A Future With Hope

September 8, 2024 - Exodus 13: 19-22 (NSRV)

There is a larger story around this tiny snippet of text we read from Exodus today, in which God calls Moses to lead the enslaved ancient Hebrew people from Pharaoh’s deathly grip to a land flowing with milk and honey after a long arduous journey. Before that part of the story though, Genesis gives us Moses’ ancestor Joseph’s story.  This character, now of Technicolor Dreamcoat fame, is the one who brought the people to Egypt in the first place, in order to survive a great famine and, for a while, to prosper there.

Our stories have history, too. Whatever we’re going through now –individually, as households, as communities, or even as whole countries– there is a longer story of which we are a part. Whether we know our ancestors or not, their story is part of how we got to where we are. And, whether we meet very many of those who come after us, our story is part of their story, too. How do we approach our moment in this greater history with trust that God does indeed lead us to a future with hope, as the Jeremiah text that leads us through this September worship series promises?

How do we become good stewards of the challenges and opportunities before us?  

Today’s snippet of scripture captures an odd detail in the greater story of the Hebrew people’s escape from Egypt. On the way out of slavery, before they even get to the Red Sea, they stop and take with them the bones of their ancestor Joseph, who according to the scripture asked his people to remember him in this way.  

Now, I live next to Channing Park and Elementary School, and I know well that decades before my feet ever touched those grounds they were the site of a large cemetery. When the city needed the ground for something else they opened Bluff City Cemetery farther west and invited the families of the deceased to move the bones themselves. Many families did. But either due to lack of contact information, lack of descendants, or lack of funds, some bodies did not get moved. They’re still there, including one marked grave in the corner of the park. It turns out it’s no easy task. And I can’t imagine it was an overly desirable one even in Moses’ day.  

But they stopped on their exodus from Egypt to gather up their ancestor’s bones.

It’s so remarkable to me. They didn’t leave the bones there. Neither did they decide that they couldn’t leave because that’s where their ancestors’ bones were. They went forth into a future with hope, carrying the very bones of their ancestors with them.

I moved from Pennsylvania across the country of my own free will. I was not being chased by an army bent on the annihilation of my people. But still, living so far from the place in which I grew up and my own blood family, I have had to chart my own future. I have needed to decide in what ways I would carry forward the gifts of my ancestors for the needs of the present and the hoped for future of my children. There are some traditions and foodways I have kept - like reading to my kids before bed or making German potato salad. There are others I have left behind. I parent a little differently than my parents and grandparents. And I just can’t seem to recreate my grandmother’s raisin-filled cookies. There are still others I have completely reimagined. Like reimagining holiday celebrations and learning to make gluten-free pancakes.  

There are of course immigrants, abuse victims, and displaced people around the world today who know too well the story of fleeing home because home is an unsafe place to be.  

Award winning Somali-British poet Warsan Shire once wrote,

“no one leaves home unless

home is the mouth of a shark

you only run for the border

when you see the whole city running as well…

…and no one would leave home

unless home chased you to the shore

unless home told you

to quicken your legs

leave your clothes behind

crawl through the desert

wade through the oceans

drown

save

be hunger

beg

forget pride

your survival is more important

no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear

saying leave,

run away from me now

I don't know what i’ve become

but I know that anywhere

is safer than here.”  

That’s what Moses’ people faced leaving Egypt. They left generations of violence and trauma behind. They left in fear. They left hunted. Still, they left with hope that God would lead them to freedom. It may be difficult for those of us who have not faced such dire circumstances to fully comprehend such a reality. But who among us has not met some kind of heartache, challenge, or loss that led us to make a change that we could only hope would lead toward a happier, healthier future? In those uncertain times, I have heard person after person testify to me how important it was to remember they were not alone.  

That’s another important detail from today’s tiny text. In it, we receive the first description of God moving with the people in a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. Together they followed God toward that freedom-filled future. How do we, too, learn to face challenges before us with trust that we are not alone? How do we come together to listen for the ways God still moves among us, leading us to a future with hope?  I think church is a great place to do that. At its best, church can be a place where we remember our unbreakable connection to God, the Source of all Love and Life. At its best, church can be a place where we come together and remember our unbreakable connection to each other, allowing us to boldly respond to the needs, challenges, and opportunities before us.

There was no violence they were fleeing one hundred and twenty five years ago when a group of folks from the Mt. Morris Church of the Brethren moved to Elgin with the printing press. They came here because it was easier to ship these wares from this location. And when they came they started a new Church of the Brethren congregation. They bought this then relatively new church building from some Presbyterians and eventually called themselves the Highland Avenue Church of the Brethren. They responded to the changing circumstances and did a new thing in a new place, carrying with them the gifts, traditions, and faith ways that meant so much to them. Together, they followed God to this new place. They are part of our story. We get to be stewards of the gifts they put in place here in Elgin. But we don’t have to do everything the same way they did. Our dress has changed. Our music has changed. Our culture and structure and expectations have all changed. How many things can we name have changed about our lives, our families, our communities, and our church just since 2020?  

If we stop and think about it, how many things are we still trying to figure out how to do differently since the pandemic struck or since any number of other big changes in our individual lives? There is often something lost in big changes. But together and with God’s help we can be good stewards of the chapter of history we are writing now. Together and with God’s help we can carry forward the gifts of the past into the future with hope.

May it be so. Amen.