Distracted

Numbers 12:1-15

October 15, 2023 • Mount Pleasant UMC

Do you ever sit down to tackle one task and find sixteen others pulling at you, begging for your attention? Do you ever walk into a room to do something and can’t remember what you came there to do? Do you ever wake up in the morning and have no idea what day it is? I said a few weeks ago that we live in a distracted world, or rather, a world full of distractions. There are so many things that pull at our attention. I love the way Bob Goff gets right to the heart of the matter: “We arrive as babies, placed in the arms of parents who are complete amateurs with no owner’s manual and usually no clue how to raise us. Most of us start broke or broken, and some of us stay that way. Some strike it rich but then accumulate a distorted view of their wealth; still others never find healing in their search for wholeness. Add to this that we’re following a God we can’t see, for a lifetime we can’t measure, to a heaven we can’t comprehend, because of grace we didn’t earn. Again, is it any wonder we’re all a little muddled?” (Undistracted, pgs. 4-5).

Muddled. Distracted. Confused. All of those might describe me at any point during the day; you could ask the office staff and I’m sure they would verify that. So many things pull for my attention, and so many things pull for your attention. It’s easy to get distracted, and while we talked about that a bit a few weeks ago, this morning we’re going to zoom in on the issue as we look at it in the context of our stewardship, our priorities, and our mission. We’re in the middle of this series called “Love Let Go,” in which we’re seeking to describe what a life of generosity looks like. Last week we looked at the story of Abram and Lot, and how Abram was laser focused on his belief that God would provide for him no matter what. Today, we’re moving on into the story of the Exodus, to look at a story of Moses and his siblings. And I don’t know if there’s anything that can distract us more than family strife and sibling rivalry.

We like to think that the people of the Bible, the people God called and used, were above that, that their lives were always well put together and calm, but it’s not so. In our passage this morning, we have an account of a time when family issues caught up with Moses. Moses you probably remember. He’s the one God called to rescue the Hebrews from slavery in Egypt, and he led them into the desert where they proceeded to live for forty years. Because Moses at first lacked confidence to be the spokesperson for God, God sent his brother Aaron to help with that job, and his sister Miriam also became instrumental in helping lead the people in the desert. On the surface everything seemed fine, but there was an intense jealousy brewing between the siblings. I’m sure you don’t know what that’s like at all—that never happens in your family.

So we come to Numbers 12, which opens with a very disturbing image of apparent racism. The chapter begins with Aaron and Miriam grumbling about their brother. Talking behind his back (Message). And while they are openly questioning his authority (12:2), the reason they are doing so is because of who he married. A Cushite. A woman from what today is known as Ethiopia. So a black woman. And this is his second wife. Whether his first wife, Zipporah, has died or he has just taken on another wife (which was seen as a status symbol in that culture)—we don’t know which is true. But either way, he has married a woman from Cush and his siblings don’t like it. She’s not one of “us.” She is “other.” So they begin to talk, saying things like: someone through whom God speaks should not behave in such a way. Maybe we need to remind people that God has spoken through us, too. Why did he bring “that woman” into our camp? So goes the conversation. So goes the grumbling. And it’s not long before they are distracted from their real purpose.

I’ve got to think Moses is tired of all the grumbling by now. The people complained about him in Egypt—“You’re causing us to have to work more!” (Exodus 5:20-21). They complained about him at the Sea—“Did you just bring us out here to die?” (Exodus 14:11-12). They complained about him in the desert—“We don’t like what we have to eat! We miss the foods of Egypt!” (Exodus 16:3). And now his sister and brother are complaining about him—“You married the wrong person. It’s not right for someone who says he speaks for God” (12:2). And when you think about all that complaining, the next verse doesn’t seem so out of place. It says, “Now Moses was a very humble man, more humble than anyone else on the face of the earth” (12:3). I’ve made the joke before that Moses is traditionally considered the author of Numbers, in fact of all of the first five books of the Bible, and so it seems here he’s calling himself the “most humble man ever.” But then I got to looking deeper into it; the word that’s translated “humble” actually means “afflicted,” as if someone is in “humbler circumstances” because they’ve been beaten down so often. It probably should be translated something like this: “Moses was very afflicted, maybe the most unpopular person in all the world.” That makes a whole lot more sense! He’s feeling alone, rejected, abandoned, even by his family, his people (cf. Goldingay, Numbers & Deuteronomy for Everyone, pg. 32).

But the reason behind all of it is that Miriam and Aaron have gotten distracted. They’ve become obsessed with a secondary matter and forgotten the main reason they are even out in the desert, the main reason God has spoken through Moses. Of all people, Miriam should have been the one who remembered. She is the Bible’s first female prophet, speaking the word of God often in a culture that did not recognize women as leaders. As a child, she helped save Moses, suggesting to the Pharaoh’s daughter that she could find a Hebrew woman to help care for the baby (cf. Exodus 2:7). After the people crossed through the Sea, Miriam led all of the women in a song, celebrating God’s rescue and protection of them. You can “hear” the song in Exodus 15: “Sing to the Lord, for he is highly exalted. Both horse and driver he has hurled into the sea” (15:21). She takes on the role of reminding the people who they are. “Don’t forget! Remember this moment! Sing this song! March on and have faith!” she seems to say. One author describes her as an “anchor of faith…under conditions that would challenge the most capable of leaders” (Traux & Campbell, Love Let Go, pgs. 69-70).

And then she forgets. She gets distracted by Moses’ marriage. Maybe it was only a moment, a fleeting thought, but it’s allowed to take over in her mind and heart and it becomes a huge thing, big enough to cause a potential disruption among the people of God. And that’s why God responds the way he does. Now, to us, at least to me, God’s response sounds harsh. First, God speaks to Miriam, reminding her that Moses and he have a special relationship. In fact, God says, they speak “face to face,” or more literally, “mouth to mouth” (12:8), which is a way of saying Moses is authorized to speak for God to Israel with total authority (cf. Wenham, Numbers, pg. 112). God basically tells Miriam and Aaron to back off, back down, and let Moses do what God has called him to do. And then God punishes Miriam with what the NIV calls leprosy. Rather than the leprosy we know of today, this was apparently a patchy, scaly skin disease, more like psoriasis or severe eczema with flaking, peeling scales (Wenham 113). For seven days, she had to be confined outside the camp so as not to spread the disease, and rather than moving on, out of respect for Miriam’s standing in the community, they all waited the week out until she was allowed back (12:15).

Of course, the question comes up: why Miriam and not Aaron? The beginning of the chapter is quite clear that it was both Miriam and Aaron who were complaining against Moses, but only Miriam gets the disease. It’s possible she was the ringleader, the source of the loudest complaint, but we don’t know that for sure. We do know that Miriam’s punishment was enough to move Aaron to repentance; in verses 11-12, he begs God to spare his sister. He’s more adamant than Moses is, in fact. I’m not really sure what the dynamics are here, but whatever is going on, Miriam’s punishment is enough to set the whole situation right. I think, perhaps, it’s because Miriam was the most distracted and needed time away to think, to reorient, to remember who she was.

Because that’s what we need when we get distracted, isn’t it? We need to remember who we are. Maybe we need time away from whatever the situation is to reflect on our identity, away from any competing demands on our attention (cf. Truax & Campbell 71). What if Miriam’s punishment is actually a gift of grace, giving her space to help her remember who she is and who her people are? When she focused on her complaint against Moses, Miriam forgot who she was. We often do, too.

So who are we? Here’s a truth to embrace, a truth we began to unpack last week: we were created by a generous God to be generous people. Think about the God who created all of this, and what he has given to us—things he did not have to give us. For instance, my dog, Barnabas (who I try to work into as many sermons as I can), cannot see color, which tells me the world doesn’t have to be in color for life to go on. The beauty of a sunset, or the vibrant color of the mums on my front step, or the vast diversity of people in tones and shades of color—all of that is a gift of grace, reminding us that God is a generous God. Or what about taste? We don’t have to have the wide variety of flavors that we do in order to be nourished. But because God is generous, we have sweet and sour, chocolate and hamburgers, asparagus and cake—need I go on or are you getting hungry now? There are flavors we like and flavors we don’t like and even the flavors we don’t like someone else loves. The variety reminds us that God is a generous God when he didn’t have to be. I could go on, but the point is this: the God who is generous calls us to be generous people as well, not holding things against others like Miriam and Aaron did to Moses. He calls us to be lavish in our welcome, creative in our care and purposeful in our actions. Every time you encounter someone who is generous, it feels familiar because generosity is written into our DNA.

And yet it faces incredible competition in this world today. One author lists just a few of generosity’s challengers: “a culture of consumption, a growing rich-poor gap, the anonymity of social media, increased exposure to advertising” (Truax & Campbell 67). And yet, the greatest challenge to generosity isn’t any of those things. The greatest challenge to a world filled with generosity is us. You and me. We get distracted and focus inward, on our own complaints and frustrations and fears and worries and we forget to be the generous people God made us to be.

There’s a story of this from the life of Jesus, during the last week of his life. It’s not the last supper, but it’s the next-to-last supper, and it happened in Bethany at a home owned by Simon the Leper. It’s interesting he still had that name, because if he still was a leper, he would have had to live outside the city. Apparently Jesus must have healed him at some point, so he might better be called Simon the Former Leper. But anyway, he’s hosting a dinner party for Jesus and the disciples when in walks a woman with an alabaster jar full of perfume. The story is told slightly differently in each Gospel, but in some way, this woman gets into the house (probably actually into the courtyard), comes around the table to Jesus and pours the oil on him. Matthew says she pours it on his head; in other accounts, it’s poured on his feet. But wherever it landed, the point is the same, according to Jesus. She is anointing his body to prepare it for burial. I think she was probably responding to something Jesus had done for her or her family, giving him the most precious possession she had. She’s being generous, probably not even aware of what she’s really doing. She is being who she is, and she can’t help herself but to give what she has away. Jesus praises her for her generosity, and promises that her story will be told everywhere the Gospel is preached. The Gospel writers wrote it down, and look—we’re still telling her story, even here today!

But not everyone is thrilled with her action or Jesus’ reaction. As Matthew tells it, the disciples (all of them) become “indignant.” They were angry, but apparently not at the woman. They are angry at Jesus. Why didn’t he put a stop to this ridiculous display? Why didn’t he throw the woman out of their private dinner party? They don’t say that, of course. They make their objection sound religious. “This perfume could have been sold at a high price and the money given to the poor” (Mathew 26:9). Generosity has been in their DNA and their ministry, but this night they are distracted. They don’t want this woman there, interrupting whatever it was they were doing in Simon’s house. Suddenly, they are not seeing what has happened as a generous offering but as a distraction. They become focused on the small and not the bigger picture. In fact, one of them becomes so narrowly focused that, according to Matthew and Mark, this is actually the thing that makes him go out and offer to turn Jesus in to the authorities. After dinner, Judas sneaks away and goes to the chief priests, offering to “deliver” Jesus to them. Once they agree (and even pay him for his services), we have this ominous verse: “From then on Judas watched for an opportunity to hand him over” (Matthew 26:1-16). When we get distracted, generosity is sent packing.

You know, we read that story (at least during Lent every year), and we always think, “If I had been Judas, I would never have turned Jesus in. I wouldn’t have given up who I am for thirty pieces of silver.” Or we read the story of Miriam and Aaron today and think, “I would never have spoken against Moses. I mean, he’s the greatest leader of the Old Testament. I wouldn’t have complained about his new wife.” But one of the beautiful things about the stories of the Bible is how often we find ourselves in its pages and in its characters. The Bible doesn’t shy away from calling us out about how we really are. And the reality is that we get distracted, just like Miriam and Aaron, just like Judas, and we forget who we are. We forget we are generous people. And then fear settles in.

Some speculate that at least part of Miriam’s reaction toward Moses’ new wife was born out of fear—fear that she might be replaced, fear that she might have less influence in the community and with her brother, fear that change would not be for the good. But fear was often in the air during their journeys in the wilderness. When the people complained about how the food back in Egypt was so much better than what they were having in the desert, God began to send manna to them each day. And the instructions were clear: gather only enough for the day except on Friday. On Friday, in preparation for the Sabbath rest the next day, gather twice as much. But because they were distracted by fear, some gathered extra and stashed it away “just in case,” and when they went to get it the next morning, “it was full of maggots and began to smell” (Exodus 16:20). They had put their faith and their hope in the manna, not in the God who provided the manna because they were distracted by a fear of scarcity. “In a world of scarcity, resourcefulness counts” (Truax & Campbell 98). But what they thought was resourcefulness was a distraction. It turned these generous people into hoarders.

Just like those Israelites wandering in the desert, we think of ourselves as generous people. We don’t think of ourselves as hoarders; we like to be known as givers. But deep within, do we fear that next unexpected expense, that car repair or appliance breakdown? Yes, I do. I’ll put my hand up. There are nights when I lay awake, wondering if I have enough set aside for this or that, or for all the unexpected things I can’t even imagine as the hours drag on. I remember a man in a church I served many years ago who retired and was living comfortably when all of a sudden, the market burst and over night this joyful, giving man was transformed into a deeply fearful and depressed person that I didn’t recognize. I get it. Those things easily distract us, keep us awake, keep us full of fear and dampen our natural generosity. “And because a church is simply a collection of individuals, fearful people make fearful churches” (Truax & Campbell 99).

I think that’s why we get one command over and over again in the Bible: “Do not fear.” It’s been said that it’s in there 365 times, one for every day of the year, but I’ll be honest and let you know I’ve never actually counted them myself. I do know it’s in there a lot, and it’s one of Jesus’ more frequently repeated commands. But just spoken by itself, those words begin to sound like a platitude—words without meaning. The antidote to the kind of fear that impedes our generosity, according to Jesus, is to give ourselves away to a larger mission. For Miriam and Aaron, the antidote to their fear was to remember who they were as the people of God, and what their calling was: to guide the Israelites home to the promised land. They were not going to accomplish that if they were sowing doubt and fighting with their brother. For the disciples, the antidote to fear was giving themselves to the mission God had entrusted them to. I can’t help but wonder what might have happened with Judas if he had looked beyond his distraction to all the things Jesus had been teaching him and the others for three years. What if he had waited until the resurrection? What if he had gathered with the others on the mountain in Galilee and heard that now-famous instruction to “go and make disciples of all nations” (Matthew 28:19)? As Bob Goff puts it, “The way to beat distraction is to become captivated by something much bigger and much better, such as purpose and joy” (Goff 9).

Friends, this year, your Leadership Council has been re-invigorated by a new purpose, something we began talking about way back in the spring. Our mission does not change. Our mission continues to be making disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world. But our purpose, our vision, the way we live that out, needs to be restated from time to time, and this year we’ve been reminding you that we want to be people who (say it with me, you know this if you’ve been here for very long) love God, love people and love life. If we are doing those things, if we are living that way, then we shouldn’t have any time left over to let fear take charge or to allow distractions to win the day. Loving God, loving people and loving life is a tall order, a purpose much bigger and better than worrying about the ups and downs of the stock market or our bank accounts. And when we give ourselves to that purpose, then everything else in our lives begins to revolve around it. Every decision we make, particularly in our finances and the ways we handle the resources God has entrusted us with, is filtered through that purpose. Does this help me better love God, love people and love life? That is a calling that can elevate every aspect of our days.

It did for my friend Ed. Ed was a pastor of a small local church with a generosity of spirit you don’t see very often. One time when Ed learned that the superintendent was coming to visit his church for a worship service, Ed decided to have the choir sing for the special service. There was only one problem: Ed didn’t have a choir. His church was very small. So Ed went to the local bar and listened to people sing. If someone sang well, he invited them to come sing in his choir for this special service. He put together a community choir and welcomed all who came. It was probably the biggest service that church had ever seen! Ed’s wife, Linda, was often frustrated with him in the winter because so many nights, Ed would come home without a coat on. “What did you do with your coat?” she would ask and the answer was always the same: “Someone needed it and I gave it away.” The whole little town one Pastor Ed. Then Ed got cancer and fought it as hard as he could, but to no avail. The last time I talked to Ed, he called me about an Emmaus Walk he had agreed to work. “I don’t think I have the strength to do it,” he told me. “I don’t think I’m going to make it.” Ed gave his life (and all of his coats) away for the sake of others. He was generous and undistracted because he had given himself to something bigger and better. I want to be like Ed when I grow up.

And so this week, I’m going to invite you to join me in taking a pause to remember who I am, to remember who you are. We have the next seven days, just like Miriam had, to reflect and to deal with the distractions in our lives. What is the bigger and better cause you want to give your life for? And how will that be reflected in every aspect of your life, including your finances? Because, you know, next Sunday we’re going to have pledge cards available and we’re going to ask you to make a promise to God and to the church concerning your giving for the coming year. So this week, spend time in prayer, spend time in reflection, spend time recovering your generous nature. Let’s commit ourselves anew this week to loving God, loving people and loving life so that the world may know the generous love of our God. Let’s pray.