A Vision of the Promise, Deuteronomy 34:1-12, 10/29/23
A Vision of the Promise
Deuteronomy 34:1-12
Rev. Dr. Rhonda Abbott Blevins
October 29, 2023
Then Moses went up from the plains of Moab to Mount Nebo, to the top of Pisgah, which is opposite Jericho, and the Lord showed him the whole land: Gilead as far as Dan, all Naphtali, the land of Ephraim and Manasseh, all the land of Judah as far as the Western Sea, the Negeb, and the Plain—that is, the valley of Jericho, the city of palm trees—as far as Zoar. The Lord said to him, “This is the land of which I swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, saying, ‘I will give it to your descendants.’ I have let you see it with your eyes, but you shall not cross over there.” Then Moses, the servant of the Lord, died there in the land of Moab, at the Lord’s command. He buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, opposite Beth-peor, but no one knows his burial place to this day. Moses was one hundred twenty years old when he died; his sight was unimpaired, and his vigor had not abated. The Israelites wept for Moses in the plains of Moab thirty days; then the period of mourning for Moses was ended.
Joshua son of Nun was full of the spirit of wisdom because Moses had laid his hands on him, and the Israelites obeyed him, doing as the Lord had commanded Moses. Never since has there arisen a prophet in Israel like Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face. He was unequaled for all the signs and wonders that the Lord sent him to perform in the land of Egypt, against Pharaoh and all his servants and his entire land, and for all the mighty deeds and all the terrifying displays of power that Moses performed in the sight of all Israel.
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On April 3, 1968, the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King, Jr. stood at the pulpit of the Bishop Charles Mason Temple in Memphis, Tennessee. Over 2,000 people gathered to hear what he had to say leading up to a protest in support of sanitation workers’ rights. In the speech, King commented that the plane he boarded to leave Atlanta earlier that day was delayed in leaving. The reason? The pilot said over the speaker system that because Martin Luther King was on the plane, there had to be additional security measures—the plane had to be carefully checked, and the plane had been “protected and guarded all night.”
Then MLK closed his speech with these words:
And then I got into Memphis. And some began to say the threats, or talk about the threats that were out. What would happen to me from some of our sick white brothers?
Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop.
And I don't mind.
Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!
And so I'm happy, tonight.
I'm not worried about anything.
I'm not fearing any man!
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!
That would be Martin Luther King, Jr.’s final speech. He would be assassinated the next day—shot on his balcony at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee.
MLK never stepped foot into the land flowing with milk and honey and racial equity. He knew intuitively, perhaps prophetically, that he would never experience the equality he sought.
And so, he drew imagery from the Old Testament. He likened himself to Moses, leading the people of Israel out of slavery in Egypt, through 40 years in the wilderness. And then, on the cusp of claiming the promised land, Moses went up to the top of Mount Nebo in modern-day Jordan. From there he could see (you can still see) views of the Jordan Valley, the Dead Sea, and the hills of Jerusalem. Moses was given a vision of the promise—the land promised to his ancestor, Abraham, centuries prior. God reaffirms this promise—that the land will belong to the Hebrew people.
And then Moses received some disappointing news: though Moses got to see the Promised Land from a distance—the land flowing with milk and honey—Moses would not step foot in it. The Bible tells us that Moses died there in “the land of Moab” (modern-day Jordan). He was 120 years old.
Some read this text as tragic. All of that work—forty years of difficult leadership. First convincing the Israelites that it was time to leave Egypt. Then trying to convince Pharoah to let them go. The signs, the plagues sent upon the Egyptians. The harrowing escape from Egypt after the plague of the first born. The parting of the Red Sea for the Hebrews; the Egyptian army drowning as the sea closed in on them. Then forty years of leading a petulant people who, much of the time, preferred their comfortable slavery over the challenge of freedom. Their crafting a golden calf—blatant disregard for the worship of YHWH who led them with a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. And after all of that, God prevented Moses from entering the Promised Land because of one weak moment of disobedience? Some read this text as tragic.
But not me.
You see, Moses was 120 years old. He had already earned his place in Israel’s history—a legendary leader remembered not for a few years or a few decades or a few centuries—Moses’ name would be spoken by the Hebrew people forever. Why would he be the one, at 120 years old, to lead the people he loved into heart-wrenching battle with the Canaanites, the Amorites, the Hittites, the Perizzites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites? To me, it seems like a gift not to have to experience the bloodshed to come. At 120-years-old, Moses had done his part in the unfolding narrative of God’s plan. And that was enough.
“Well done, thy good and faithful servant!” (Matthew 25:23)
Moses did his part, and that was enough.
My question for us today is this: how do we know what our part is in the unfolding narrative of God’s plan?
Sometimes I wish that God’s call for me was as clear as it was for Moses—some unmistakable voice calling to me from a burning bush. This was especially true for me as a young adult. In fact, there was a period in which I was angry at God for God’s lack of giving me my own “burning bush” moment—some clarity of call. Here’s an excerpt from an angsty poem I wrote at that time:
No burning bushes and no fire to light my night,
There’s no fourth man in my furnace, there’s no flaming sacrifice.
You’ve been in the fire, but you’re not in mine.
Did you catch the biblical references?
· “No burning bushes” (this one is obvious) . . . the call of Moses. (Exodus 3:4)
· “No fire to light my night” . . . the Hebrew people being led in the desert by a pillar of fire at night. (Exodus 13:21)
· “No fourth man in my furnace” . . . when Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were thrown into the fiery furnace, King Nebuchadnezzar looked in and saw a mysterious fourth man. They were unscathed! (Daniel 3:25)
· “No flaming sacrifice” . . . God set Elijah’s sacrifice on fire when he faced the prophets of Baal. (1 Kings 18:38)
In these incredible stories from the Old Testament, God seemed to show up in profound and miraculous ways, and as a young adult, I wanted (demanded?) something spectacular from God as well.
How arrogant of me! And naïve as well!
So how do we know “our part” in the unfolding narrative of God’s plan, since God doesn’t typically speak to us from burning bushes?
Let’s first consider that Moses was 80-years-old before God spoke to him from a burning bush. That’s a lifetime (or so he must have thought)! His life was relatively banal until that point, save for one act of murder. But even his worst mistake would be used by God in the unfolding narrative of God’s plan.
What was Moses “part” in the plan up until God spoke to him from a burning bush at the age of 80? A lot of it was out of his control entirely:
· Born a Hebrew.
· Grew up in the Egyptian Pharoah’s household.
· At age 40, committed murder and self-exiled into the desert.
· Tended sheep in the desert for 40 years.
Nothing remarkable except for a little felony. And all of that unremarkable experience was exactly what God needed in the person who would lead Israel out of Egypt. Why?
· He spent his first 40 years as a Hebrew raised as a grandchild to Pharoah. Who better to take the Hebrew’s cause before Pharoah?
· He spent his next 40 years gaining experience in the wilderness tending sheep—the same wilderness that stood between Israel’s slavery in Egypt and sovereignty in the Promised Land. Who better to help the Hebrews navigate their 40 years in the wilderness?
· He spent his final 40 years leading them in the wilderness. He’s now 120-years-old. The next phase will be battle after battle after bloody battle. That is not his to lead. He looks over at the Promised Land—he’s brought the people this far—and his job is done.
Moses’ life of mendacity gave him the capacity to do exactly the thing God put him on this planet to do.
In a beautiful little book by Parker Palmer entitled Let Your Life Speak, Palmer writes this: “Before I can tell my life what I want to do with it, I must listen to my life telling me who I am.”
How do we know our part? We must listen to our lives. We must look back and discern where we have been, what knowledge, education, skills, relationships and other assets we’ve gained along the way. The stories of our lives are quietly dropping hints about the next chapter, and the next, and the next. But we must listen to our lives.
What is your life telling you?
Think about it this way: when you’re working a jigsaw puzzle, and there’s a piece missing, you can determine the shape of that missing piece because the pieces already in place reveal the shape of the one not yet found. The same is true of our lives.
What is your life telling you?
And now, shifting from our individual lives to our life together as a church family—what is our life telling us, Chapel by the Sea? How do we know “our part,” as a church, in the narrative of God’s unfolding plan?
This is an important question for us at this particular time in the unfolding narrative of Chapel by the Sea. You see, we stand at the cusp of our 75th year as a church community—next year we’ll celebrate our 75th anniversary, our diamond jubilee! It’s an opportunity to look back on our first 75 years and ask, “What is our first 75 years telling us about what God is calling us to be and do in our next 75 years?”
And we’re a little like Moses, standing on a mountaintop looking over at the Promised Land, knowing he’s not going to personally enter the land. Because, let’s face it, 75 years from now, not too many of us will still be around. I did the math, and I’ll be 128-years-old if I live that long. I’ve seen some old preachers in my day, but I’ve never seen a 128-year-old preacher!
As we consider the next 75 years of Chapel by the Sea, we recognize that we’re not building the future of the Chapel for ourselves—we’re working to make sure that future generations will be able to experience the love of Christ through this church, in the same way that the founders of the Chapel built this church not just for themselves, but for us here today.
So this question, “What is our part?”, is part of the impetus behind a $10,000 grant we recently received from Columbia Theological Seminary in Atlanta. At 75 years, we’ll be doing the hard work of discernment—listening to our life as a church family, and envisioning what the next chapter holds, what the next piece will look like.
We’re calling the project, “For Such a Time As This.” It’s based on a line from the Old Testament Book of Esther. You may remember that Esther is a Jewish woman who becomes the queen of King Xerxes of Persia. Her cousin tells her that God has placed her in that role “for such a time as this”—that she might influence the King on behalf of her people. Her courage and intervention ultimately lead to the salvation of the Jewish community, perfectly demonstrating that individuals can be placed in positions of influence precisely when they are needed most to make a difference in the world.
And maybe, just maybe, God has brought each of us here, now, “for such a time as this.”
It seems to me that 2024 will be our “Jordan River”—a threshold we must cross before we enter the Promised Land. It’s a pivotal time in the life of our church. Yes, we have a major renovation project ahead of us. We’re bolstering the supports. We’re making our sanctuary safer and taking care of some huge maintenance issues. We’re making some exciting improvements related to instrumentation, hearing assistance, audio-visual—and generally sprucing up the place. When we unveil some visuals in the weeks ahead, I think you’re going to be so excited!
But here’s the deal—this building, and all the work we’re putting into it—isn’t the end. It’s merely the means to an end. To be honest, I’m eager to get this work, as exciting as it is, behind us. Because then we can return our focus to the work of ministry! To sharing the love of Christ in every possible way we can together. That’s what’s truly exciting!
Today, we’re like Moses standing on a mountaintop, looking over the Jordan into the Promised Land. Yes, there will be challenges ahead. We can name some of them. While we know that there will be challenges ahead, we also remember God’s promise—that God will go with us as we step into the future.
I want you to know [today], that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!
And so I’m happy, [today].
I’m not worried about anything.
I’m not fearing any man!
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!