Introduction

This is the sermon I preached at Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., on Wednesday, Nov. 25, 2009, for the congregation’s annual Thanksgiving Eve service.

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Readings

Deuteronomy 8:1-10
Psalm 65
1 Timothy 2:1-7
Matthew 6:25-33

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Prayer

Long ago, O God, you spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets. Now in these last days, make us listen as you speak to us by your Son. Amen. (based on Hebrews 1:1-2, NRSV)

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Message

Sometimes when we hear a story,
we find it tugging at our hearts
for reasons we don’t fully understand.
The story of God leading Israel from bondage to freedom
under the reluctant leadership of Moses
is one of those stories.

It is epic in scope,
sweeping across the decades,
filled with a hero’s birth and unlikely rescue,
astute and visionary women,
hand-to-hand combat,
royal intrigue,
battles of wits,
chariot chases,
fantastic displays of divine power,
unlikely escapes,
and in the end, the triumph of the underdog.

This story reads like a compendium from which springs
almost every attractive and successful Hollywood blockbuster.
But despite these many appealing qualities,
my hunch is that the story’s true attraction for us
lies in quiet and subtle element.

Israel has always been—first and foremost—
a people of the promise, a community gathered around God almighty.
And he is the God who makes himself known by his Word.
Israel heard him speak this Word as promises, and at times, judgments.
To Abraham and Sarah, God promised descendents
as uncountable as the stars in the sky and the sand on the beach.
He called them to leave Ur of the Chaldeans, present-day Iraq,
and journey to a land unseen and unknown,
a land he promised would be theirs forever.

And then when Israel fled a famine
and landed in Egypt, she lost the land,
and eventually her freedom as well.

But when the people cried to God,
he heard them and raised up Moses
to liberate them from bondage under Pharaoh
and to return them to freedom in the land he had promised them.

This is where the story tugs at us:
in its quiet exploration
of the entwined promises of land and freedom.

How can we hear this story,
and not recall—
despite the histories of slaves and American Indians—
the great theme of our country’s founding,
its interlocking epic of land and freedom?

And so, as Moses and the people paused
on the plains of Moab,
before launching their conquest of Canaan
and regaining that promised land,
we pause as well, and listen with sympathy
to the words Moses shared in his address.

“Remember the long way,” he said.
And he reminded the people
of their forty years in the wilderness
and of God’s gracious and loving care for them,
despite their bouts of rebellion
and their acts of unfaithfulness to him.

It’s not hard for us to identify with this part of the story either.
Our country has wandered away from God,
just as each of us has strayed into the wilderness
and carried out our own acts of disobedience and idolatry.

But no matter what we have done,
personally or nationally,
we cannot wipe away God’s promises.
We cannot deter him from his plans for us.
We may be unfaithful to the covenant,
but we cannot make God break faith with us.

That’s why we can look back on the long way we have come
and see, through Israel’s eyes,
how God has humbled us and tested us.
And like Israel, we may find ourselves refined and purified,
made obedient, returned to the faith,
by the trials we have undergone at his holy and righteous hands.

God has “ma[d]e us understand
that one does not live by bread alone,
but by every word
that comes from the mouth of the LORD.” (Deuteronomy 8:3b, NRSV)
And so, we “kn[o]w then in []our heart[s] that as a parent disciplines a child
so the LORD []our God disciplines [us].” (Deuteronomy 8:5, NRSV)

We receive God’s blessings as gifts from him,
just as Israel was blessed by the abundance of the land.
And in response to these gifts—
to the land we have inherited,
the food that grows upon it,
the wood and stone and clay we fashion into homes,
the water that we and plants and animals need to live,
the opportunities we have to work,
the communities God raises up in our midst—
in return for these many blessings,
we join our voices with Israel’s people.

As Moses said to them, he says also to us,
“You shall eat your fill and bless the LORD your God
for the good land that he has given you.” (Deuteronomy 8:10, NRSV)

When we bless the Lord,
we give him thanks.
This is the root from which this national holiday grows.
And if you listen carefully,
you can hear these words of blessing and giving thanks
scattered throughout our liturgy
like good seeds scattered on the land.

“Blessed be God…and blessed be his kingdom….”
“By the work of your Spirit lead us to…give thanks for your benefits….”
“Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.”
“It is right to give him thanks and praise.”
“Blessed are you, Lord of heaven and earth.”
“We give thanks to you for the salvation you have prepared….”
“We give you thanks, almighty God….”
“Thanks be to God.”

This is our worship.
These are the words of thanksgiving
we offer in grateful obedience
to the God who gives us life,
who watches over us in the wilderness
and leads us into his land,
who blesses Israel and us
with all good things,
with health and strength and daily food,
and most especially for new life
through his Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord.

He invites us to share his Thanksgiving dinner.
He is the Host who offers himself for us,
that we may eat our fill
and bless the LORD our God. Amen.