For years they wandered and wondered and set-up and packed-up.  It had to get tiring, more than tiring it had to get old.  Each time looking for the right spot.  Trying to make sure everyone who needed to knew where things went.  Some thought it was making a big deal over small details, but it mattered.  It mattered were things were placed and how they were placed.  It mattered how they were taken care of and that in and of itself was difficult when things had to be packed and unpacked all the time.  Inevitably, some things got lost in all that packing and unpacking.  Some things got lost because they never really had a designated spot to begin with and some things, well, they just got plain old lost. 

They were a faithful people –and they worked at staying focused on what mattered --  on people and relationships, on faith and trust, on listening and teaching.  And for the most part they did a really good job.  They passed on the stories, the ones that really mattered, and they passed on the habits and rituals that made them who they were. But it had to get hard after all that time.  I mean, how do you focus on giving honor and praise when thoughts keep wandering, unbidden to the fact that things aren’t quite where they’re supposed to be.  How do you sing songs of joy when your mind keeps turning the page to all the things that will have to be packed up and just the thought brings a weary sigh?  And every time they had to pack up wondering what was forgotten or misplaced.

So when the day finally came – their hearts must have been about to burst! Finally, a place that would be their own.  No more packing and unpacking, no more wondering if everything was where it needed to be or where it was supposed to be.  Finally, a chance for something permanent, rooted.  A place for everything and everything in its place.  Now they could get on with life! 

It’s the high point of the whole exodus story – just think – 39 years, 11 months and 1 week in the wilderness and now, here they are, poised to enter the promised land.  After 40 years of feeling lost and unsure, of learning a mountain of laws and being chastised for bad behavior – after spending a good deal of their journey confused, underfed and poorly housed wondering why they left Egypt at all, here they sit.  The sense of God’s grace and blessings had to be overwhelming.  And so I imagine them standing, looking down from some high vantage point on the land they are about to possess.  One foot in front of the other, set to take off and stake their claim, their whole being nearly vibrating with joy -- when the word comes down, “now hold up, before you go gallivanting off, remember this …”

It reminds me of taking my children to the pool really.  Shrieking with delight when I announce this is where we’re going, barely able to keep some part of their skin in contact with the seat of the car en route, reaching for the door handle before the key’s out of the ignition and that’s when I say what usually begins with, “now remember…” You’d think I’d learn – the prize is in sight, they can hear the sound of splashing water, they can smell the chlorine.  The only thing they’re likely to remember is…well, if I’m honest, not much. Nevertheless I ask for and expect their attention, their willingness to respond, both in the midst of that heady moment, and later, afterwards once their settled in the water.

This text is one piece of a much larger teaching narrative ostensibly delivered by Moses as the people are literally on the verge of coming into the land of Canaan.  It is a long collection of guidelines and instructions for both the individual and gathered community about the form or shape of their life and worship.  It’s a description of what they’re to do when they gather for worship, a description of their liturgy – consider it an oral bulletin.  And  as part of their worship the people are instructed to recite some familiar words, to  tell a familiar story beginning with a wandering Aramean and going all the way through exile, oppression and deliverance right up to this very moment.  A moment that will be forever rooted in their memory, a moment shaped by the journey that brought them to this day, a moment ultimately defined, marked by joy. (FOTW)   This act of worship is to express all the joy that literally hums within them, and not just because of this one great moment, but joy for God’s sustaining presence throughout the journey, those 39 months, 11 weeks and 1 day that brought them to this place. 

Perhaps even more simply put, the people are to remember – to remember there was, is and will continue to be joy in the journey.  

But memory is a tricky thing – God knows.  Faulty on even our best days it gets all the more hazardous when there’s something we’ve been waiting for within sight, within our grasp.  It’s like my kids response of “mommy are you done, can we go now, can we go now, now?!?  And when I press them they have no clue what I said or remember only a few disconnected phrases. In those kinds of moments we’ll agree to just about anything and remember little of it a few days, a few hours, after the fact.  Overcome with that sense of “at last, finally, here we are”  we genuinely begin to forget all that came before.  And the stories, the experiences that helped shape us, that played a critical role in forming who we are as individuals and in relation to one another and to God, well they begin to fade. 

But God says, remember.  And this is no delicate or dry review of archival documents preserved for posterity nor is it the academic tome entitled World History 101.  Remember the stories that make you who you are and that tell you who you are in relation to me.  Remember the journey – the details, the good the bad, and the ugly. The pinnacle moments where you faith could have moved mountains and the occasions you’d have joined Jonah arguing with God and pouting under the shade tree.  Above all remember that you belong to a God who never forsakes his people in the middle of a journey(Calvin) – a God whose grace makes of such memories the stuff on which faith feeds.(FOTW)

The Greeks believed the goddess of memory was the mother of imagination.  For Israel, memory was more often the mother of faith, the way God’s promises were rehearsed, named and claimed anew.  Certainly this wasn’t the first time God told them to remember who they were and to whom they belonged – but it was a pivotal moment.  

To this point their history was a mix of good and bad days, just like our own – but remember Moses tells them, remember God instructs them – the stories will help connect you to one another and to me.  And as you tell the stories, as each new generation joins in the telling they too become a part of the grander narrative, and suddenly they have something to sustain them in their own wilderness wandering, they have a promise to hold onto and a reason to find hope and joy not just on some far off distant day, but joy in the journey that is today and hope for the journey tomorrow will bring.  

Rooted in memory and defined by joy – these liturgical instructions, these directions for worship contain another interesting detail.    “When you come into the land that the Lord you God is giving you as an inheritance to possess, and you possess it and settle in it…”  Did you catch that?  I find it interesting that this is not a ribbon cutting ceremony done as ground is broken or the giant gold key is bestowed on new occupants.   This isn’t a one time grand opening.  Get settled, God says.  Get comfortable.  Make yourselves at home, this is your inheritance, my gift to you, enjoy it.  And then, when the daily routines are so familiar they’re just that, routines.  When we’ve replaced construction dirt with our own personal dirt.  When cobwebs have begun to form in the high corners, there are a few handprints on the wall, scuff marks on the floor, and the paint has begun to show signs of wear.  When you’re settled, and comfortable, and the days are as full as the weeks are long.  Then…

Remember…tell the story, dance and sing, celebrate God’s abundance and bring your gifts. After all this was a gift to begin with let’s not miss that 6 times in eleven short versus the people are reminded they’ve been given something, they didn’t earn by their wit or power or wealth, God gave them a gift, God gave them a story and made them a people – a gift given with great love and promise and hope. And then, when you’ve brought your gifts from all that you’ve been given, remember…

Literally re-member, re-gather, re-connect as a community with one another and with God by remembering the story.  And in the telling, the community, new and old, is gathered together – not because everyone was there but because the words are familiar and they tell an old tale that’s been passed generation to generation and as I hear it I can say yes, that’s my story too.”

It was surely a story Jesus knew, one he’d learned as a boy at his father’s knee, words that were no doubt as familiar to him as speaking his own name.  Luke surely wants us to know this isn’t a new story – it’s a re-membering of, it’s the next page in God’s never ending story.  So when we hear of Jesus 40 days we can’t help but think Israel’s 40 year wilderness wandering and Moses, standing on the edge of the Promised Land addressing the people as this part of their journey is about to end telling them to remember, remember God’s abundant grace.  Jesus, in his moment of temptation remembered the great story, “Man does not live by bread alone…Worship the Lord and serve only him…Do not put the Lord your God to the test.”  Ancient words, familiar words, words from the collective memory of the people of God this is what sustained Jesus and gave him hope and joy on a journey that would ultimately lead to the cross.  

It’s the first Sunday in Lent, and in some sense our journey has just begun.  How will we mark this time, as individuals and as a community of faith?  Is it to be another year of “are you giving anything up? I don’t know, are you? I don’t know. What are you going to do, I don’t know”  Will we spend the time feeling guilty because we haven’t done something or worked harder to be better, to do better, to give more?  Will we be squirming in our seats, just trying to get through it all, wanting it to hurry up, dutifully nodding our heads, yes, yes -- just so we can get on with the good stuff only to look back and not remember a thing that was said or done?  Is that really what Lent asks of us?  Is that really what this text describes?  Or are we, like the Israelites, being asked, in the midst of all our forward momentum, before we go gallivanting off, to remember.  To remember a God full of grace and mercy who would not, did not, has not and will never abandon his people.  And then, even more so, once we’ve gotten good and comfortable -- to remember a God who journeyed among prostitutes and fishermen, lepers and lame inviting others to join the journey – to trust that no matter the trials there is also a word of hope and joy to be found along the way.  And again, when time has passed and life’s moved on -- to remember a God whose love would not be limited by earthly constraints of wood and metal or hammer and nail. 

Remember, and celebrate the bounty the Lord your God has given you.  Those are the final words of this text and in its own way that’s what Lent is preparing us for – it’s preparing us to sing and celebrate with joy the gifts of a God who will not let death have the final word.