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Depending on which survey you look at, fear of snakes either tops the phobia list or is at least within the top 10.
And if fear of snakes is near the top of your fear list, then Texas probably isn't the place to live, since it has more species and subspecies of snakes than anywhere else in the U.S.
But Jeremy Weaver, in an attempt to "help squash some of the misconceptions that are found and hopefully give people a greater appreciation for snakes,"
developed an iPhone app that allows you to search over 250 Texas counties for information about our snakes.
Maybe this morning's Israelites might have faired better than they did had they had a Jewish version of Weaver's Texas Snakes app on their iPhones.
It's an odd story, this story about the snakes that the Israelites encountered in the desert wilderness.
And it raises more questions than I care to tackle. One of the most difficult questions that this text clearly raises is that of the character of God.
What kind of God is this who inflicts death on people for their lack of trust? It's a question that troubles our spirits and leaves us puzzled.
And what about this bronze snake that God commanded Moses to create? Doesn’t that fly in the face of the second of the Ten Commandments:
"You shall not make for yourself any graven image, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above, or that is on the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth"?
There's no denying that it’s a strange and mysterious scripture passage; but that's some of its appeal, I think.
Part of what makes sacred scripture sacred is its mystery. But just because we can't explain every detail and nuance of the text doesn't mean we should abandon it either.
So let's linger with it for a while. This morning we find the Israelites once again complaining and grumbling against both Moses and God.
If you'll remember, previous grumbling resulted in manna from heaven. Continued grumbling resulted in quail.
And even more complaints produced water from a rock. Maybe they thought their protests might result in yet another divine gift.
But if they did, they were wrong. Dead wrong. Their complaining against Moses and God resulted in poisonous snakes.
Our imagination conjures up horrible scenes of snakes suddenly everywhere, biting the people, causing them to die slow and painful deaths.
But the story takes an even more bizarre twist with its cure for their ills. There’s nothing to indicate that God takes the snakes away.
We have every reason to believe they are still afflicted by these venomous serpents.
But if they look on a bronze snake that Moses has been commanded to create for their viewing pleasure, they will live.
If they look on an image of that which has been the source of their own pain, they will be healed and they will live to see another day.
And I believe there's a message in that for us this morning. You see, the snakes didn’t just come out of nowhere. They appeared in response to the bitter and venomous complaints of the Israelites
who were doing their own good job of creating poison with their self-centered resentments and grumbling.
Sometimes we get like the Israelites, don't we? We like to say we're just being honest. And if you don't like honesty, oh well, that's your problem.
The Pastor won't stay up on the pedestal we've created for him and so we strike out with our self-righteous criticism.
The church isn't behaving in the way Christians ought to behave or spending our money the way we intended for it to be used
and so we spew our venom upon them and feel entitled to our judgment. We resent the fact that someone has betrayed our trust
and we retaliate by broadcasting their own faults to anyone who will listen to our sanctimonious litany of complaints against that person.
We may call it honesty, but it's nothing more than poison. Our words of complaint, resentment, or gossip are more poisonous than a giant Texas rattlesnake.
Honesty is a virtue, and there is nothing virtuous about attacking reputations, and wounding the spirits of other people.
And little do we realize, as we smugly sit within our lofty ivory towers, spewing our venom out upon our adversaries, that we are also poisoning our own souls.
Resentment, it has been said, is like taking poison and waiting for the other person to die. And I will vouch for the truth in that statement.
I have held a grudge for years against a family member who hurt me. No one can hurt you like a family member, right?
She feels entitled to her opinion, words, and behavior. She's wrong, of course. We are never entitled to wound other people.
And so, in retaliation for her dose of poison, I concocted my own in the form of resentment.
Who do you think it hurt worse? Her? No, it hurt me worse. It blinded me to the truth.
Refusing to look at the situation objectively, I avoided my own role in the estrangement. If it meant I would be expected to give in one little bit,
I was unwilling to make the situation better between us. To let go of my resentment might be construed as admitting it wasn't worth the energy I was putting into it,
and I couldn't allow that to happen. A decade is a long time to hold a grudge.
And there's something hypocritical about standing behind a pulpit and talking about forgiveness when you are unwilling to let go of your own resentment and move toward reconciliation.
In this morning's story, the people are commanded to look upon the image of the very thing that is killing them.
And we have to do the same if we ever hope to experience any kind of spiritual healing. We have to be willing to take an honest look at the resentments and unkind words
we have been strategically tossing around. We have to look at them and look at the damage they have caused.
That's what is supposed to take place each Sunday during Holy Communion. That prayer that the celebrants proclaim at the altar isn't meant to be just pretty words.
The prayer of confession that they lead us in is our opportunity to look at the poison we have been spewing upon our neighbors.
And friends, if you think you are blameless, then you just aren't looking hard enough.
And it's only after we have gazed upon the poisonous snake that we have created, that we can be healed. It’s only after taking a fearless and searching moral inventory of ourselves,
and after admitting to God, to someone else, and even to ourselves the nature of our poison, that we can experience the healing that comes with letting it go.
We can’t let go of the source of poison in our lives until we are willing to honestly look at it. Until we are willing to look at where we have been wounded.
And until we are willing to look at how we have wounded others. Then and only then can we experience God's healing presence in our lives.
I believe that we people of faith are called to be healing agents of the world. The world is chocked full of pain and brokenness.
And I believe that God has called us to heal that pain and brokenness. We are God's hands, God's feet, God's arms, and God's voice.
We are the antidote to the poison. This idea of being healing agents of the world is an ancient Jewish concept called "tikkun olam," which means repairing the world.
But we can't repair the world until we repair our own spirits, until we let go of the poison that has invaded our own lives.
And the first step of that healing process is to courageously look at the poison we have been casting upon others,
poison which probably does more damage to us than to any of our adversaries. We look upon it and let it go.
We begin our process of internal healing so we can be the healing agents of the world in which we live.
May God give us the courage to look, let go, and be healed. Amen.