Everything jangled him. His thoughts careened from one concern to another as though his mind was trying to find some plausible explanation he could float for the feelings that swelled over him like waves of cold black water.

It had been weeks since he had slept through the night. He was jumpy, exhausted and afraid. The fear had no obvious trigger, no root. It was a hollow and raw soundless howling that made no sense. But it bore down upon him night after night and threatened his grip on rationality. He sat forward in the armchair and rocked with his arms wrapped around himself. The night seemed endless. Every night for as long as he could remember was like this night. He felt as though all nights to come would be like this night. The presence darkness was all there would ever be.

He was so tired of being tired, so tired of being afraid of nothing and everything. He was tired of the darkness, but he could not make himself believe that the light would ever come again. "What if I simply walked in front of a car," he thought. He mulled this over and then he spoke out loud…

"Our Father who art in heaven…" he began for the tenth time that night and the hundredth time that week. It was a small raft thrown into the midst of a swollen sea. It was all he could do to speak the words - but then the words seemed somehow to gather him to themselves and the howling in his mind grew quieter as though he was moving from the ragged edge of a storm toward the eye at its center. At some point he stopped rocking. Then his lips stopped moving. But the momentum of the prayer carried him into a patch of peace broad enough to allow him to sleep.

It was a moment of rest but not the end of the journey. His journey through the wilderness paralleled the shape of the stories we read in Scripture. It took him more than the forty days of Noah's downpour and less than the Israelites forty years in the desert, but the parallels were clear. He was in a situation he had not chosen. He was powerless to control the outcome and utterly dependent upon the grace of God. It was a humbling experience. Most of his life he had been competent, capable and confident. All of these things were stripped away by the months of depression. But in the end, he saw the journey as a gift, a good thing for which he later gave thanks. He got a glimpse of what is really essential, and where it comes from. He had been a student in the School of the Wilderness. In that school those who are attentive learn that the word of God is all we truly need. A deep trust in God is stronger than armor and better than bread.

In the midst of strength and abundance most people tend to forget the waves of dark water that had assailed them in yesterday's storms. The rootless dust of life in the desert fades from memory when the harvest of the homestead is plentiful and the barns are overflowing.

But it is good to remember the lean times, our own wilderness stories and those of our forebears. God is always present and always inviting us into a deeper relationship. But sometimes we see God's presence and action more easily in the wilderness.

This morning's lesson from Deuteronomy is essentially the same one we read on Thanksgiving Day. We sit around tables loaded with good things. Then Moses nudges our elbow and says, "Don't forget where you come from."

The picture of the Promised Land in Deuteronomy is full of fig trees and honey, pomegranates and olives but if we reach behind the gravy on the Thanksgiving table we will find that the bitter herbs from Passover have somehow snuck into our feast.

It is good and right and our bounden duty to keep the memory of our former bondage on the table. Freedom is sweeter when we remember the bitterness of slavery. Thanksgiving is deeper when we remember who it is that has set us free.

"Hey," Moses says, "I'm talking to you. PAY ATTENTION. Do not say to yourself, 'My power and the might of my own hand have gotten me this wealth,' But remember the Lord your God…"

Moses is a messenger who speaks for God. The emphasis in Deuteronomy is on teaching and learning for all generations. One cannot learn very well if one does not remember the lessons that have already been presented. All that Israel had encountered and endured had been preparation for their entrance into the Promised Land. Their journey is for our instruction too.

The Wilderness was a boarding school and Moses was a tutor who worked for the invisible Headmaster called "I Am". Deuteronomy is like the graduation day address. It was time to remember the journey that had been laid out in the other four Books of Moses- Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers. It was chance to reflect on what it had all meant. It was also the time to clarify the mission and destiny of the Israelites before they entered a land of plenty.

We are already in such a land. We can pile food on the table and fill our houses with stuff just because we want to. We are in danger of forgetting where we have come from. When our barns and our bank accounts are overflowing it is time to look past the gravy and locate the bitter herbs. It is time to remember, and to give thanks-not for prosperity, things are only things- but for our very life. Who has given us whatever wealth we possess? Who has gained our freedom for us? It is not we ourselves.

In The Bondage of the Will, Martin Luther wrote that "The kingdom is not in the process of preparation, but was prepared before, and the children of the kingdom do not prepare the kingdom, but are in the process of being themselves prepared; that is, the kingdom merits the children, not the children the kingdom."¹

We can prepare for the challenges of the journey with some simple exercises. Paul gave the Ephesians such a regimen - put away falsehood, be angry but do not sin, give up stealing, let no evil talk come out of your mouths, be kind to one another, live in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.

This morning, as we do from time to time, we will celebrate the Anniversary of a Marriage. Marge and Bill Bowen will stand before and affirm the vows they made to one another many years ago. The readings and images in the marriage liturgy point back to the Garden in Genesis as a way of explaining why we are so attracted to one another. But Deuteronomy provides a good snapshot of the shape of journey in a long marriage. It may start in a garden but the way forward cuts right through the wilderness. Without trust in God and a willingness to sacrifice the non-essential we will walk past the Manna, miss the springs that come forth even from flinty stone, and fade before reaching the Promised Land. Marriage is a vocation- a choice, a decision- but more than an act of will. It is a Covenant that includes the couple, the Lord their God and the community around them. There is always a wilderness between seekers and the Promised Land. Holding fast to the promises of God give us bread for the journey.

When we approach the altar in an attitude of sacrifice and openness we are preparing for and moving toward the Kingdom. As we move forward with the empty hands of students in the School of the Wilderness we grow more ready to receive.

Jesus tells us he is the Bread that has come down from heaven. When? Where? He comes in the stories. He comes every Sunday. He comes to men in armchairs in the middle of the night. And he comes to give solace, even to those who mourn.

We read a shorter version of this passage from John at Burial rites. The dead have no need for Manna, bread or fish are nothing worth. Food passes away. But eternal life is that which Christ offers. Eternal life and the assurance that Jesus will lose nothing that the Father has given him. Any who have come to Christ will never been driven away.

So let us remember not the strength of our arm but our weakness in the desert.
What do we have that we have not received? Our strength is in the armor God offers.
Our sustenance is in the living bread that Christ is. We are not building the kingdom but preparing to enter it. We are not girding ourselves to win it. It is aching to win us.
AMEN.