on.
You know that kind of grumbling can build a moat—a moat that others prefer not to cross, a moat that keeps God at arm’s length. If nothing’s ever right, well then I can live in my own little world, arms crossed, eyes down—forgetting, as the Hebrews had, that God was not giving up on them.
Santa may know when you are naughty or nice, but God cares for you when you are both and even when you grumble. So God broke through the grumbling with a gift—a reminder—that they were his people and he was their God, and that even when things looked at their worst, He was not going to leave them to their own designs—a life of endless grumbling. That bread, which they called manna, broke through their grumbling and fed not just their stomachs, but their souls. It was an invitation to turn from griping about what they did not have, to embracing what they did—the constant and abiding presence of God.
What if God only cared for us when we had our act together? What kind of God would that be? No, the fact that we have a God who cares when we do not, says much more. The Venerable Fulton John Sheen, an American bishop of the Catholic Church, once wrote, “God does not love us because we are valuable. We are valuable because God loves us.” That is what those Hebrews learned in the desert. It is a lesson worth clinging to—especially when we find ourselves grumbling.
You may have something about which to grumble today—but has grumbling become a way of life? Do you feel like you are always getting a raw deal? The short end of the stick? Perhaps it is time to turn that leaf over—consider instead that God cares for you and loves you even in the midst of your grumbling. No doubt, if you spend some time feasting on the truth of that love, you will soon find your grumbling gone and your soul fed.
A Prayer
Lord Jesus, even you had days when you grumbled—at the bickering of your disciples, the lack of faith of your followers, religionists who turned your Father’s house into a den of thieves. I thank you for loving me, even when I grumble. But help me such that my life is more than a basket full of lament. Give me eyes that see your hand at work in the world around me, and an open heart to allow your love to so fill me that what I offer you, and the world, is not my perpetual grumblings, but the very joy of heaven. Amen.
8 Exodus 16:11–31; I have paraphrased a bit here.
You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against any of your people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord. You shall keep my statutes.
—Leviticus 19:18–19
The book of Leviticus is essentially about holiness, but includes a great number of do’s and don’ts. It includes a lot of laws. When I am encouraging a person to begin reading the Bible for the first time, I often say, “Don’t start with Leviticus.” It is long, a bit tedious, and lots of the do’s and don’ts do not apply to our time and our day.
Please do not misunderstand me: I am not one who encourages (or buys into) situational ethics or moral relativity. There are some of God’s laws that are, well, just beyond shifting given the circumstances (the Ten Commandments for starters).9 But for this meditation, let me borrow some wisdom from Frederick Buechner:
Law. There are basically two kinds: (1) law as the way things ought to be, and (2) law as the way things are. An example of the first is “No trespassing.” An example of the second is the law of gravity.
God’s Law has traditionally been spelled out in terms of category No. 1, a compendium of do’s and don’ts. These do’s and don’ts are the work of moralists and when obeyed serve the useful purpose of keeping us from each other’s throats. They can’t make us human but they can help keep us honest.
God’s Law in itself, however, comes under category No. 2 and is the work of God. It has been stated in eight words: “He who does not love remains in death” (1 John 3:14). Like it or not, that’s how it is. If you don’t believe it, you can always put it to the test just the way if you don’t believe the law of gravity, you can always step out a tenth-story window.10
Many of us tend to associate “laws” with “restrictions.” Some of them may seem like useless bother in our day-to-day lives (the speed limit for instance, or a stop sign on an empty street, or taxes for that matter). One could argue a lifetime over those kinds of laws. But notice in the passage above from Leviticus that set in the midst of lots of do’s and don’ts are two key imperatives, “Love your neighbor” and “Keep my statutes.”
When Jesus was once asked, “What is the greatest commandment?” He drew from this teaching as well as what our Jewish friends call the Shema from Deuteronomy.11 His answer was simple, “He answered, ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself’” (Luke 10:27).12 His answer was love.
Laws can be broken. You can run the red light, text while you drive, or cheat on your taxes. You can lust after one who is married to another, steal from your neighbor, and you do not “have” to love anyone, but you would be breaking the law—moral laws and God’s laws.
All those do’s and don’ts in the Bible that essentially have to do with not harming others or yourself—well, really they are about something I pointed to a moment ago—holiness. Not holiness in a sense of perfection, but holiness in the sense of wholeness, of being completely at peace with God and others. The best way to do that is to live into the two great laws—that vertical law of loving God and that horizontal law of loving others.
Arthur Michael Ramsey, 100th Archbishop of Canterbury, wrote, “The essence of the ethics of Jesus is not law, but a relationship of persons to God.” Rather than see law as an intrusion, what if we saw it as simply the right way to live? The most right way is a right relationship and the most right relationship is that of love—love of neighbor, of self, of God. That is what makes us right; that is what makes us holy; that is the law of God—and it is the right way to live.
Where might God’s laws seem like an intrusion into your life? What if you turned the way of seeing such intrusion instead as an invitation? An invitation to a better life? A more holy life? A more whole life? An invitation that begins merely with a willingness to be loved by God and to
