Snake on a Stick

 Jesu Juva

Numbers 21:4-9                                              

March 10, 2024

Lent 4B                                  

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        Any sermon based on today’s Old Testament reading requires the preacher to lead off with a good snake story.  And for that I’m going to lean on Garrison Keillor who tells of the day when Ranger Steve visited the third grade classroom at Lake Wobegon Elementary.  Ranger Steve brought a snake to show the children that day, and was quick to point out that snakes are our friends, and that we really don’t need to be afraid of most snakes. 

        To demonstrate just how friendly snakes could be, Ranger Steve draped that friendly reptile right over his shoulders.  But the snake immediately sensed the warmth coming up through the collar of Ranger Steve’s coveralls.  And within seconds that snake darted right down into the warm darkness of Ranger Steve’s coveralls, heading due south toward the equator.  Later that day at recess, some of the boys had fun imitating the little dance that Ranger Steve had done as he tried in vain to reroute the renegade reptile.

        Snakes have a way of getting our attention.  In fact, even one snake—one friendly, non-poisonous, insect-eating snake can send a chill down your spine on any given day.  How much more so when a vast plague of poisonous serpents comes slithering into camp—into your bedding, into your clothing, in the latrine.  (You see here the lengths the preacher has to go to to keep his hearers awake on the first day of Daylight Saving Time!)

        But the Israelites’ problem didn’t start with snakes; it started with food.  After a year camped out at Mount Sinai, God’s people were finally on the move, on their way to the Land of Promise.  It didn’t take long before the grumbling started.  It seems they were getting tired of the manna.  Every morning of every day (except on the Sabbath) the ground was covered with manna—bread from heaven.  In my own mind I picture the manna as something like our Communion wafers—sweetened with a touch of honey.

        Now imagine eating Communion wafers every day of your life for forty years.  There were no doubt some clever cooks who devised different ways to prepare the manna—fried, boiled, smoked, pickled.  (Maybe some of the Lutherans devised a manna casserole.)  But no matter how you sliced it or diced it, it was still manna.  Manna yesterday.  Manna today.  Manna tomorrow for forty years.  And God’s people began to loathe and detest this “worthless food.”

        Perhaps the grumbling began when one man stepped out of his tent early one morning.  He looks and he sees what’s wrong.  He used to love to get up in the morning—to go outside and see manna covering the ground—precious, mysterious food from God.  The name “manna” literally meant “What is it?”  The very name of this food expressed wonder and amazement, as it reminded you that it was a gift from the hand of God—that this was the bread of angels.

        Who knew you could get so sick of the bread of angels?  So, rather than gather up that gift of God, the man let out a beautiful grumble.  He grumbled against God and He grumbled against Moses.  He concluded that God had led them out of slavery only to let them die in the desert—all while force-feeding them an all-manna menu.  And all too soon that one grumble had spread throughout the entire camp.  That grumble had gone viral—that awful, beautiful grumble had a terrible power to re-shape the world for the worse.

        You know the power of a good grumble, don’t you?  Like when you’re driving home from church, after you’ve had your sins forgiven and you’ve been fed and nourished with the precious body and blood of Jesus, and the Word of God is still ringing in your ears, and you let loose with a good grumble about how the sanctuary was too warm (or too noisy), or how the choir sounded off key, or that the distribution took too long, or the organ was too loud, or how the sermon was too long, (or how it seems like pastor is sure looking old these days).  And suddenly—just like that—the precious, powerful gifts God gives in this place fade away—just disappear.  Faith, hope, and love—all of it just erased by the power of a good grumble.

        Of course, there was something quite sinister behind the Israelites’ grumbling.  They weren’t just griping and grousing about the menu.  The manna came from God Himself.  It was bread . . . from heaven.  Those daily provisions were tokens of God’s love, wafers of God’s grace and mercy.  You see, in rejecting the manna, the Israelites were really rejecting God’s love.  They were spurning God’s grace.  They were throwing away their faith.  They were forsaking the God who had saved them from slavery in Egypt—the God who had baptized them in the Red Sea.  This rebellion—this insurrection—this insubordination was poison for the people of Israel.  You cannot renounce the life God gives and go on living.  They despised the grace of God and the gifts of God.  And so the wrath of God came crashing down on them with the full fury of fiery serpents.

        Yet along with the wrath of God came the grace of God.  Even as He gave death to the impenitent, He also gave life and deliverance to those in sorrow over their sin.  He didn’t take away the snakes.  Fangs still punctured the people.  Venom still flowed.  But the Lord provided a remedy for sin—a bronze serpent—the antidote of life.  If a snake bit someone, that person could then look up at the bronze snake and live.  And as Jesus makes clear in John chapter three, that snake on that pole—that snake on a stick—is a preview—a type—of what would happen at Calvary’s cross:  Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life.

        All of humanity is snake-bitten—including you and me.  It’s been that way since our first parents listened to the serpent back in Genesis chapter three.  We were conceived with the venom of sin coursing through our veins.  But God has provided the cure—a cure that looks a lot like the disease:  His Son on the cross, bearing our sin, dying and damned in our place—stricken, smitten, and afflicted as our sacred substitute—just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness all those centuries ago.

        That is how God loves this grumbling, God-forsaking, snake-bitten world. He loves the world in a very specific way:  He gave His Son, Jesus Christ.  The Father didn’t send His Son to condemn the world, but to be condemned for the world.  His condemnation is your acquittal.  His guilt is your innocence.  His death means life for you.  He came to be lifted up on the cross and to draw all people to Himself.  Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in Him may have eternal life.

        Jesus is the antidote—the anti-venom for the sin of the world.  Anti-venom is produced by injecting small amounts of a snake’s venom into a horse or goat.  Then, as the animal builds up immunity to the venom, its antibodies are collected.  Essentially, the anti-venom—the cure—comes from one who has survived the poison.  Beloved in the Lord, Jesus has survived the poison.  Jesus took the sting of sin and death.  He suffered, died and was buried.  But on the third day He rose again from the dead.  He survived the poison.  He lives.  He Himself is the cure you need.

        And this is the place where that cure—that life—is given away for free.  This is the place where all you need to do is listen, look and live.  The anti-venom is right here in the water of baptism.  Right here in the forgiveness of sins.  Right here in the body and the blood of Jesus.  Look to Jesus and live.  Fix your eyes on Jesus. 

        It sounds easy enough; but it’s not easy at all.  Spiritual forces of evil are hard at work to keep you away from here—to shut your eyes and close your ears to the gospel.  There’s a whole brood of vipers attempting to direct your eyes and ears elsewhere.  If you look at the cover art on the bulletin, take a look at the people on the right.  Look at the effort it takes to look up at the snake on the stick.  Why does it take so much effort?  Because they’ve got venomous snakes slithering through their sleeves and diving down their coveralls!  Could you ignore a snake in your shirt to look up at a life-giving snake on a stick?  You couldn’t do it.  Not without help—not without encouragement—not without someone preaching to you and setting Christ crucified before your eyes.  Lift up your eyes, look to the Lamb, and live. 

        In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.