Don’t Miss the Miracle | 7/5/26

• Reflection Questions

  1. The Hebrews had been wandering together for nearly forty years without singing — and when they finally did, something in the community was healed. Is there a practice, a ritual, or a way of being together that your own community has lost along the way, and what do you think it would take to find it again

  2. Jesus says, "Come to me, all you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest." What is the burden you are carrying right now that you most need to set down, and what makes it hard to actually let go of it?

  3. The idea that the deepest and fullest healing is communal, not just individual, is a challenging one in a culture that tends to focus on personal faith and personal wellness. Where have you experienced healing that could only have happened in community, and what made that possible?

  4. The sermon points out that the miracle at the well wasn't a dramatic burst of water — it was quiet, almost invisible, just people gathering and singing and staying on the journey together. Are there quiet miracles happening around you right now that you might be in danger of missing because they don't look the way you expected?

Transcript:

I had the privilege of celebrating the 4th of July outside of the United States just one time, and I was in a small fortified town in France called Carcassonne — which you might know from history as a fortified city, or from the board game Carcassonne (I think it'll take you six hours to play), or from the Kevin Costner 1991 Robin Hood film, all filmed on location there.

It's a city completely surrounded by walls — big, thick walls. And you know, if you've ever been like a trustee at a church and been tasked with very controversial decisions, like what color should the carpet be, you can understand how there are no nightclubs allowed inside the historic fortified city. But it was July 3rd and we were wanting to celebrate. There were about thirty of us Americans together, and this little café owner said, "You know what? We are going to stay open late and we're going to have a toast at midnight onto the fourth to celebrate our American friends." And as they were staying open later and people were realizing, "Oh, that's still open, let's go over," more and more people were coming, and there were a lot of older people who were telling us about their gratitude for the American people and our partnership and what we'd done together in World War Two. And it was a very happy, joyful moment.

And then right at midnight, they had a toast, and over the speakers they played the national anthem. And the Americans stood up and sang — no one else knows the words. And right after the toast and the national anthem, they played Miley Cyrus's "Party in the USA," and everybody had a great time and we just started a party. And then right after that they played Twisted Sister's "We're Not Gonna Take It," and it was a great vibe. And I went over to the owner and I said, "Why that song? Why did you choose that?" And he said, "It's American music." And I was like, "Yeah, that's music from America — I think these guys are from New Jersey." And he was like, "No, it's patriotic music." And I was like, "That is not patriotic music." And he said, "It is — 'We're not gonna take it.' It's an independent spirit." And so that felt true for me, it felt true for him, it felt true for the sixty of us now gathered there and about to get kicked out of a walled city. And that's the spirit in which I greet you this morning, sharing our communal American independent spirit.

And I come with a question from that spirit. First, I'm going to share with you some scripture from the Book of Numbers, and I'll let you know up front — I don't know how to pronounce all these names. Let's just roll with it. A reading from the Book of Numbers, chapter 21, verses ten through twenty. 

The Israelites set out and camped in Oboth. They set out from Oboth and camped in Iye-abarim, in the wilderness bordering Moab towards the sunrise. From there they set out and camped in the Wadi Zered. From there they set out and camped on the other side of the Arnon, in the wilderness that extends from the boundaries of the Amorites. For the Arnon is the boundary of Moab, between Moab and the Amorites. Wherefore it said in the book of the Wars of the Lord, Waheb in Suphah, and the wadis, the Arnon, and the slopes of the wadis that extend to the seat of Ar, and lie along the border of Moab. From there they continued to Beer. That is the well of which the Lord said to Moses, "Gather the people together, and I will give them water." Then Israel sang this song: "Spring up, O well! Sing to it — the well that the leaders sank, that the nobles of the people dug with the scepter, with the staff." From the wilderness to Mattanah, from Mattanah to Nahaliel, from Nahaliel to Bamoth, from Bamoth to the valley lying in the region of Moab by the top of Pisgah that overlooks the wasteland.

This is the Word of God for the people of God. Thanks be to God.

I know — everybody's grandma had that embroidered on a pillow somewhere. It's a favorite Bible verse. So why, on the anniversary of independence, would Americans want to worship a king? "Jesus is Lord" is a phrase that we utter often, maybe without making a connection to the political connotation of a king. And yet that's part of this claim. When we say that Jesus is the Lord of all — Lord of all other rulers, higher than all other leaders — the difficulty of bowing to a king becomes most apparent for Christian Americans. Regardless of who is in the Oval Office, on July 4th we value voice and vote and representation. We have gone to war over it. We have defined ourselves by it, we're proud of it, and we should be. In more ways than I can list here, American independence has reimagined and redefined and revolutionized life on Earth in the modern era, and on the moon too, just for the matter. But this question of kingship — the lordship of Jesus — is a tricky one. How can we square a shared public life marked by self-determination with a personal faith ruled by a monarch?

This is not a new question, and not one limited to our times. So I want to look at a time when people had left a dark moment and were convinced that good times were now here to stay. In ancient Egypt, Moses had defied the oppressive power of Pharaoh. Remember that Pharaoh had enslaved the Hebrews and demanded that they do free, grueling physical labor for his kingdom. And so Moses, with God's strength, led the Hebrews out of slavery through the parted waters of the Red Sea and on to freedom. When the people arrived safely on the other side of the sea and in that new land, in that new season, they sang and they danced. Now, I wouldn't call it an Independence Day, but let's just say if they had fireworks, they'd have been shooting them that day.

That song that they sang, found in Exodus chapter 15, is known as Miriam's song: "God has triumphed gloriously, horse and rider thrown into the sea." And it was a testimony to a newfound freedom. And it was just the beginning. With that song, that triumphant moment, they were off forging a new way, moving up, moving out. And it was not very long before they started complaining. They complained about the food, the walking, how much better life was in Egypt. There's a complaint in here that I love, that I think you only understand when you're a parent — the people say, "There's no water, there's no food, and the food's horrible." And it only makes sense if you've been the person trying to drag someone everywhere that they'd make those two complaints.

So the big victory of the Exodus was in the rearview mirror, and so was their identity. Who are we going to be now? How are we going to be? You can read all about their travels and tribulations in the Book of Exodus and the Book of Numbers — it's a lot. It's lots of walking, lots of battles, lots of complaints. Until they arrive at a well and God says, "Gather the people together so that I may give them water." And as they come to this dry well in the desert, they start to sing, "Spring up, O well." They just pull the song out of nowhere. And this is the first time they've sung since the Red Sea.

And maybe it's like a prayer, and maybe it's like a way of keeping time as they're digging. And the text sort of misses the miracle here — well, it seems like there should be a miracle right here. It should say that the well burst forth and the spring overflowed and the people were drenched and everyone danced. I just read this text for you, okay? That's not part of Moses's story. That is the end of Mamma Mia!

But there is still a miracle here in this text. Don't miss the miracle. God says, "Gather the people." They were wandering together, but they were not together. They did not know where they were going. They knew what God had done for them, but they were unsure of what God would do next. They asked for water. They wanted water — who could blame them? They needed refreshing and renewal. They wanted water. But water in the desert is not the miracle that God gave them.

Our God, called the One who sees, could truly see that what was most needed was not water. It was healing. God called Moses to gather the people. Moses did gather the people — and this part has no details in the text, and maybe that's because God did not give Moses any more clear instructions. So maybe Moses has everyone coming over saying, "God's going to give us water — come and see what God's going to do." And everyone just drops what they're doing and they hightail it over to the old well. And it's dry and dusty and empty, and they stand and they wait and they look and they hope. And there's just not much happening. This moment of just wondering what is going to happen next.

And then someone said, "Maybe we should sing." I don't know if you've ever been in a tense situation where someone suggested a moment of singing. I have an experience from seminary where, early on in the semester in my Old Testament class, our professor taught us Miriam's song from Exodus and we all sang it together. I went to school in Atlanta — we had an Amen corner, someone always had a tambourine on them, and there was clapping and singing, and it was very triumphant and joyful. It was a beautiful, life-giving moment.

And then finals rolled around, and there are two hundred of us first-year seminary students in this classroom just cramming before the final exam starts. And one of our friends walks in — he's got Birkenstocks and a long ponytail — and he just announces to the two hundred of us, "You know, friends, studying right now is not going to help you. Let's just close those books and let's sing." And then he started to sing very robustly, "Guide my feet while I run this race." And he sang three verses and nobody joined in. Nobody put down a book, nobody stopped what they were doing. And he was furious with us, and he sort of just flung his Birkenstocks over to an empty seat. And we didn't have a miracle that day. Our grades reflected that.

But when some sweet Hebrew in the desert said, "Maybe we should sing," someone did start to sing a song. And scholars are very uncertain whether this is a song that predates the Hebrews' time in Egypt, if this is an ancient song that they would all remember, or if this is a moment of spontaneous worship where someone just wrote this song and everyone gathered in. But in the gathering and the waiting and the hoping and the singing came the miracle — God gave the miracle of healing.

The people had been traveling together, but they were not gathered together. This is the first time in the text that we see any singing since Miriam's song after crossing the Red Sea. They had not sung together since the moment of their liberation almost forty years ago. Maybe they were wondering if they would ever sing again. We thought we were a people of freedom, but we may well be lost out here. We wanted this independence, but we are tired of the burden of trying to make it work.

Don't miss the miracle. God heals the hearts of the Hebrews. God calms the nervous fears of the people. God reminds them that the life that they lived before was not whole. God gives hope to those who are ready to quit. God heals not just the individual, but the whole community. And you might say, "How can you be so sure? There's no big reveal, there's no moment, there's no fireworks." Just look in the text — they continued on from the wilderness to Mattanah, from Mattanah to Nahaliel, from Nahaliel to Bamoth, from Bamoth to the valley lying in the region of Moab by the top of Pisgah that overlooks the wasteland. They stayed on the journey together because God had healed them from the belief that without a leader like Pharaoh, they would surely die in the desert.

Sometimes healing is physical. Sometimes healing is spiritual. Sometimes healing is mental. But the deepest and fullest healing is communal.

Jesus encounters a similar fractured community early in his public ministry. In Matthew's Gospel, we find him being sought out by John the Baptist's followers. John had heard great stories — amazing stories — about what Jesus had done, that led John to believe that Jesus is in fact the Messiah, Jesus is the Lord. But John's in prison and can't go see Jesus. So he sends his followers to ask and see if Jesus really is the Lord, and if they should just keep waiting. So Jesus answers these disciples who come to him, and he says in chapter 11 of Matthew:

"Go and tell John what you hear and see. The blind will receive their sight, the lame will walk, those with skin disease are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me. But to what will I compare this generation? It's like children sitting in a marketplace calling to one another. 'We played the flute for you and you didn't dance. We wailed and you didn't mourn.' For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, 'He has a demon.' The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, 'Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.' Yet wisdom is vindicated by her deeds. Come to me, all you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

Now, as John's disciples leave to bring the message back to John, Jesus gives a little speech to the crowd, speaking about the goodness of John and his faithfulness to God's mission. See, John did not have a great reputation — he was seen as sort of an extremist — but he did stick to his word. And so Jesus is getting a little bit sassy here with the people, saying that all these people who are waiting and hoping and praying for a Savior are like little children. One group wants to play one game, they have one idea of how they're going to get this work done. Another group wants to play another game, and they're just sitting, calling out to each other, "Why won't you play with us? Why won't you do it our way?" They sit in the middle of the place where grown-ups are handling business and they just whine. There's always a moment of reading the Bible where it gets a little too uncomfortably personal.

But Jesus has a proclamation: "Wisdom is vindicated by her deeds." Remember all that Messiah stuff that he was up to earlier? He will be vindicated by those deeds and by those whom he has healed — physically, the blind, the deaf, the lame; spiritually, the dead; and communally, the poor. And Jesus sort of turns right into the camera and breaks that fourth wall, and he says to the people around him that day and to us here in our time: "Come to me, all you that are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest." He's speaking to all of those who are busy criticizing, whining, complaining, and otherwise sitting on the sidelines. Aren't you tired of all this?

In his book Jesus is Lord, Bishop Tom Berlin writes: "Human life is a battleground. On the one hand, we have an impulse that wants to control everything and claim its rule over all it sees. On the other hand, we have a desire to find freedom of life where we don't have to strive so hard for control of our circumstances or the people around us. We want to enter a flow of being a part of a world larger than the one that we construct in our minds. We long for a life that is more beautiful than we can create on our own." The bishop wrote all that on page 12 — that's just the beginning. I really encourage you to look at it; the rest of the book gets even better.

But that beautiful life that Bishop Berlin envisions — that flow of life where things do not feel out of control and yet we are not exerting our control — that beautiful life we are invited into. Don't miss the miracle. The work that the people were doing was not effective. It did not accomplish much except for further finger-pointing and fracturing and friendlessness. But here is the miracle: Jesus calls you and you and you and me and all of creation — all races and all nations — into this better work. "Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls."

You might think there was no miracle here — these are just some words from Jesus. But you know what? The story goes on. Jesus continues to preach and to teach and to heal, until so much of the community has changed that the people who are in power are threatened by him. His story goes all the way to the cross and the grave and the resurrection.

The lordship of Jesus is not an oppressive regime like that of Pharaoh or the Roman Empire. Jesus is not extracting all that he can from the produce that we can make with the labor of our bodies to get the rich richer. The lordship of Jesus — the very things that he says identify him as Lord — are rooted in healing: physically, mentally, spiritually, and communally. The lordship of Jesus is invitational.

I am not a farmer. I cannot keep succulents alive. I had succulents in my wedding bouquet, and my husband used to give me one on our anniversary, and I said, "Please stop," because I just remember our wedding anniversary and then watch something slowly die every year. I don't think it's typical for a farmer to turn to the animal and say, "Do you want to do a little bit of farming today? Would you like to work today?" Jesus does not treat us that way. It's invitational. It gives us the option. He invites us in to turn the soil with him, to plant something new, to cultivate a new life together — one in which we will all rest. Not just a nap, but resting at a soul level. The lordship of Jesus is for all people. The translator says "you will find rest for your souls," but I think a better translation would be "you will find rest for all y'all's souls."

So why would an American want to worship a king? The answer is not any normal king — Jesus as King, Jesus is Lord. Do you dream of living in a world without oppression? Jesus as Lord builds it. Do you pray for a world without suffering and scarcity and separation? Jesus as Lord heals us and our systems. Do you long for an end to the never-ending updates about wars and drug cartels and corruption and neglect? Jesus as Lord invites you to learn from him how to make a better way, and to rest from worrying about how we're going to get from here to there. Because the healing is not just for me or for you or for Americans — the healing is offered for all.

Why would an American want to worship a king? If you want any of these things to be our truth, our reality, our legacy, then you long for the healing that only Jesus as Lord can deliver. Will you let God gather you in to be refreshed? Will you put down your burden? Will you take on the yoke, learn a new way, and find rest in the power and the glory and the honor of Jesus?

You might think this is not an exciting, interesting way to see that God's grace is ongoing. I want you to go home and pick up a Bible — and not a Bible app. I have nothing against it, but I want you to look at a Bible. Stories of creation — it's in Genesis, chapters one through three, three chapters. Stories of liberation — it's like ten chapters in the Book of Exodus. Stories of Jesus's birth — it's like a couple of chapters at the beginning of each Gospel. All of the rest of the Bible, all of that big book, is a witness to God's ongoing grace and sanctification of the people God has called to follow. All of it is staying on the journey together.

If you thought there would be a theologically stunning wrap-up to this sermon, you have missed the pattern. But please don't miss the miracle. Is it in the hoping or the singing, the working or the praying? Yes. But it will not be our story to tell. It will take like another 250 years before we can really get some perspective on what God is doing now. And I certainly won't be preaching then, but Jesus will still be the Lord of all. And that might seem like a very long road just to find some clarity. "Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest." That's freedom worth celebrating.

Let's pray. God, we give you thanks for the freedom that you offer us in the complete healing made available to us through your name. We ask that you would continue to be present and at work in our lives, here and in all the world. Send your Spirit so that we may learn your ways, take on your yoke, find rest in you, and be part of your beautiful story of liberation and freedom and rest for all the world. 

Amen.