Text: Exodus 32:1-20; Luke 4:1-4
Speaker: Joel Miller
My dad recently told me about an annual poetry contest in Barcelona, Spain where they give prizes for the top three poems. This was mentioned in a commencement address by the poet Billy Collins, and it was the prizes – what they were – that Collins highlighted. That’s what caught my dad’s attention, and mine too. So much so, I thought it could work as a parable that includes those same three prizes. This may seem a bit far afield from the Exodus story of the golden calf we just heard, but hopefully some connections will appear.
The Kin-dom of God is like a wise and generous ruler who planted a beautiful rose garden in the center of the city for her people to enjoy. Prior to its official opening, she invited anyone who wished to come see it and submit a poem about its beauty. The top three submissions would all receive a prize. Many came from near and far to tour the garden and try their hand at writing a poem so lovely, so delightful, so beautiful, it would capture the hearts of all who heard it, including the ruler, who was known to be generous, and had promised not one but three prizes for three poets.
After all the poems were submitted, each was carefully read and considered by the most learned advisors of the ruler. Among those many poems, three were selected and ordered for the third, second, and first place prizes.
The day arrived for the dedication of the garden, its grand opening to the public. It was a festive occasion, with roses of countless variety in full bloom. Everyone who gathered was in awe.
As the ceremony began, the ruler welcomed all those in attendance, assuring them that this was their garden, to be enjoyed by people of all ages – from the poorest to the wealthiest. The crowd cheered for the ruler’s generosity and justice.
After more remarks from dignitaries and more applause, the time finally arrived to reveal the winners of the poetry contest, and the prizes each would receive.
The ruler began by naming the third place finisher, inviting him to come forward and join her on the platform, and read his poem aloud for all to hear. As he recited his poem, the eloquence of the words were like streams of light that illuminated the entire garden. When it was finished, the crowd broke out in spontaneous applause. The ruler thanked him for his truly wonderful poem, and handed him his prize – a rose made out of pure silver.
The ruler then invited the second place finisher to come forward and read her poem. She too recited aloud from the platform and again, the people were enraptured with her words. Such splendor, such beauty to match the beauty of the roses all around them. When she had finished, there was a thunderous applause. The ruler thanked her for her splendid poem, and handed her her prize – a rose made out of pure gold.
After two poems of such brilliant quality, it was hard to imagine anything more wonderful. And after prizes of silver and gold, the two most precious metals in all the land, it was impossible to imagine what prize this soon-to-be-known poet would receive.
The ruler called out his name, and the crowd parted as he walked up to the platform where he recited his winning poem. And sure enough, it surpassed even the eloquence and splendor of the first two. Never before had words captured such beauty. Never again would those who heard it look at a rose the same way, so rich and beautiful was the poem, like a rose itself. So taken was the crowd by this poem, that when it was finished they simply stood there, quietly enraptured. Until someone began clapping, and the crowd cheered longer and louder than before. And yet, as they did so, they were all wondering the same thing. What can be awarded to such a poet after a silver rose and a golden rose have already been given? What a glorious prize this would be. Again, a hush set over the crowd. The ruler, generous and wise, asked that an attendant please fetch the winning prize for the winning poet. At which point the attendant stepped down from the platform, walked to nearest patch of roses, and plucked a single rose, returning to where the poet was awaiting, and handed it to him.
And all who witnessed it, from merchant to monk, from poet to peasant, then knew what they had not known before: The grandest prize of all. A real rose.
An expansive desert is about as different as you can get from a lush rose garden, but that’s where today’s story from Exodus takes place. The Israelites were leaving, escaping from Egypt, which in many ways was a land of abundance. It had once been a refuge for their people, back in the days when their ancestor Joseph had risen to power in Egypt. Through divine guidance, he had created a massive network of food banks across the country during seven years of good harvest, enough to feed Egyptians and surrounding peoples through seven years of drought and failed harvests. Surrounding peoples, including Joseph’s own family, fellow children of Jacob, also called Israel, who came down to Egypt at Joseph’s invitation, where they settled as foreigners.
Although when you’re a foreigner, you never know just how settled or unsettled you might become. The next Pharaoh, in his attempt to secure power goes on a “blame the immigrants” campaign. They are, after all, multiplying at a faster rate than native Egyptians, and they aren’t blending in very well to Egyptian society. So Pharaoh enslaves them. This lasts 400 years. Many, many generations; many Pharaohs. What was once a land of refuge becomes a land of oppression. And they cry out under the strain of their forced labor.
That’s why the people are in the desert, with Moses and his brother Aaron, and their sister Miriam. The Lord had heard their cry, seen their affliction, and had delivered them out of Egypt with, as they would later say in their liturgies, “a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with a terrifying display of power, and with signs and wonders” (Deuteronomy 26:8). Just because you have enough to eat, like they did in Egypt, doesn’t mean you have what you need to live. “One does not live on bread alone.” That’s also in Deuteronomy (8:3). Jesus will rely on these words when he’s out in the Judean desert, right after his baptism, having his own trial and time of sorting out what matters and what doesn’t.
That’s what this time in the desert wilderness is for the Israelites after they’ve been delivered out of Egypt. It’s a trial, and it’s no rose garden. It’s hard stuff living away from the life support systems of the empire, even if your labor was what had kept the whole system going. The desert wilderness is a time of sorting out what matters and what doesn’t, so that when you do come back into the land of abundance, this time with your freedom, you remember what’s important, and what isn’t.
If you have never been through your own personal desert wilderness with these kinds of questions, you might someday find yourself there. When you do, it will feel pretty barren, unending when you’re in it, but it might just be the necessary journey between captivity and abundant life.
The Israelites are wandering in the wilderness, which is also a place of survival. They are fed by manna that appears each morning. They drink from water that springs from beneath the rocks. And they have their livestock and herds, as Exodus 12 mentions (v. 38). They are unlearning the ways of Pharaoh, and re-learning the ways of God, the way of Life. They come to a mountain, Mt. Sinai, where they undergo a great trial and receive a great gift.
That’s where they are in chapter 32 of Exodus. Exodus describes this scene as a place of great wonder. The Lord appears in the form of a dense cloud. There is thunder and lightning, smoke and an earthquake (Ex 19). These are all signs from the natural world that serve as reminders of our smallness in a vast, powerful, and astonishing world.
Moses has gone up the mountain to commune with the Lord, the Creative Source behind all this. Moses will receive the stone tablets with the Ten Commandments. But Moses has been up there a while. And the people are getting restless and probably pretty anxious, out there in the middle of the desert.
They tap Aaron, Moses’ brother, apparently deputized to make decisions while Moses hangs out with God. The people want something they can touch, something familiar, something they know sustains their fragile lives – like the cattle they depend on for milk and meat. And thus the golden calf. Aaron instructs them to take off their gold jewelry so he can melt it down. Side note, he includes “your sons” in the list of people who should remove their golden earrings, so if guys are ever looking for biblical justification for earrings, there you have it. All the gold is melted down, placed in a mold, and formed into a calf. Which, as I said, isn’t a bad choice for something to revere for its life-sustaining qualities. But an idol is anything we treat as god which is not God. It is misplaced devotion, and this a classic act of idolatry.
Meanwhile they’re standing at the foot of Mt Sinai, the classic location of the human encounter with the Ultimate.
In other words, the real thing is right in front of them. This is their prize – an oppressed people, being freed, witnessing the vastness of God. The glory and the beauty and the wonder of divine presence is all around them. But they settle, like we all do at times, for something less alive, less real. They make a golden calf, and believe, for a short time, it’s the best symbol of what’s important, what’s worthy of their energy and resources and devotion.
It’s not. And Moses let’s them know it by grinding it up, mixing it with their water, and making them drink it. Which wasn’t included in the Narrative Lectionary verses but we extended the reading just a bit because how could you pass up that detail?
The golden calf isn’t what’s most important. But fortunately for them, and for us, God, generous and wise, keeps offering the real thing, always ready for us to receive it, to accept this less shiny but far more glorious reality as the grandest gift of all.
