The Good Old Days

The people of Israel were Wa-ya-len; sounds like what it means – wayalen. And Moses was tired of hearing it. They travelled by stages…and as they went, their complaints mounted. They groaned in Egypt and God brought them out. They cried out as Pharoah and the Egyptians drew near, and God divided the waters and they crossed the Red Sea on dry ground. They grumbled about how hungry they were, and God sent manna and quail. And now they are wa-ya-len.

In every stage of their journey, the Lord has directed, and they are now encamped at Rephidim. The strange thing about Rephidim is that no one knows where it is. Scholars have not been able to find any trace of where Rephidim was, but the name literally means, “a place in the desert.” That’s all they knew about where they were, and that’s all we know about where they were – some place in the desert that didn’t have water. And they were thirsty.

“Moses, give us water to drink. Why did you bring us up out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and our cattle with thirst? Is the Lord among us or not?” Old Testament professor Gerald Janzen points out presumably in all the other stages so far they’ve had water. He asks, “If absence of water in this instance counts against God, what of all the “stages” along the way where water has been provided? Do they not count positively for God?” It is interesting that it only takes the absence of what we need for us to believe that God is not with us, regardless of how many times we have had what we need.

I can understand their wailing, though. They are afraid. They started looking for water when they first camped here, their supply continued to dwindle, still no water had been found, they rationed, and now they are out. Their faith falters. They look at the mountain on the horizon and wonder if it is a new one or if they’ve made another circle.

And then they put on the rose-colored glasses and look back toward Egypt. It looks good. Why did they even leave? Of course, they’ve forgotten how they really were. They have idealized the past. Oh, those were the days – when we knew what to expect, day in and day out, didn’t have to worry about food or water, didn’t have to wonder if we would ever convince Moses to stop for directions, didn’t sleep with our head on a different patch of sand night after night.

We all do it. We all remember things better than they were. My middle school U.S. History teacher repeated after almost every lecture, “Of course, things aren’t the way they used to be, and they never were. In one Peanuts comic strip, Snoopy is lying on the roof of his dog house reminiscing about the past, “I remember those summer evenings years ago at the Daisy Hill Puppy Farm. We used to sit around and sing while someone strummed a banjo….SIGH,” he sighs as he sits up, “Actually, that’s not true. No one knew how to play the banjo and we didn’t exactly sing. We just howled a lot!”

Oh, the good old days. We remember the good and gloss over the struggles. Instead of remembering how the blistering hot sun beat down on them while they were making bricks and building pyramids, backs breaking, hands cracked open, no rights, no control over their days or their lives, Pharoah occassionally killing all their male children for population control, they were remembering how amazing it felt to stand back from a finished pyramid and know that you had been part of building this wonder. They reminisced about the worry-free life when someone else is responsible for making sure you have enough food and water, providing you with a place to live, and clothes to wear.

Oh, the good old days. Now, look at us. We are at some place in the desert. We have no idea where we are going to get water. We are getting too weak to keep looking. The livestock are starting to die. This is not what we expected. This is not what we left Egypt for…is it? They are disappointed. So, rather than looking forward to the promised land, they nostalgically covet the past, and they just go around and around in circles, Wa-ya-len.

Methodist pastor Brian Erickson points out that “The present can never match an idealized past, leaving us stuck in the quicksand of our edited memories, perpetually ungrateful for the place we now find ourselves….nostalgia quietly steals our joy and makes us indifferent to the flowing streams of living water God has provided here in the wilderness.” “Nostalgia never leads [us] forward, because nostalgia cast an impossible standard – a candy-coated, much-improved rendering of what one was.” Except it never was, never is, and never will be. Leaving us disappointed.

What would happen if you started every conversation with a little complaint about how things have changed? Your health, your job, your finances, your family, the church, Germantown, our country…just a little wa-ya-lin. How would it make you feel?

How would you be different if instead you tried to start every conversation with a word of gratitude? Something you are genuinely grateful for: your health, your job, your finances, your family, the church, Germantown, our country…just a little praise. How would it make you feel?

Try it this week, notice the difference. When you are tempted to start wa-ya-len, try inserting something about how things are right now that you are grateful for in every conversation. May you find your life opened to God’s grace. Amen.