"It's Not Time to Worry Yet" - Exodus 16:2-15

One of the practices I look forward to each Fall is rereading old classics. I’m a voracious reader of fiction, and I love discovering hints of the Gospel in literature, not to mention the occasional sermon illustration. Pre-pandemic, chilly October and November often found me curled up in a coffee shop with a well-loved copy of Pride and Prejudice or The Once and Future King, or most recently, To Kill a Mockingbird. As you might expect, I was drawn once again to Harper Lee’s masterpiece as I watched racial tension and systemic oppression in my own world documented before my very eyes on social media. But I was surprised, in my latest reading, by a new revelation - one that spoke to me again as I pondered today’s Scriptures.

To Kill a Mockingbird, for those who may not have read it, is told from the perspective of a young white girl named Scout, who lives in a “sleepy” Southern town in the early 1930’s. She watches her small community turn upside down as her father, local lawyer Atticus Finch, defends a black man accused of violence against a white woman. It is difficult for Scout, as it is for all children, to watch her father struggle, as he refuses to sacrifice his principles for the sake of social approval. But, Atticus recognizes the way his work affects his children, and he takes special care in talking to them about it.

Over and over again, when Scout expresses her fear and doubt about the outcome of the trial, her father reminds her, “it’s not time to worry yet.” I realized, during this most recent reread, that this is one of Atticus Finch’s most admirable characteristics: his ability to hope, and to not be overcome by despair about things that haven’t happened yet. Atticus gets his strength to do the work God has given him to do from being grateful each day for what he has, and trusting that God will continue to provide for him and family.

This trusting patience is not a quality I have in common with Atticus Finch. But I’ll tell you something, my mother sure did. I honestly do not know if my mother every read To Kill a Mockingbird, but as a young girl, when I stressed about the weather for an upcoming swim meet, or about whether or not my dentist appointment would be painful, or about what I would be when I grew up, my mother always replied, “it’s not time to worry yet.”

Both Atticus Finch and my mother had wisdom about the world that their young daughters lacked, and often had to placate naive questions and concerns that could only be answered with time. But I also believe that both Atticus and my mother understood that worrying about not having what we need in the future prevents us from appreciating what we have now. And this, my friends, is a deep Gospel truth.

This morning, we find our ancestors of the Exodus wandering in the wilderness. They’ve been out of Egypt for several months now, and haven’t yet made it to Canaan, much to their surprise and chagrin. They are tired of hiking all day every day. They are tired of setting up tent camps every evening and packing them up again the next morning. They are tired of foraging for food, since they cannot grow it for themselves. And to top it all off, they have no idea how long they will have to live this way, or what kind of life awaits them when this journey is over. (Does that sentence hit home in a pandemic or what?)

This way of living, day to day, gives them tremendous anxiety about their future, which is new to them. As slaves in Egypt, they were impoverished and oppressed, but every day was largely the same, and they knew what to expect. Today they yell at Moses that he should have just left them there, where they were already resigned to their fate, instead of bringing them into a wilderness where each day brings more worrisome unknowns.

It is a miracle to me that God remained patient after he freed a whole nation from slavery and they commence to complain, but I suppose that’s part of God’s divine might. God hears the Israelites’ cry and Moses’ frustration with them and offers them relief. Every day, God promises, I will send you food. You don’t even have to search for it, just climb out of your tents and it will be there. What’s more, I still want you do have a day off, so on Saturdays, I’ll send enough for Sundays too.

I probably don’t need to tell you that in the next chapter, the Israelites find a way to complain about this, as well. In their spiritual immaturity, they fall into the same trap that Scout Finch and young Hannah fell into, worrying about not having what they need in the future. They collected the double portion on Saturdays, but on Sundays, they’d walk out of their tents in expectation and be devastated when there was not more food to gather. So devastated, in fact, that they feared the lack of food was a sign God had abandoned them, even though week after week, God continued to be faithful to God’s promise.

Thousands of years later, we still have not kicked this habit of worry and despair. No matter how many times we find relief and comfort from God’s grace just when we need it, we still fret and doubt each time a new challenge arises. When will we learn? Perhaps our struggle is in misunderstanding the meaning of God’s abundance, God’s gift of food from heaven.

It is okay for us to be concerned about our future. For instance, we don’t spend or give away every penny we make each paycheck on the assumption that God will always provide more funds. And, we don’t neglect preventative healthcare on the assumption that God will miraculously heal us should we ever fall ill. And for a more timely example, if there is a hurricane in the forecast, it is absolutely advisable to evacuate from a danger zone.

Trusting that God will solve all of our problems in mystical ways is not the kind of faith that God asks of us. God did not promise the Israelites that they would never have to think about food again. God simply took away the hunger they felt right then, allowing them to rest and enjoy their Sabbath. Thus, the critical mistake came not in caring about their future, but in letting that worry destroy their Sabbath. They were so consumed by a fear of future scarcity, they ignored the abundance right in from of them: food enough for everyone, and the gift of day’s rest after generations of nonstop slave labor.

In the same way, neither Atticus Finch nor my mother promised that their daughters would never have cause for worry. But they did try to impart something like the gift of Sabbath. They did not want for their children to become so consumed with worry about things they could do nothing about, that they missed opportunities to relish in the joys that each new day brings.

We are living in perhaps the ideal time to practice this Gospel truth. The pandemic is frightening and deeply unpleasant. We don’t know how long it will last or what life will be like afterwards. We have as many worrisome unknowns as the Israelites in the wilderness. But what they’ve taught us, is that while God may not be in the business of mystically eliminating pandemic, God is in the business of sending food from heaven, and giving the gift of Sabbath.

How can we see this in our own lives? In what ways does God give us precisely what we need each day? What would it look like if we refused to let our worry ruin our rest? What is the consequence if we don’t? What daily joys that God is sending, even in this pandemic, will we miss out on if we always direct our gaze towards a future that we cannot see or control? Let’s take a lesson from the Israelites, from my mother, and even from that fictional saint, Atticus Finch, and consider that it might not be time to worry just yet. Amen.