Psalm 95:1-7; Exodus 17:1-7
A few months ago, I saw Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson hosting Saturday Night Live–a 10pm re-run for those of us who get up early on Sundays. Johnson came to fame as a professional wrestler; in recent years he has become a well-respected actor. “The Rock” is his wrestling name. In his opening monologue, he began by talking about his love for children. Every time his voice got soft or his eyes looked as though they might tear up, he was interrupted. Fellow professional wrestlers, in full wrestling regalia, leapt onto the stage, taunting him to be tough and throw around the weight of his rock-like muscles. Each time, he resisted, insisting that he was in fact a gentle, thoughtful guy. The other wrestlers didn’t want to hear it.
It was another silly SNL monologue. Behind the slapstick acting, though, was a profound reflection on how we define strength. What does it mean to be a rock, to be strong? The other wrestlers insisted that it means being hard, tough and aggressive. Johnson offered a different definition of strength, one that incorporates compassion, gentleness, even softness.
I thought back to that monologue this week as I reflected on the English and Hebrew names of the newest member of our community. The inspiration for his English name, Memphis, emerges out of an act of compassion. His Hebrew name, Tsuriel, means “God is my rock.” How do these two names come together? What does it mean for Memphis, his family, and all of us to claim that God is our rock?
Psalm 95 calls God “the rock of our salvation.” Psalm 46, the basis for our Call to Worship, uses a different Hebrew word to proclaim God as our “refuge and strength” in the face of the storms and earthquakes of our lives.
The imagery is apt, especially in this world where storms of hatred and violence rage, where the very foundations of civilization have been shaken. Acts of terror leave us feeling insecure and distrustful. Natural disasters awaken us painfully to the damage we have done to our planet. Dishonest and despotic leaders all over the world leave us disenchanted with human nature and our potential to govern ourselves. At a more personal level, frightening diagnoses remind us how fragile our lives are; layoffs and financial worries make us feel vulnerable.
In the wake of the storms and earthquakes that shake us, we proclaim that God is our rock. Everything else changes; God’s love never falters. No matter what we face, no matter how overwhelming our losses, God will never abandon us. That doesn’t mean God will shield us from the storms of life. It means God will be with us through them. God’s love for us is never shaken, never moved, never changed.
When we trust that God is our rock, we can rest on the solid ground of God’s never-ending love. From that place of stability, we can reach out to help our neighbor, sharing God’s love through our acts of compassion even and especially in the eye of the storm.
The words of Psalm 95 offer a powerful expression of our faith: God, our rock, is constant in the face of change, solid when everything else is quicksand, unmoving when the world is spinning out of control. It is a powerful expression of our faith, but an incomplete one. If God is unmoved and unmoving, can God care about me and my struggles? Can God as solid rock hold me and offer me comfort?
Our reading from Exodus 17 offers a different way to experience God as our rock. The Israelites in this story are journeying through the desert, struggling with the harsh realities of freedom. They look around and all they see is sand and stone. Where will they find water to sustain them? They wonder whether they should have stayed as slaves in Egypt. They quarrel and complain, and God responds. Moses strikes a rock, and water gushes out. This rock is not hard and unmoving. It holds water, and it opens to offer that water to a thirsty people.
Decades ago, when I was preparing to preach on this passage, I called our church’s resident geologist-theologian, David Roy. I asked him about the rocks in the Sinai desert. He explained that some of the mountains in that desert were formed from volcanic activity; it’s possible this rock was lava, with tiny holes and spaces to absorb water.
More likely, he said, the rock was limestone, sedimentary rock formed back when there was sea covering that land. The motion of the water moved the sediment, which settled on the bottom and over time was compacted by the weight of the water. The resulting rock was porous, absorbing and releasing water. In the desert, through the steady blowing of sand by the wind, a hard crust would have formed on the outside of the rock, so it would hold the water. When Moses hit the rock with the stick, the crust would have cracked open so the water could gush out.
The lava and limestone in the desert offer another way to understand God as our rock. God absorbs the world’s beauty and pain, like a porous rock. God holds living water for us–and when we dare to trust enough to ask for it, God offers a fountain to quench our thirst. God our limestone rock is moved by our joys and our sorrows, taking them in and holding them tenderly. God weeps with us as water seeps out of cracks in limestone. Or maybe God absorbs our tears, cradling them tenderly and by the power of love transforming them into a well of living water.
God is a limestone rock whose compassion pours out when a guy getting his haircut sees a mom in distress and helps out. God is a limestone rock who can absorb our tears and rage and despair from yet another terror attack. God joins us in our grief and calls us to claim the living water within us that we can offer to nourish seeds of healing and hope for our world.
How do you experience God as your rock? When you face storms and earthquakes in your life, can you rest on the steadfast promise of God’s unfaltering love for you? When you are wandering through a desert of grief or fear, will you dare to cry out for help, trusting that God is with you, offering living water that can quench your thirst?
Tsuriel. God is my rock. What a great name for a beloved child of God! My prayer for Memphis-Tsuriel is that, as he grows, he will stand on the solid ground of God’s constancy and will drink deeply from the water of life, held in the porous rock of God’s compassion.
That is my prayer for Memphis. That is my prayer for his family. That is my prayer for this beloved church community. That is my prayer for our world. Amen.