Have you heard the joke that’s been going around lately about anger? No??? But it’s all the rage! I know anger is no laughing matter. I have noticed over the years that when I have to talk about tough subjects, I often want to start my sermon with a joke. And for most Christians, anger seems to be a tough subject. We’ve had years of coaching on what to do with our loving feelings. But what are we supposed to do with our feelings of anger? And where can we go if we realize we have more to learn? The writer of Exodus tells us that Moses had "grown up", but clearly he had more to learn about handling anger, too. This is saying something, because Moses was raised by the daughter of the Pharaoh. Moses was given the best of everything, including a wonderful education. He was surrounded with the very best the world had to offer at that time. No slave labor for him! From a financial standpoint, Moses had it made. But from an emotional standpoint? Moses was in turmoil. There is a wonderful Jewish story about the years Moses spent with his birth mother, Jochobed, how she would remind him every day that he was a descendent of Abraham, how God had saved him out of the Nile River, and that he had a special purpose in life. This must have made quite an impression on Moses. Once he was weaned and moved into the royal palace, it would have been easy for him to forget all about his birth mother and the Father Abraham she taught him about. He could have simply melded into his Egyptian family and lived a life of luxury. But Moses remembered who he was. He knew he was not really a member of Pharaoh’s family. He was a member of the family of people who were held as slaves in Egypt. One day Moses made his own little exodus. He went out from the palace to the labor camps to see how “his people” were doing. He happened upon an Egyptian beating a Hebrew slave in a way that probably looked like the Egyptian was trying to kill the slave. Moses couldn’t just sit by and let that happen. So he looked around, didn’t see any witnesses, and killed the Egyptian. Moses buried the dead man in the sand, and walked away. I imagine Moses thought himself a hero at that moment. Moses had to know that his whole life was something of a miracle. Remember how he was the fine Hebrew baby boy that didn’t stand much of a chance against Pharaoh’s death sentence. He knows he is not a true Egyptian, but is united by blood to the Hebrew slaves. For him to see anyone being brutally beaten would be upsetting, but to see one of his own people—well, that had to be truly appalling! Righteous anger welled up inside him. For the first time, Moses was ready to act. He was ready to go against his adopted family, and seek justice on behalf of his birth family. He decides to put that power-abusing Egyptian in his place. And he does. Moses puts him right into the ground! Take that, right??? What Moses doesn’t anticipate, though, is that the next day some of his own people will put him in his place. Moses walks away from murdering the Egyptian thinking he has gained some small private victory over the oppressive Egyptians. He probably figured that if his own people knew what he did, they would be appreciative. But that’s not what happens. When Moses returns to the labor fields and tries to break up a fight between two Hebrews, their reaction toward Moses is one of disgust, not respect. “Who made you a ruler and judge over us? Are you going to kill me, too, just like you did the Egyptian?” Ut-oh, snagged! You know that feeling when you’re driving along, not worrying about the speed limit, and all of a sudden you see the flashing lights behind you? Think how much worse that feeling would be if instead of getting caught speeding, you got caught committing murder! Moses went from feeling like a hero, to feeling like a criminal. He hears the sirens and sees the flashing red lights in the rear-view mirror—and knows he has been caught exceeding the limits. And in that one encounter, Moses goes from champion of the underdog, back to being the underdog himself! He has taken a life he had no right to take, and now Pharaoh wants his. For the last few weeks, we have been talking about the peace Jesus gives, memorizing John 14:27. “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not be afraid.” We are living in a troubling time, so we’ve been using the stories of Exodus, which take place in times even more troubling than our own--to help us claim that peace. We looked at the Hebrew midwives, Shiphrah and Puah, and saw that courage is required for peace. We looked at Jochebed, the mother of Moses, and saw that surrender is required for peace. And now as we read the story of Moses killing an Egyptian, and then running for his own life, we are starting to see that humility is required if we are going to experience God’s peace. Which brings me to another joke: Did you hear about the minister who said he had a wonderful sermon on humility but was waiting for a large crowd before preaching it? Humility is another difficult subject to talk about, mostly because it involves us remembering the experiences that humbled us. And often these experiences cause us shame. Moses started out wanting to help his people gain their freedom; now he is fleeing just to keep his own! Killing the Egyptian made Moses feel bigger and more powerful; getting caught made him feel small and impotent and ashamed. Getting humbled. It’s the change from feeling carefree, to being responsible. From being oblivious, to being aware. From feeling a little too powerful, to having that power in check. Getting humbled is no fun, but it is lifesaving. Perhaps it is only by getting humbled that we eventually learn humility. We learn how to balance the fact that we have this tremendous capacity and responsibility to do good in the world, with the fact that we also have very real limits, and lapses in judgment, and areas of weakness and even the capacity to do evil. We are amazing and wonderful, but we are also, sometimes comically, sometimes tragically, flawed. Properly understood, humility is important and helpful, but shame is something else altogether. It’s another one of those feelings most of us have not been taught how to handle. Several years ago I heard about a pastor who found his true calling in prison ministry. He built his whole ministry around one question: "On the day you committed your crime, what else did you do?" He would meet with prisoner after prisoner who felt they were worthless because they were in jail. He tried to help the inmates see that, although they committed a crime, and were considered criminals, that's not the only label that applied to them. They were also sons and fathers and brothers and neighbors who were capable of also doing good things. The pastor knew that if these inmates never addressed their shame, they would see themselves as criminals and most likely end up back in jail again. But if they could be healed of their shame, they could be freed to live differently. The corona virus pandemic has exposed in us the fact that we have a lot more to learn about how to handle difficult emotions. What does healthy pride look like? How does God want us to process shame? What should we do with anger so that we can use it for good and not sin? And what about grief? These are often “dark” emotions for us. This week I was doing some reading in preparation for Advent, and I saw an article that says Danish people don’t mind the dark days of winter. They welcome the earlier sunsets and celebrate winter’s “duvet of darkness”. Isn’t that comforting? A duvet of darkness. Most of us have been taught to resist our dark feelings like anger and sadness. What if we learned to welcome them and sense God’s comfort with us in them? Knowing we have so much more to learn about emotional health brings me back to the idea of humility. My favorite explanation of humility comes from a Christian author named Philip Brooks: “The true way to be humble is not to stoop until you are smaller than yourself, but to stand at your real height against some higher nature that will show you what the real smallness of your greatness is.” You may recognize that name Philip Brooks, because he wrote the Christmas hymn, "O little town of Bethlehem". I wonder if he had Bethlehem in mind when he wrote that description of humility. Just about three years ago, Phil and I went to the Holy Land. One of my favorite sights was the Church of the Nativity, which was built upon the cave in Bethlehem where it is believed Jesus was born. To enter the church, you must enter through the renowned Door of Humility. It's a small door, only about four feet tall and two feet wide. Even short people like me have to bow down to go through it! Some people say the door was made small to prevent horsemen from entering the basilica during the Ottoman period. It was not uncommon for soldiers on horseback to ride right their horses right inside buildings and churches as they pillaged and plundered! By making the door small, no horses could get through. Others say the door was made small so that everyone who enters would have to bow to get in. It's more than just bowing as a sign of respect, though. The gospels tell us that when the wise men came to visit the baby Jesus, it was only after falling down and worshipping Jesus that they presented their gifts to him. Bowing down is not just a sign of respect. It is a requirement for holy living. We cannot truly worship and serve God without first seeing what the real smallness of our greatness is. Perhaps that is why Jesus told his followers that anyone who calls their brother, "You fool" is guilty of murder. Compared to the perfect love of God, our love is pretty small. By humbling us with a statement like that, calling us all murderers, Jesus shocked us into seeing the whole truth of ourselves, thus opening the door for us to learn to love better. And he gave his life so he could walk with us every step of the way as we learn and grow. As hard as facing the truth can be, ultimately, it is reality that saves us. During the Vietnam War, a high-ranking naval officer by the name of James Stockdale was held as a POW for seven years. He had no reason to think he would ever make it home. But he did. Many years later, he was interviewed about how he managed to stay alive when so many other POWs lost hope and died. He said it was a combination of his ability to face reality coupled with his faith that he would be okay that saved him. This mindset is now called the Stockdale Paradox. Stockdale cautioned against being optimistic. Instead, he said, “You must never confuse faith that you will prevail in the end — which you can never afford to lose — with the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be.” Hmm. Did you ever think that facing reality is the key to peace? It certainly fits with the whole story of scripture, doesn’t it? If we are going to have peace, we must face the reality of who we are: gifted, strong, creative, yes. But we are also people who have more to learn. Like Moses, we are people who are struggling to handle difficult emotions like anger, pride, grief and shame. But like Moses, we are also people whom God loves and promises to never leave or forsake, and whom God wants to use for good! And so I’d like to leave you with words from a poet named Marilyn Chandler McEntyre. It’s called, “What to do in the Darkness”. If you’re a person struggling with difficult emotions right now, maybe these suggestions will help. Go slowly Consent to it But don't wallow in it Know it as a place of germination And growth Remember the light Take an outstretched hand if you find one Exercise unused senses Find the path by walking it Practice trust Watch for dawn. Amen.