of our neighbor, and we want that for ourselves. Thirteenth century scholastic theologian Thomas Aquinas characterized envy as an active, escalating resentment. Seeing our neighbor’s good fortune, we first seek to lower their reputation, perhaps through tale telling or criticism. Next, we feel joy at the other’s misfortune, or we feel grief at our neighbor’s continuing prosperity. Finally, over-focused on their success or well-being, we feel hatred. Augustine taught that envy is a truly diabolical sin because it seeks to minimize, end, or destroy what is good in our neighbor, and we, consequently, rob our community and world of that God-given goodness. Last week, I shared that C.S. Lewis characterized pride as the anti-God sin. Well, envy is the anti-neighbor sin. Envy stands in bitter opposition to that second half of Jesus’ Great Commandment, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

The root of envy is the Latin word invidia, which means unseeing or blind. When we are envious, we don’t see things as they truly are. We waste our time in over-focusing on the lives of others, and we fail to see and pursue our own unique God-given gifts and purpose. The Medieval poet and philosopher Dante Alighieri depicted the sin of envy in his Divine Comedy. The envious are second only to the prideful in their fall from grace. In Hell, they plod eternally under grey cloaks made of lead. In an act of poetic justice, their eyes are sewn eternally shut with metal wire, unable to see their neighbor or themselves.

That most essential biblical paradigm of envy is the story of Cain and Abel (Genesis 4). Cain, the farmer, brings a portion of his harvest as an offering to the Lord. Abel, the herdsman, presents to God the best of his flock—the firstborn with the choicest and fattiest portions. Abel gave God the best while Cain did what was adequate. Instead of learning that God deserves our first-fruits, Cain was filled with envy at his brother’s acceptance. Even after God cautioned Cain about the destructive power of envy, Cain met his brother in the field and murdered him. The world was robbed of Abel’s gifts and Cain was cut off from his family and even the land.

In the New Testament, Matthew’s gospel tells us that the Chief Priests and elders of the Temple handed Jesus over to Pilate for execution out of envy (Matt. 25:18-20). Then, they ensured that Pilate could not extend mercy by persuading the crowd to call for the release Barabbas instead of Jesus. Influence and money changed hands to ensure Jesus’ death. Envious of Jesus’ wisdom, gifts, and God-given authority, those Temple-insiders conspired to discredit him and rob him of his life.

We know envy when we see it. The legendary voting rights activist Fannie Lou Hamer described the experience of her family. They lived as sharecroppers on the plantation where they had once been enslaved. Thanks to the hard work of her father and mother and their twenty children, the family prospered. Her father was able to save enough to buy a team of mules to work more land. Their dreams crumbled when an envious white sharecropper poisoned the mules.

Envy is manifest in the realm of athletics. On January 6, 1994, U.S. Figure Skating Champion Nancy Kerrigan was brutally attacked as she prepared to defend her national title. Badly bruised, Kerrigan withdrew from the competition, and her rival Tonya Harding took the title. An FBI investigation ultimately determined that the attack on Kerrigan was prompted by envy. Harding with her husband and bodyguard conspired to take Kerrigan out of the competition and ensure Harding’s own bid for the Olympics.

Social theorists say that we live in an Age of Envy, which is fueled by social media, like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat. Professor Ethan Kross of the University of Michigan says that envy is at an extreme today because we are constantly bombarded by photo-shopped lives. Barraged by images of the achievement and joy of others—the spectacular vacations, the joyful families, the workplace accomplishments—we feel envy. We resent others, and we feel bad about ourselves.

Envy manifests in our lives when we gossip. We defame the character of our imagined rival and undermine their standing in the community. We criticize and belittle their accomplishments. We refuse to acknowledge their gifts and abilities. We undermine their efforts to get ahead. We attack their expertise and sabotage their work. When I was an undergrad at Colgate, a top student in the pre-med program was caught spitting in the test tubes of his rivals to ruin their research. Our envious actions don’t make us feel any better. Instead, we are left dissatisfied with who we are and what we have, resentful about our lot in life, and unhappy with the world as we know it.

The remedy for envy is found in the virtues of gratitude and kindness. Gratitude is the feeling of appreciation for what we have been given and thankfulness for the generosity of others. Martin Luther taught that gratitude is “the basic Christian attitude” because God is the selfless giver of all good things, and we are all immeasurably blessed. Gratitude doesn’t forget or ignore the negative aspects of our lives, but it sees the good even amid the hardship. The 18^th century prophet of the Great Awakening Jonathan Edwards believed that our gratitude is the clearest measure of our spiritual health, because gratitude reveals our awareness of the presence and goodness of God in our every day. Gratitude is the enemy of envy because we see and savor the goodness of God in our own lives, and we acknowledge that God is at work in others in ways that bless them and bless the world around them. Gratitude restores our right relationship with God—we become like that Samaritan Leper, who returned to give thanks to Jesus, falling down at his feet and praising the Lord (Luke 17:11-19).

Professor Robert Emmons of University of California Davis has been the preeminent scholar of gratitude for more than twenty years. His research has found that when we cultivate gratitude, it is good for us and others. People who keep a weekly gratitude journal by recording the ways they have been blessed feel better about their lives and are more optimistic. Folks who maintain a gratitude list—a master list of their blessings—were more likely to make progress toward important goals in school, work, relationships, and health. A daily time of focusing on gratitude increases our alertness, enthusiasm, determination, attentiveness, and energy. The daily discipline of gratitude also makes us more likely to help others and offer our support.

That leads us to our second weapon in battling the sin of envy: kindness. Aristotle described kindness as helpfulness toward someone in need, not in return for anything, but to simply benefit the person whom we are helping. Kindness is the exercise of charity, compassion, friendship, and sympathy simply for its own sake. Studies at Yale University have suggested that kindness is inherent in human beings. Babies have the impulse to be kind, and we can all testify to the natural sympathy of children, to their innate desire to show concern for a peer who is in distress. Mark Twain reminds us that kindness is active. He said, “Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see,” because we are out there doing it. One of the amazing dimensions of kindness is that in practicing it we often find that we are blessed. My seminary professors called this mission-in-reverse. Even as we reach out to help someone else, we find that our interaction touches our heart, expands our understanding, or makes a new friend. We often get so much more out of our kind impulses than we put in.

The biblical paradigm of kindness is, of course, The Good Samaritan (Luke 10). The Samaritan rises above prejudice to come to the aid of his wounded, vulnerable Jewish neighbor when no one else will. He cleans wounds, takes the man to shelter, and pays his way, all out of kindness. According to Jesus, kindness like this is what truly makes us neighbors. Gratitude and kindness are the antithesis of envy because they make us mindful of God’s incredible goodness to us and turn us to our neighbors with open hearts and willing hands. Thanks be to God.

I suspect that as we go forth into the Lenten season, we will experience envy. We’ll be scrolling through our Facebook feed and feel envy’s gut-punch as we read of our neighbor’s epic vacation. We’ll wear a forced smile when our friend tells us they are putting in a new kitchen. Our neighbor will retire early, and we’ll resent their leisure. Envy will rear its ugly head. But we can get the better of it. Count your blessings. Give thanks to the one who fills our lives with goodness beyond measure. Pay it forward. Reach out to the world with kindness. The world will be blessed—and so will we. Amen.

Resources

Becky Little. “How the 7 Deadly Sins Began as the ‘8 Evil Thoughts’” in History, March 29, 2021. Accessed online at history.com.

WJS Martin. “The Seven Deadly Sins: Envy” in Anglican Way Magazine, Feb. 14, 2016. Accessed online at anglicanway.org.

Charles Pope. “The Seven Deadly Sins: Envy” in Community in Mission, April 5, 2019. Accessed online at blog.adw.org.

Moya Sarner. “The Age of Envy” in The Guardian, October 9, 2018. Accessed online at theguardian.com.

Walter Brueggemann. Genesis. Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1982.

Robert A. Emmons. “Highlights from the Research Project on Gratitude and Thankfulness” in Dimensions and Perspectives of Gratitude. Los Angeles: UC Davis, 2010.

Genesis 4:1-12

1 Now Adam knew his wife Eve, and she conceived and bore Cain, saying, “I have produced a man with the help of the Lord.” 2 Next she bore his brother Abel. Now Abel was a keeper of sheep, and Cain a tiller of the ground. 3 In the course of time Cain brought to the Lord an offering of the fruit of the ground, 4 and Abel for his part brought of the firstlings of his flock, their fat portions. And the Lord had regard for Abel and his offering, 5 but for Cain and his offering he had no regard. So Cain was very angry, and his countenance fell. 6 The Lord said to Cain, “Why are you angry, and why has your countenance fallen? 7 If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin is lurking at the door; its desire is for you, but you must master it.”

8 Cain said to his brother Abel, “Let us go out to the field.” And when they were in the field, Cain rose up against his brother Abel, and killed him. 9 Then the Lord said to Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?” He said, “I do not know; am I my brother’s keeper?” 10 And the Lord said, “What have you done? Listen; your brother’s blood is crying out to me from the ground! 11 And now you are cursed from the ground, which has opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand. 12 When you till the ground, it will no longer yield to you its strength; you will be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth.”

Joann White

writer, pastor, spiritual director, and enthusiast of wild places

Gratitude