The Story That Saves
page detail from Deuteronomy, 1611 KJV Bible (Replica Edition) photo by jch
Sermon Series “Through the Bible,” № 14, Deuteronomy 26:1-11
The Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with a terrifying display of power, and with signs and wonders; and he brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. —Deuteronomy 26:8-9
Our journey “Through the Bible” brings us to the Book of Deuteronomy. The name “Deuteronomy” is derived from two Greek roots: “deuteros” meaning “second,” and “nomos” meaning “law.” As the name implies, Deuteronomy is a “second law,” or restatement of the law. Many scholars believe that in Deuteronomy, early accounts about Moses and the Hebrews are reworked for a new context.
In its final editorial form, Deuteronomy probably comes from the seventh to eighth century B.C. During that time, Israel was again in a kind of “wilderness” brought on by conquering enemies and exile from their homeland. Deuteronomy retells the old story to enable the Israelites to face a new test.
The 26th chapter recalls an affirmation of faith used during the Feast of First Fruits. Many scholars believe the affirmation, with its recollection of a wandering Aramean, represents the most ancient affirmation of faith in the entire Old Testament. The affirmation calls the Israelites to remember the story about God’s miraculous deliverance of the Hebrews from Egypt, and God’s guidance of them into the Promised Land. It’s intended to remind worshippers of their heritage and reinvigorate their faith.
Whoever crafted the affirmation understood the power of an empire like Assyria, or Egypt before it, to define reality, empires with mighty armies, sophisticated weaponry, and material luxuries. But the writer also knew that such empires told stories that usually brought slavery and heartache to God’s people. The remnant of Israel is challenged to remember that their survival depends upon living according to the narrative of scripture, by its guidance, rules, and reminders of God’s grace. In a dangerous wilderness, this is the story that saves.
In our time, we don’t need to be in a barren landscape like the Hebrews to experience a dangerous wilderness. We listen to widely divergent narratives about what is happening politically in America, and know parties seem more polarized than ever. Some commentators say armed conflict, even Civil War, is more a possibility during the next ten years than it’s been in generations. That sense of discord and conflict is one kind of dangerous wilderness. Then there’s the daily news in which we see color-coded Covid maps, so red in nearly every area of our nation that we don’t really understand how they could guide us anymore. Infection with the virus seems nearly inevitable, say the experts, and we’re still in the beginning stages of figuring out how we will live with the virus in the long run. That’s another kind of dangerous wilderness.
There is no shortage of opinions about how to move forward. Looking across the spectrum of media resources, it’s impossible to recognize all the personalities vying for expert status. For many people, looking for a solution has become something like the experience described this week by Eitan Hersh, via an Ezra-Klein column in the New York Times: “I refresh my Twitter feed to keep up on the latest … crisis, then toggle over to Facebook to read clickbait news stories, then over to YouTube to see a montage of juicy clips from the latest … hearing. I then complain to my family about all the things I don’t like that I have seen.”[1] Given rising anxiety, confronted with many voices vying for our attention, it’s easy to forget the importance of a different narrative that people of faith have been telling for generations. For those passing through a dangerous wilderness, the scripture readings for today draw our attention to the saving power of this sacred story.[2]
We see this at work in the New Testament reading, Luke’s version of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness, where he battles a danger you and I might not have expected. Jesus meets Satan, the teller of stories that are tempting to believe, but in the end prove false. It’s the type of story told by many cultures, including our own popular culture, that satisfaction may be found without reference to God in pleasure, possessions, patriotism, or social prominence. In the case of each temptation, Jesus briefly quotes from Deuteronomy, reminding himself, and his disciples after him, to be shaped by the true story. It’s a story not with us or our interests at center, but with God at the center. For Jesus in the wilderness, this is the story that saves.
Today’s scripture texts often are read during the season of Lent. In that context, especially at Ash Wednesday, I can’t help but associate them with a member of a congregation I served in another place, and her particular wilderness journey. “Ann” (not her real name) was a medical doctor with a businessman husband and two children. It’s no secret that Ash Wednesday services are not well attended in most churches, so I noticed that each Ash Wednesday “Ann” was in attendance. “Remember that you are dust,” I would say, as marked the sign of the cross on her forehead with ashes. “From dust you have come, and to dust you shall return.”
One Christmas season, I visited Ann in a hospital room with her husband at her side. She had discovered a lump, and had been diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer. She revealed that her mother and her sister had died from breast cancer, and that she and her husband had been preparing for the possibility of this diagnosis. She told me, rather matter-of-factly, that she would be having a double mastectomy the next morning. Already she had planned with her medical team the course of treatment to follow.
As time passed by, I grew to appreciate Ann’s spiritual struggle. In daily living a number of factors tempted her to devalue the practice of her Christian faith. Temptation came in the form of seemingly good things like devotion to the practice of medicine, the respect of her patients, and her privileged position in the community.
But the enemy of cancer had taught Ann that medical science working alone was not enough to sustain her life and her hope. There was a story being told by a medical team, the clinical interpretation of symptoms, diagnosis, treatment, and prognosis. And then there was the story of Christ, a story that gave all the other stories a purpose. Ann’s participation in the Lenten worship journey, beginning with reminders of human sinfulness and mortality, moving through pain and crucifixion, before arriving at last at joyful resurrection, was a practice that gave meaning to her struggle. The story that was told in worship resonated with her deepest spiritual needs.
A few months after surgery, Ann was present in Ash Wednesday worship. She was thin and weary, wearing a wig. As Anne approached me for the imposition of ashes, I could see that her cheeks were hollow, and her skin tone gray. The chemotherapy had eradicated even her eyebrows and eyelashes. It hurt me emotionally to see her this way, and my Ash-Wednesday reminders of human mortality seemed cruel. I’m not sure that I would have proceeded if I hadn’t known how significant this ritual was to Ann. For her, the liturgy of Ash Wednesday wasn’t punishment, but truth telling. So, using the ashes, I marked the sign of our Savior on her forehead, and said the words: “Ann, remember that you are dust. From dust you have come, and to dust you shall return.”
I hope these memories about Ann help make more sense of what I’m saying about the many stories and one story. The stories told by popular culture or political parties may entertain us or lead us to action, but, by themselves cannot sustain us. The power of science and the wonders of modern medicine may lead to new therapies and a measure of physical healing, but even they can’t motivate a journey toward health and happiness, offer reasons to live. It makes sense occasionally to do a “self-check,” to consider which stories are exerting their influence on our thoughts, words, and actions. Shouldn’t our lives be shaped at least as much by the Greatest Story Ever Told? It’s a story not with our interests primarily at center, but with God at the center. For the Hebrews in Moses’ time, for Jesus in the wilderness, it is the story that saves.
NOTES
[1] Eitan Hersh, in Ezra Klein’s “Steve Bannon is On to Something,” The New York Times, 9 Jan. 2022, https://www.nytimes.com/2022/01/09/opinion/trump-bannon-trumpism-democracy.html, accessed 12 Jan. 2022.
[2] The saving power of sacred story is suggested as common theme in these scripture readings by Shannon Johnson Kerschner in Journal for Preachers, Vol XXX No. 2, pp. 3-4.
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