The story begins with oppression and cries for rescue.
At least, that’s one way to tell the beginning of the story of the people of Israel. Alternative arguments can be made for when Abraham left Ur to go to the land God promised, or even back to Eve and Adam in the garden; but the definitive self-conception of the foundation of the Hebrew people is Moses and the rescue out of Egyptian oppression.
We’ll start by going back here, to what we know, to the story handed to us. We do this so we can compare to the rubble of our time, so we can be like the pottery expert who can analyze the finds.
Who is God in this exodus story? God is the scary-powerful rescuer, the one who parts the sea when all seems lost, the one who makes a way out of no way, the one who thunders and rumbles and destroys unjust power. All-powerful, completely free, subject to no empire.
God is fire and cloud, an awesome presence, a holy and transcendent force. God leads and surrounds—never tame, always in charge, never safe. For decades, the life of the rescued ones is nomadic, temporary, unsettled, on the move. God’s power has rescued, yes, but God’s power has also not felt particularly safe, as the disobedience of the rescued ones often seems to bring painful bursts of Divine activity.
The profound symbol of that nomadic life is that the gathering place of worship, the place of God’s presence, is a tent. The tabernacle of the wilderness can be folded up and placed on people’s backs anytime that the pillar of cloud and fire leads them on a journey.
This wandering life is uncomfortable and temporary. Their descendants will look back wistfully on this ancient time when God’s direction and leading were so visibly clear, when God fed this people each and every day out of God’s own hand. But for the ancestors who had manna sticking in their throat and sand in every crevice of their body, complaints and a longing for a home were a persistent and daily experience.
The story begins with oppression, and leads to miraculous rescue. But it continues with painfully mind-numbing wandering, and it breeds a fierce longing for home.
What story are we in? is such a great question. And our answers, and I think we could argue fruitfully about the answer, say as much about us as they do about the external circumstances.
I’ve been working with a scenario -based planning process in the last couple of years, and this is perhaps the most important question. Where do we see ourselves in the story? We are always at the beginning of some stories and the end of other stories, all the time. But what we can or should do next depends a lot on what story we think we are in.
Yes, yes. Thank you!
I’m imagining all sorts of uses for this great question. Robin, this planning process intrigues me. Is this something you have developed?