I would imagine that the Israelites thought things would be better when they got out of Egypt.  Their escape was so over the top, and beyond their expectations, that perhaps they hoped for more brilliant moments like that one. 

But on the other side of the Red Sea was desert, and lots of it.  And after several weeks the people of Israel were tired, hungry and thirsty. 

          They complained against God. 

          That word is so loaded—they “complained”.  It’s something we’ve been told not to do.  In my house, everyone knows, “No whining.”  People are free to share their concerns and needs, but considering how easy we have it compared to the rest of the world, I just can’t allow whining and complaining. 

This word—complaining--it makes the Israelites sounds like a bunch of entitled, self-centered people, doesn’t it?  Complaining has a bad reputation, but in reality change starts with a complaint.  And what the Israelites needed was bread.  Desperately.  If they were to survive, they needed to eat.  The future of the Isrealites depended on God hearing their complaints and responding to them. 

          So they complained to God and to Moses and to Aaron.  They said, “God, just kill us. Death would be better than what were are experiencing now.”  They recalled the good old days—they days when they were in Egypt—though they were enslaved, they had bread to eat.  They cried out to God, “We would rather have been killed in Egypt, when our bellies were full, then die of starvation in the desert.” 

          They were complaining, most certainly.  But these were the legitimate complaints of a tired, scared and desperate people. 

          And, God heard the complaints of God’s people.  And God did something about it.  Just not in the way that the Israelites had hoped. 

They longed for the day when they could have their bellies full of bread, but God did not give them bread.  God gave them quail at night—which they didn’t ask for—and manna in the morning—which they also didn’t ask for. 

This manna—it’s kindof difficult to understand what this manna stuff is.  In fact—the Hebrew meaning of manna is “What is this?”  So, God gave them “What is this?”—some fine, flaky something or another—that filled their bellies and sustained them in the desert. 

And God gave the Israelites something they hadn’t asked for too.  God also gave them quail.  Not just bread to fill their bellies, but protein to sustain their muscles and minds for the long journey ahead in the wilderness. 

The people of God—“the congregation of the Israelites”—cried out to God, and told God what they needed.  And God gave them something altogether different.  And the people of Israel were left to wonder about this manna—What is it? 

God didn’t drop loaves from the sky. Which is probably good—large, heavy loaves falling from the sky could hurt someone.  And they also could be a heavy burden to carry.  Instead God left light fluffy bread-like stuff on the ground—easy to carry, filling, can be crammed into pockets, and gathered by children.   And, in the evening, when people were settled, and making fires for the night, that’s when the protein food group arrived.  God gave the people not what they wanted, but what they needed, and in a way that made their journey lighter. 

I was at an event last week sponsored by Shane Claiborne.  It was an event called “Jesus Bombs and Ice Cream”, where Shane was encouraging Christians to think about how we can move towards non-violence—less bombs, more ice cream.  Kindof preaching to the choir for me, but in light of the remembrances of September 11^th, one thing he said really stuck out.  He said:  “We cry out to God and ask God, ‘What are you doing with the problems of this world?’ God’s response is, ‘I created you.’”

Shane’s words were nothing especially new to me theologically, but they pierced me last week.  And they’ve had me thinking about—in light of our texts today—who has been manna for us, for this congregation.  We know that God sent us to address the troubles of this world, but who has sustained us in our wilderness?  Who has given us strength for the journey?  Who has been an answer to our complaints against God? 

Last June, when I was installed as the pastor here, there were 208 people in this room.  They came from all over.  My family from Oregon and Arizona surprised me with a visit.  There was a woman here—who’s name I don’t recall—that came to the installation just so this congregation would know that we are loved. 

But the group that surprised me the most were the people from Plains Mennonite Church, where I had interned the year before.  When I told the Plains  congregation that I was being installed on a Sunday morning, their response, without any thought or deliberation was, “We are going to change our worship service time so as many as can be there, will be there.”  And somewhere between 50 and 70 people from that congregation attended that service on that hot, sticky Sunday in June. 

The pastors from that congregation were quick to tell me that they were there for me—they were my manna—but they were especially here for this congregation.  They were here to be a visible reminder of their love for us.  They were all of our manna.  The presence of so many here last year was the “what is this” that we didn’t even know we needed.