David McLemore
So, how’s your quarantine going?
Isn’t it wonderful? We can’t go anywhere. We can’t do anything. All our plans are canceled. Maybe you can work from home like me, but I find it just makes my house unbearable at times. My kids are stir-crazy and I’m ready to get back to normal.
Normal. Remember those good old days? Like when we went to restaurants and sporting events and concerts. We had all we needed. But now? Look at us now. We’re basically prisoners! And for what? A virus? Come on!
Whose fault is this anyway? Surely, “they” could’ve stopped this. It didn’t have to be this bad. But they’re a bunch of failures. We always knew it, didn’t we? Can’t get anything right on a normal day, and when crisis knocks on the door, well, there goes our lives.
A LONG LINE OF GRUMBLERS
If walls could talk, would they, like a child, repeat the echoes of your grumbling? Mine would. I’m an expert grumbler. It’s too cold in winter and too hot in summer. The food was good but the service was slow. The night was long but sleep was short. Nothing is ever just right. Has it ever been? Reading the Bible, it appears my disposition isn’t mine alone. We come from a long line of grumblers.
Perhaps nowhere in the Bible is this clearer than in the story of Israel’s wanderings during the Exodus from Egypt. While isolated in the desert, God’s people quarreled with Moses because there was no water to drink—admittedly a big problem in the middle of the desert (Ex. 17:1–2). Moses responded by asking, “‘Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you test the Lord?’ But the people thirsted there for water, and the people grumbled against Moses” (Ex. 17:3).
This was hardly their first go at grumbling. By chapter 17, they’ve been at it for a solid two months as they entered the Desert of Sin (Ex. 15:24; 16:2, 7–9, 12). Yes, God led them out of slavery in Egypt but their nomadic desert life didn’t satisfy their appetites. Oh, remember the meat pots and fullness of bread in Egypt! Better to die there with full bellies and no freedoms than in deliverance with empty stomachs! Does God know what he’s doing?
The middle chapters of Exodus (15–17) are a master class in the art of grumbling. Paul said, “Whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction” (Rom. 15:4). But rather than submitting to the tutelage, I find my proverbial stomach too empty. I place myself among the frustrated Israelites, joining their ranks instead of learning their lessons. Who can blame me? It’s a family tradition.
DO ALL THINGS WITHOUT GRUMBLING
As the pages turn from the Old to New Testament, the family line and its tendencies don’t appear to improve very much. We don’t have the contextual details as we do with our desert-dwelling ancestors, but we find the Apostle Paul confronting what must have been a similar situation in the Philippian church. “Do all things without grumbling,” he says (Phil. 2:14).
Were they hungry and thirsty too? Did they find God less than who he promised to be?
I hear Paul’s words and I want to obey. I really do. The problem is, it’s hard. Some people seem never to have had a bad day. I wonder if I’ve ever had a good one. And these days of quarantine aren’t helping.
Every hour brings worse news than before. Sure, I have my moments of peace and contentment. But in all things? What do you mean by all, Paul?
Maybe it’ll help to define the word grumbling.
NO COMPLAINT OR DISPUTE
Grumbling must be distinct from complaint. Complaint feels too formal. I never go that far. I’m not filling out a form or sending an email. I’m not bringing this before the elders or anything. I’m just voicing my displeasure—informally and off the cuff, you know? No big deal, really. It’ll pass.
A complaint might get me somewhere, but I’m not looking for a handout. I’m not the kind of person who wants to speak to the manager. I just hope the waiter overhears me wondering where he is. I hope he sees my face as I take that first bite of less-than-expected taste. I just hope the two-star Facebook review I posted is filled with agreeing comments. Maybe things will start to change then, but probably not.
The real difference, in my opinion, lies here: a complaint gets you something you feel cheated out of, but that’s not my angle. I’d much rather let everyone know it’s their general failure in life that’s caused my displeasure. You know, like God leading a people into the desert with a meek leader like Moses and a severe lack of basic provisions like food and water. How can someone like that be trusted in trying times?
So maybe the lesson is this: to complain is to ask God why he’s not giving water in the desert and plead for him to provide; to grumble is to say there’s not water because God doesn’t care. The first seeks to obtain something. The other seeks only to destroy.
In Philippians 2:14, Paul commands the people not to grumble but also not to dispute. Grumbling rarely disputes anyone’s decisions. It doesn’t rise that high. It lays low in the water, like the roar of a wave that comes crashing all around. It might get you wet, which can be annoying, and it has enough salt and sand to rub you the wrong way, but the grumble isn’t there to argue. Arguing requires facts and reasoning. Grumbles don’t. The grumble grows out of emotions. The catalyst is the way one feels, which influences the way one thinks. The grumble doesn’t want to take anyone to court; it just wants everything fixed—now.
ACCUSATION
The problem, however, is that the grumble does inevitably take someone to court. The Israelites’ grumbling soon rose to Moses and then to God. How did God hear grumblings? The murmur was louder than they thought.
God got involved, which seemed to be an overreaction, really. Grumblings wither and fade. Once it’s off the chest it’s like mist in the morning, right? But Moses took it to God. He asked, “What shall I do with this people? They are almost ready to stone me” (Ex. 17:5). God’s answer was weighty. “Pass on before the people, taking with you some of the elders of Israel, and take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go. Behold, I will stand before you there on the rock at Horeb” (Ex. 17:5–6a). God received their grumbling as an accusation against himself. He stood trial.
I think I’m beginning to see the lesson. Though it doesn’t look like it initially, grumbling is accusation. The Israelites weren’t merely venting their frustrations. They were accusing God of not being a provider. In fact, they were saying he was worse than Pharaoh. He must not have thought it through. A million people in the middle of the desert. “Yeah, God. Great idea.”
Their grumbling was a viral event, not quarantined to a small few. It was airborne and highly contagious. If I jumped in the DeLorean and headed back to that ancient and sandy land, I wouldn’t hear the story of God’s great rescue but the story of God’s great scandal: desert life without water. If I knew nothing of their history, I might be prone to think Egypt was a land of Eden and Pharaoh a king of kings.
The people had a point. What good is emancipation if you die a few weeks later with a parched tongue and cracked lips? They looked at their life and could see only the grim circumstances staring back at them. They forgot the plagues in Egypt, the parting of the Red Sea, and the manna from heaven. They forgot their Rescuer, Deliverer, and Redeemer. The roar of their grumbling drowned out the song of their Savior. God had done mighty things before, but they disbelieved he could do them again. Rather than the path God was taking them, all they saw were walls. And those walls echoed to and fro throughout the land.
WATER FROM THE ROCK
God heard their grumbling, and he stood on the rock before them. Then he told Moses, “You shall strike the rock, and water shall come out of it, and the people will drink” (Ex. 17:6).
In 1 Corinthians 10:4, Paul looks back at this event and makes the shocking statement that Christ was the Rock. The water the people drank didn’t come from nowhere. It came from the judgment of God in Christ. Moses didn’t strike an inanimate object. He struck the Lord himself. Grumbling always strikes, and, ultimately, it always strikes the Lord.
But the gospel tells us that God takes that strike himself. Instead of standing on the rock and blasting the Israelites away, he stands on the rock and bears the punishment. This was just the beginning of God’s long-suffering. What started as a grumble in the desert rose to a cry in Pilate’s court: “Crucify him!” (Luke 21:23).
Alone on the cross, instead of grumbling, Jesus took our grumblings upon himself as the representative Grumbler. He died under them, struck by the judgment staff of God. When the soldiers came to Jesus to ensure his death, they “pierced his side with a spear, and at once there came out blood and water” (John 19:34). That water was, as Paul says, the same spiritual drink the Israelites drank in the desert (1 Cor. 10:4). It came from a rock back then but came in Christ once for all on the cross. A drink of living water for all of us grumblers.
That’s the real family tradition—God’s grace for grumblers.
So how’s your quarantine going? Mine’s better than ever before, thanks for asking. I have all I need.
David McLemore is an elder at Refuge Church in Franklin, Tennessee. He also works for a large healthcare corporation where he manages an application development department. He is married to Sarah, and they have three sons. Read more of David’s writing on his blog, Things of the Sort.
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