Exodus 16:1-12

The wilderness of Sin.

Moses in the wilderness of Sin

People may be strong and hopeful at the beginning of a project, and most effusively and devoutly thankful at its close, but the difficulty is to go manfully through the process.

I. Processes try men’s temper. See how the temper of Israel was tried in the wilderness! No bread, no water, no rest! How do processes try men’s temper?

1. They are often tedious.

2. They, are often uncontrollable.

3. They often seem to be made worse by the incompetency of others.

II. The trials of processes are to be met, not all at once, but a day at a time. Daily hunger was met by daily bread. This daffy display of Divine care teaches--

1. That physical as well as spiritual gifts are God’s.

2. That one of God’s gifts is the pledge of another. “Not as the world giveth, give I unto you.” Why am I to be easy about to-morrow? Because God is good to-day! “He is the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever.”

III. Processes show the different dispositions of men. Though the people were told in the distinctest manner that there would be no manna on the seventh day, yet they went out to gather it just as if they had never been warned! Such men are the vexation of the world. They plague every community of which they are a portion.

1. We have the means of life at our disposal: the manna lies at our tent-door!

2. We are distinctly assured that such means are given under law: there is a set time for the duration of the opportunity: the night cometh!

IV. All the processes of life should be hallowed by religious exercises. There was a Sabbath even in the wilderness.

1. The Sabbath is more than a mere law; it is an expression of mercy.

2. No man ever loses anything by keeping the Sabbath: “The Lord giveth you on the sixth day the bread of two days.”

3. He is the loser who has no day of rest.

V. Processes should leave some tender and hope-inspiring memories behind them. “Fill an omer of it to be kept,” etc.

VI. The process will end. Are you ready? (J. Parker, D. D.)

The pilgrimage of life

In the anecdote books of our boyhood we used to be told the story of an Indian faquir who entered an Eastern palace and spread his bed in one of its antechambers, pretending that he had mistaken the building for a caravanserai or inn. The prince, amused by the oddity of the circumstance, ordered--so ran the tale--the man to be brought before him, and asked him how he came to make such a mistake. “What is an inn?” the faquir asked. “A place,” was the reply, “where travellers rest a little while before proceeding on their journey.” “Who dwelt here before you?” again asked the faquir. “My father,” was the prince’s reply. “And did he remain here?” “No,” was the answer; “He died and went away.” “And who dwelt here before him?” “His ancestors.” “And did they remain here?” “No; they also died and went away.” “Then,” rejoined the faquir, “I have made no mistake, for your palace is but an inn after all.” The faquir was right, Our houses are but inns, and the whole world a caravanserai. (Clerical Library.)

Bread, the supreme question

During the French Revolution hundreds of market-women, attended by an armed mob of men, went to Versailles to demand bread of the National Assembly, there being great destitution in Paris. They entered the hall. There was a discussion upon the criminal laws going on. A fishwoman cried out, “Stop that babbler! That is not the question; the question is about bread.” (Little’s “Historical Lights.”)

Murmuring, the result of forgetfulness

What unbelief and sad forgetfulness of God betrayed itself in these words! They quite forgot the bitter bondage of Egypt under which they had sighed and groaned so long. They now thought only of its “flesh-pots” and “its bread.” They altogether overlooked the mercy and the grace which had spared them when the firstborn of the Egyptians were slain. The miracles of love at the Red Sea and at Marah, so great and so recent, had passed away from their memories. They thought nothing of the promise of the land flowing with milk and honey. The argument, so evident and so comforting, “Can the faithful God who has brought us out of bondage mean to let us perish in the wilderness?” did not withhold them from the impatient conclusion, “Ye have brought us forth into the wilderness, to kill this whole assembly with hunger.” And if you watch your own hearts, you will find that there is always this forgetfulness in a murmuring and discontented spirit. We forget, first, that we deserve nothing but punishment at God’s hands; and, secondly, we forget all the mercy and love which He has shown us in His acts and promises. (G. Wagner.)

Grumbling, an added burden

If I grumble because life is so arranged that I tear my clothes, and get many a scratch in the upward journey, my grumble is only an added burden. The difference between a soul that is soured by unbelief and a soul that honestly struggles and strives as the gymnast does, who tries to lift the heavy weight, knowing that, whether he succeeds or fails, the muscular development, which is the end sought, is still attained, is incalculable. To trudge along the moor after nightfall, then now knee deep, with the feeling that you are going nowhere, is indeed discouraging; but to do the same thing with the feeling that you are going home to the fireside of the loved and expectant, is to keep both feet and hands warm through our power of anticipating the heat and the welcome under the roof tree not far off. Rude, discourteous experience has taught us that an evil which is all an evil is a double evil, and that an evil with a joy behind it or beyond it is the healthy and invigorating toil by means of which a man may acquire a lasting good.

Ingratitude of the public

Daniel Webster, after his wonderful career, and in the close of his life, writes: “If I were to live my life over again, with my present experiences, I would under no considerations allow myself to enter public life. The public are ungrateful. The man who serves the public most faithfully receives no adequate reward. In my own history those acts which have been, before God, most disinterested and the least stained by selfish considerations, have been precisely those for which I have been most freely abused. No, no; have nothing to do with politics. Sell your iron, eat the bread of independence, support your family with the rewards of honest toil, do your duty as a private citizen to your country, but let politics alone. It is a hard life, a thankless life. I have had in the course of my political life, which is not a short one, my full share of ingratitude, but the ‘unkindest cut of all,’ the shaft that has sunk the deepest in my heart, has been the refusal of this administration to grant my request for an office of small pecuniary consideration for my only son.” (T. De Witt Talmage.)

Ingratitude of grumbling

I heard a good man say once, as we passed the home of a millionaire: “It doesn’t seem right that such a man as he is should be rolling in wealth, while I have to work hard for my daily bread.” I made no reply. But when we reached the home of the grumbler, and a troop of rosy children ran out to meet us, I caught one in my arms, and, holding him up, said: “John, how much will you take for this boy?” And he answered, while the moisture gathered in his eyes: “That boy, my namesake! I wouldn’t sell him for his weight in gold.” “Why, John, he weighs forty pounds at least, and forty pounds of gold would make you many times a millionaire. And you would probably ask as much for each of the others. So, according to your own admission, you are immensely rich. Yes, a great deal richer than that cold, selfish, childless millionaire whom you were envying as we came along. Nothing would tempt you to change places with him. Then you ought to be grateful instead of grumbling. You are the favourite of fortune, or, rather, of Providence, and not he.” (H. W. Beecher.)