Sermon: Lent 4

The Mystery Behind The Mystery
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Lent 4, Year B (RCL)
John 3:14-21

Jesus said, "Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life."

So there they are, wandering in the wilderness, wondering where on earth they are going, getting tired, tired of the same old food God has been providing to them all along. 'Oh, great, more manna from heaven. Yum!' they mock. They are sore, they are impatient, they turn to focus on their own pain, their own problems, their own misfortune. And then it happens. Snakes are everywhere. People are getting bitten, repeatedly. Sharp, painful, hungry bites. Some are terribly weakened and thrown off course by the bites. Others die. A generation dying in the wilderness, never to see the promised land they had envisioned. A wrath from God perhaps? How could it not be. God led them out here in the first place, God provided them with this stinking food to eat, and now it seems as if God has sent these snakes to torment and kill them.

Not knowing what to do, the people come to Moses to say they're sorry and to ask him to ask God to stop this madness. So Moses prays to God and God tells him, "Make a poisonous serpent [out of bronze], and set it on a pole; and everyone who is bitten shall look at it and live." So Moses, being the faithful servant that he is, does just this; he makes a serpent out of bronze, puts it on a pole, and whenever a snake bits someone, that person looks at the serpent of bronze and lives.

Its a strange story, though a powerful one. Its a story of transformation, of those things that are being cast down once again being raised up. Its a story which turns life on its head, with all of its pain and loss and misery. How ironic that it is a bronzed image of the very same thing that is hurting them, killing them, that leads to their salvation? How strange that an apparent idol to their pain can lead to health and healing? How bizarre that focusing on the snakes around you will kill you, while drawing your attention to the serpent on the staff will keep you alive? The bronzed serpent itself could easily become the focus of their attention, of our attention, for that is what they must gaze upon. The murderous ways of the serpent could be glorified. The bronzed serpent in and of itself could become an idol, a god, a cult right there in the wilderness; a cult of pain, of suffering, of death.

Yet that doesn't happen. The bronzed serpent isn't the true focus, though it is meant to hold their gaze. What matters is not so much the mystery of the serpent on the staff. Rather, what matters, and matters immensely, is the mystery behind the mystery. What is important is not the redeeming value of the bronzed serpent in and of itself, but instead, the transformation which occurs through a shift in focus; from looking towards the snakes on the ground to lifting up one's eyes to the hills, to the serpent on the staff, to the world outside of our box, to the greater good of God which surrounds us, encompasses us, and dwells within us. The bronzed serpent is a distraction, a point of focus, an opportunity for us to see beyond ourselves; to hold in tension the snake that bites us while at the same time focusing on the serpent that redeems us.

Jewish rabbis throughout the years have held this truth; that it is not the snake in the story that is important, but rather, that it is what our looking at the raised bronzed serpent on the staff causes us to do. The Hebrew Mishnah Rosh Hashanah explains: "Does the serpent either kill or sustain life? Rather whenever Israel looked upward and submitted their heart to their Father in heaven, they were healed." Likewise, the Wisdom of Solomon tells us that, "the one who turned toward [the snake] was saved, not by the thing that was beheld, but by you, the Savior of all."

The purpose of the bronzed serpent is not for worship, but to bring the snakes on the ground which dwell in the darkness, to bring those snakes into the light; to lift them up, to exalt them, not because of what they are, but because of our faith in what God can and will do with them. In our Gospel for today, Jesus says, "For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God." The bronzed serpent is a symbol of our sins being brought into the light; being transformed from shortcomings into opportunities for repentance, for growth and for renewal.

It is a strange story indeed, just as strange as the story of the Son of God being killed on a cross. Yet it is a powerful story too, just as powerful as Christ's forgiveness of us, of God's love for us when we raise our heads from the depths of despair to the embrace of Christ's crucified, outstretched arms. So we return to our Gospel and to Jesus' words, "Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life." Jesus is that very same serpent, the cross is that very same staff. Should we focus solely on the death and crucifixion of Christ, on the fact that the bronzed serpent is the image of that very same snake that bit us, the torture and pain in and of itself could become an idol.

Yet this is not the point. As with the bronzed serpent, the cross is meant to hold our gaze; to help us to look beyond ourselves and what we have done or left undone and instead, to focus our attention and lives upon what God has done and continues to do for us. What truly matters is the mystery behind the mystery; the transformation which occurs when we lift up our heads to see beyond ourselves, our sins, our murderous ways, our own death and demise. Just as snakes surrounded the Israelites in the wilderness and a bronzed serpent on a staff led to their healing, today, we are surrounded by torture and murder and pain in our world and a glorified Christ on the cross leads to our healing.

Just as the purpose of the bronzed serpent on the staff was not for worship, so too is the purpose of Christ on the cross not for worship. Christ's calling to the cross was to bring the snakes on the ground which dwell in darkness into to the light, so to speak. On the cross, Jesus drew all people to himself; he held all of the snakes and sins of the world in his arms, in his hands and lifted them up into the light for all the world to see, that we might not so much gaze upon our sin but rather bask in the light of new life, of new promise, of new hope. That we might look towards the mystery behind the mystery.

Yet this is hardly an easy thing to do; to focus on the mystery behind the mystery, to focus on God's outstretched yet distant hands when snakes are coiling around your arms, your legs, your life. Like with the mighty boa constrictor that wraps and squeezes out life, feeling in parts of the body can be lost, attention diverted, our own survival made our sole focus. Should someone ask us to look over hear, to move on, to leave that for a while, who of us could easily walk away? Not I. My own pain is primary. I need to watch and be on guard again the strike of the rattlesnake. I have no time for diverted attention.

Yet, ironically, this is how we are healed. By stopping. By looking up. By trusting that if we lay our own pain aside for a while to look upon the healing to come, that we will be made well. When we can trust nothing else in our lives, the security of our jobs, the stability of our families, the future of our government, God calls us to raise our heads and to look beyond the snakes to the healing serpent, beyond the pain of our sins to the salvation of the cross.

So when you find yourself this Lent beaten down and bitten by the uncertainties and pain of life, remember to look up. For when we look up, usually we are saved by that very act of faith, for it is when we look down and struggle with what is tormenting us that we empower it by the very attention we give it. Remember to look up. Remember that God takes your serpents and your sins and transforms them; transforms them from places of pain to opportunities for growth. Amen.