Sermon on September 20, 2026
“Wilderness Lessons”
By: The Very Rev. Pamela Dolan
Primary scripture source: Exodus 16:2-15
When I was in grade school, I fell in love with the character of Eloise, the little girl who lived in luxury in the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan. Her escapades were the stuff of breathtaking fantasy to me. Imagine living like that! In a penthouse! With doormen and bell boys at your beck and call and room service available all hours of the day and night! Maybe you can’t imagine it, but I sure could!
I grew up up in Hawaii with four older siblings, a long way from New York City. Needless to say, our vacations were not at the Plaza or often at any hotel. Instead, we usually saved money by going backpacking, camping in wilderness areas. In the early years of these vacations, I was not a fan. I would grumble to myself, plodding along as my siblings blazed ahead. My pack was always too heavy and all I had to look forward to at the end of the day was a dinner of rehydrated food heated up over a camp stove. My mother insists that more than once I got completely fed up and exploded, “We’re supposed to be on vacation! Why did we have to come to this godforsaken place?”
Those godforsaken places, as I called them, in reality were nothing short of Paradise. They were mostly in parts of Hawaii that had not yet been discovered by tourists and offered spectacular vistas, tropical terrain, waterfalls, and ocean views galore. It’s true, there were days of walking through mud and up rocky trails, but the effort was supposed to be part of the reward. Today, I would pay big money for a vacation like that, although if I’m honest, I would still prefer not to carry such a heavy pack or eat dehydrated meals. Regardless, I’m very grateful that I had those childhood experiences, which, I’m happy to report, I did learn to appreciate and even love as I got a little older, a little more confident in my own abilities, and a lot more aware of the privilege of living in such a remarkable place.
You can probably see why I don’t want us to be too quick to condemn the Israelites in today’s passage from Exodus. Frist, let’s take an honest look at them. They are ungrateful, and whiny, and point fingers of blame everywhere except at themselves. They make an art of looking a gift horse in the mouth. Instead of rejoicing when they find water in the wilderness, they complain that it is bitter. Instead of awestruck amazement that God sends them manna from heaven, they soon make it known that they want meat as well as bread.
It is strange how quickly they seem to forget the horrors of life in Egypt. The early chapters of Exodus go to great lengths to describe the ruthless, oppressive treatment of the Israelites and how it had left them defeated and hopeless. They were forced to do harder and harder labor with fewer and fewer resources and ultimately were subjected almost unimaginable cruelties. Any security they thought they had was illusory, as it could be taken away at a whim by their masters, who saw them only as another resource to be extracted, used, and discarded.
They behavior and attitude of the Israelites can be baffling, but in the end, they are just people, fallible human beings who are afraid and hungry and lost, or if not exactly lost at least a long way from anything they could call home.
When it comes right down to it, I wonder if we are so different than the Israelites. I don’t mean as individuals, although obviously my backpacking story suggests that I have had my moments as a world-class ingrate and champion complainer. I’m thinking more of us as a people, as Americans, or as 21st-century global citizens, or even as Christians.
Most of us, I hope, have never been in quite as dire a situation as that of the Israelites enslavement in Egypt. However, I would argue that most of us are stuck in an extractivist economy that has a similar grip on our spirits, and increasingly on our minds and bodies as well.
Americans report working harder and harder for less and less. Economic inequality increases while investment in our schools, roads, parks, libraries, and other infrastructure is neglected, making public life less pleasurable and increasing social divisions. We have a sense of being on call 24/7, subject to the demands of the very devices that were supposed to offer us freedom and ease. And don’t get me started on issues like healthcare, affordable housing, or the targeting of immigrants and other vulnerable people.
We do not, by and large, feel like we’re living in the land of milk and honey that we were promised. We are, in a very real sense, in our own wilderness time, a time when the old systems have fallen apart and new ways of doing and being in the world have not yet become clear. This feels scary, to be sure. And yet how much of our perspective is clouded by fear, and hunger, and a sense of not being quite at home in the world?
One thing the story of Exodus can teach us is that the time in the wilderness was, in its way, a gift. Walking through the wilderness between Egypt and Canaan was difficult, but it was not more difficult than the way they had been treated by Pharaoh and his minions. By God’s grace, that seemingly scary and forbidding wilderness was providing the people with everything they needed. They had water, they had bread, they had meat. Their life was hard, but it was not desperate. And they were free.
Above all, the time in the wilderness was a time of learning. The Israelites had to learn to listen and to trust—trust God, trust each other, and trust Creation. They had to learn to live within limits, not because God is stingy and mean, but because finitude is part of the fabric of reality. It was this wilderness time of transition and uncertainty that most helped the Israelites learn who they were and what they needed in order to become a free people again, to become the people God had created them to be.
We need these lessons, too. Listening, to one another, to God, and to Creation, is the only way forward. Understanding and respecting the limits of creation, and living within them, is no longer simply a nice way to live, an optional lifestyle for the Birkenstocks and granola set, it is imperative. New life in God isn’t going to look like what Empire teaches us to desire, but we must not let the imagined fleshpots of Egypt blind us to the real satisfaction of daily bread.
We may be in the wilderness, but we are far from godforsaken. Rather, we are so blessed. We are part of a community of learners, of compassionate and committed people who are on this journey together, wherever it may lead. And Creation is still offering us everything we need, nourishment and refreshment enough to satisfy our bodies and our souls, when we have eyes to see the gifts that are all around us and the wisdom to know how to use these gifts responsibly and well.
So, as we embark on a new program year, a new school year, let us listen. Let us learn. Let us continue to make this a place where the water of life is flowing, where bread from heaven is shared, and where all God’s beloved creation is honored and respected. God has done marvelous things for us. God is still doing marvelous things. And we are invited to do marvelous things in God’s name and to God’s glory, working together for the day when all Creation will sing in solidarity and praise.
[i] Kimmerer, The Serviceberry: Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World (New York: Scribner, 2024)
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