Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann
John 3:14-15
2nd Sunday in Lent March 12, 2017
Strange as it may seem to those with strong feelings otherwise, there are some cultures that actually revere and honor snakes. The ancient Egyptians did. They associated snakes with their gods and with immortality. Apparently, a snake’s ability to shed its skin for a new one had something to do with their idea of snakes as symbols of eternal life. The ancient Israelites, though, did not share the Egyptian enthusiasm for legless reptiles. Indeed, the people of Israel had good reasons for despising snakes. It all started, of course, all the way back in Eden; but what happened to the Israelites in the desert on their way around Edom to the Promised Land of Canaan should have sealed their contempt for snakes forever.
It had been a rough stretch of decades for Israel. It began when the people had first camped on the borders of the Promised Land but then had choked and decided that they couldn’t trust God to lead them against the imposing people of Canaan. Now, forty long years of aimless but punishing wandering in the desert later, they were itching to go home for the first time. One Canaanite king had foolishly tried to stop their progress, but with God’s aid, the people of Israel had utterly crushed him and his armies. Flushed with the taste of victory, Israel’s warriors were eager to fight again when the people of Edom got in their way. Quite understandably, the Edomites were not willing to let Israel’s multitude march across their land. The Israelites were indignant; but, this time, there was to be no fighting. God would not allow Israel to attack Esau’s descendants. Edom had to be left alone and the refusal to grant passage to Israel had to be honored. The people would need to walk hundreds of miles out of their way to go around Edom. The news was not well-received in Israel. The people’s bottled-up frustration had fermented into bitterness; and the bitterness finally found expression in loud and long complaining. The Israelites vented their anger on Moses, and once they started venting, they didn’t stop with Edom. They let loose with their litany of dissatisfaction and disappointment. They complained about their forced march. They complained about the lack of water. They complained about the lack of bread. They even complained about the manna that God daily supplied. God had heard enough. He sent snakes. People died. Lots of people died.
The people were not just expressing an opinion about the merits of manna, you see. Their words were words of rebellion. The people demanded something different. What God was giving was no longer acceptable. They were tired of traveling. They were tired of living in tents. They were tired of being thirsty. They were tired of their unchanging diet. They were tired of it all, and they blamed Moses and God for all their sorrows. But, being tired had made Israel forgetful. It was God, through his prophet Moses, who had rescued them from slavery. God had made with them a covenant: he would be their God, he would give them a fabulous land. God had led them, fed them, and defended them. They should have seen all of that and so seen their rich blessings. They should have felt eternal gratitude. They should have been singing God’s praise. But, they didn’t, and they weren’t. Tired of everything, they saw none of the blessings. They felt only their need. They opened their mouths only to complain.
The parallels to God’s people today are too many and too frightening to number. Tremendously blessed by God, we have been given what we do not deserve. You have been led and fed and defended. You have been promised a future home that infinitely surpasses the rich land of Canaan. Do your eyes see the blessings? Does your heart overflow continually with gratitude? Does your mouth run over with praise? That Christians are the new Israel means not only that we inherit their privileged position, but also, it seems, their same entanglement with sin. Instead of delighting in the blessings that fill your life, you so easily obsess over all that is not right. Your work is too demanding, the hours are bad, and the benefits are inadequate. Your job becomes not a blessing, but a source of complaint. Your spouse is not quite making the grade. He’s just not doing what he’s supposed to do. Sure, there are things he does right, but there are all of those things that he does so wrong. And so, a gift from God becomes a cause of grief and disappointment. Children are a trial and vexation. They whine, they fight, they are rarely content, and show no gratitude. Another treasure from God is reduced to a subject for complaint. Your house or apartment is too cramped, too old, too full of stuff. The carpet is ugly, and the sink drips. You hate it. God’s blessing is denigrated into a problem.
It happens. Far too regularly and consistently, it happens. God gives money, but not enough. He gives clothes, but not the right ones. He gives a car, but not the one you want. He gives you life and a body, but you wish that both were different. You take a blessing and evaluate it, minimize it, criticize it, and finally reject it. Perhaps it is not quite so easy, after all, to judge and malign Israel’s discontented and whining behavior. Perhaps it is not so hard to imagine yourself tired and dissatisfied with what God gives.
Punishment was swift and certain for Israel. Snakes came. Snakes bit. People suffered. People died. Snakes were God’s chosen messengers of judgment—a fit choice, I would say. They ushered people from life to death. Punishment was swift. It tends to move more slowly, today. But, it does still come. Certainly, unavoidably, it comes. And it is still a snake that delivers the message. The old snake himself continues to usher rebellious humans to their deserved punishment. Satan, the snake of the Garden, and the snake of St. John’s Revelation, leads condemned men and women to the end of their rebellion. It is an ugly and terrifying reality, but it is certainly a scriptural reality—the end of sin and rebellion is punishment, it is suffering eternal death and torment in Hell. All who rebel against God will be punished. That should be clear with the story about the snakes. A little insignificant rebellion (just a few negative thoughts and complaints now and then) or an entire lifestyle of defiant and destructive rebellion…it makes no difference. It’s all punished in the fiery agony of Hell with the Snake.
The fiery snakes had the intended effect on Israel. They invaded the camp, and the people were shocked back to reality—back to repentance. Broken and suffering under their harsh punishment, they said the words that are so rare and so hard to pronounce in any language: “We sinned, we were wrong, we’re sorry.” The people were ready to turn from their sin of ingratitude and self-seeking. They were ready to receive God’s grace. And, as always, God was ready to give the grace. He always is. In fact, he is always more ready to forgive than we are to repent. He’s always more ready to welcome than we are to return. God sent snakes…and people died…and people repented. And so, God sent the people another snake and now the dying were healed. Grace came in a surprising form: a bronze serpent lifted up in the middle of the people. As a means of salvation, it was a bit unusual, some might even call it bizarre. But, what we think doesn’t matter too much. God chose it. God gave it. Grace came to the people. They were saved.
Again, the parallels can’t be missed. At God’s direction, Moses lifted up the snake, and the people lived. At God’s direction, the Sanhedrin and the Romans lifted up the Son and the people lived. Jesus took the Old Testament pattern of salvation and surpassed it in his own life. The lifted-up snake saved the people of Israel. The lifted-up Son saves all people. But, Jesus’ fulfillment of the Old Testament pattern comes with a horrible twist. When we hear about someone being lifted up, it’s a good thing. When you lift someone up, you encourage them; you honor them and cheer for them. The team lifts up the Gatorade-soaked coach and carries him to the locker room. The local boy who is now a war-hero is lifted up on the back of the 4x4 and given the place of privilege in the parade. The politician is lifted up on a high platform so that all can see her as she addresses the adoring crowd. That’s the way that lifting up is supposed to be. But when Jesus predicted that he would be lifted up like the bronze snake, he meant it literally. Nailed to a wooden beam, fastened firmly so that he could not move, Jesus was hoisted up to the sky and displayed in the midst of the people. He was lifted not to be cheered, but to be jeered. He was lifted not to be heard, but to be reviled. He was lifted not to be honored but to be shamed. He was lifted to die. It was a perverse lifting up. But it had to be. It was God’s plan for the salvation of his people. Carrying the sins of the rebels, Jesus took their place and endured the snake’s bite. He suffered the horrors of death and hell. He did it so that the sinners could live.
Many find it too hard to believe. It’s so strange and so repulsive. How could a suffering man bring eternal salvation to the entire world—to people who live two millennia later? But, human assessment of God’s plan is irrelevant. The cross is God’s plan. The cross bearing the Son brings forgiveness. It brings release from guilt. It brings life. It brings eternal salvation. All who look to the Son and believe are saved. It is God’s way. So, the cross means grace and healing, and one more thing: it means glory. There is, you see, another twist in this story of the lifted-up Son: the cross which is suffering and shame is also the glory of Jesus. It’s true. Seeing the humiliation, hatred, and horror of the cross is easy. Seeing the glory is not easy. But, it’s there. The Bible makes this clear. The cross is the glory of Jesus because it is there that he proves his full obedience to the Father’s will; and obedience is the Son’s greatest glory. In John’s gospel, there is no account of the Transfiguration. For John, it is the cross that shows the glory of Jesus. And, remember that time when James and John asked Jesus for the seats of glory at his right and left hands when he entered into his kingdom? Jesus told them that those places had already been assigned to someone else. They had been set aside for the two who would die with Jesus. The point is that Jesus came into his kingdom on the cross. He was crowned as king, there. A horrible crown of thrones was precisely his crown of glory. Jesus was lifted up on the cross in every sense of the word. He was displayed there. He was glorified there. The cross was and still is his throne of glory; from there, he rules over his church, over his world. Remember, when he appeared to Thomas, he still had the marks of his crucifixion, his coronation as the Lord of glory. Had the resurrection not yet fully healed his wounds? Of course not. You see, the wounds are part of the glory; they are the essence of the glory. Even in the Book of Revelation, the glorified Son still has the marks of the cross. He is revealed there as a lamb that looks as if it had been slain. The glory of the Son is obedience, the glory of the Son is self-giving love, the cross is the glory of Jesus. It shows his faithful obedience to the Father. It shows his breathtaking love for his people. That’s the glory of God. That’s the glory of the cross. Lifted up like the snake, Jesus is lifted up, but by love…lifted up in his true glory. So, we honor and revere not a lifted up snake, but the lifted up Son.
Glory comes through the cross—to Jesus, and to you. United with Christ through Baptism, his obedience is your obedience. His death is your death. His victory is your victory. His glory is your glory. You are lifted up from shame and despair. You are lifted up from suffering and death. You are lifted up by Christ, lifted up in love, lifted up in glory that goes forever. Amen.