There has never been an opportune moment to put all your trust, faith, and hope in God.
After less than two months following Israel’s supernatural exodus out of Egypt, they succumbed to a habit worse than incessantly biting your fingernails: grumbling (Exod. 16:1–2; cf. 14:11–12; 15:24). In the King James, we’re told that they’re “murmuring,” which is a onomatopoeic word, that is, it’s spelled sort of how it sounds. As the whole assembly starts to mutter all manner of complaints under their breath, they expose their unbelieving and ungrateful hearts and threaten to undo the whole congregation in the process. With everyone feeling carte blanche to express just how frustrated they are with their present circumstances, a wave of negativity washes over them, prompting them to reminisce on the “good old days” back in Egypt (Exod. 16:3). According to their recollection, they had it so much better back then, or at least they weren’t starving, or on the verge of it.
There’s a lot wrong with what they are vocalizing right now, not the least of which is that they’re lying to themselves about how good they had it back in Egypt. I mean, they were slaves after all. There’s no possible way they were just sitting by pots of meat and eating loaves of bread till their tummies were full. But that’s what over-realized nostalgia does: it causes you to misremember the past.
1. The Nostalgia Trap
“Nostalgia” is a wistful longing for the past, a yearning to escape the present and live in some other time or some other moment. And it’s not always a negative thing. It’s good to remember the past, to cherish the memories of yesteryear. It becomes harmful, though, when that’s where you stay, when nostalgia becomes your default setting. This is why the wisest man who ever lived once warned, “Say not, ‘Why were the former days better than these?’ It is not from wisdom that you ask this” (Eccl. 7:10). Always looking over your shoulder and wishing you could go back to those good old days reveals just how dissatisfied you are with where you are. In other words, if we aren’t careful, nostalgia can intertwine with ingratitude and give birth to an even more dangerous attitude: despair.
Nostalgia’s closest running mate is anxiety. Whether you’re looking ahead and worrying about what may or may not happen, or whether you’re looking back and wishing you could return to those “better days,” either way, it’s symptomatic of a lack of trust in what God is doing right now, right where we are. This seems to be what transpired in the hearts of the Israelites as they traversed the wilderness of sin (Exod. 16:1–3). Whatever rations they brought with them on their journey just weren’t cutting it. They were overly tired and more than a little “hangry,” which somehow made them long for the conveniences of Egyptian servitude.
And while their trepidation and fear at the Red Sea made sense, what with a bloodthirsty army hot on their heels, Israel’s grumbling isn’t as excusable this time. Their moaning and murmuring didn’t stem from the onset of starvation, but from their dissatisfaction. Their complaints are born out of a forward-looking assumption lamenting the fact that the food is eventually going to run out. It hasn’t yet, but it will. And then what, Moses? What are you gonna do when we all starve to death? Of course, anyone taking inventory of Israel’s supplies could do the math and come to the same conclusion. Depending on how much food everyone ate and how many babies were being born, then “X” amount of food should last “X” amount of time.
In their dissatisfaction, they chose to listen to nostalgia more than the words of God, leading to an epidemic of unbelief spreading through the congregation.
But instead of trusting in the God who never shied away from showcasing his power on their behalf, and who put his fingerprints all over their deliverance — from the ten plagues to the Red Sea crossing — the congregation of Israel focuses on how wretched their circumstances are or will eventually become. Frustrated and dissatisfied, they decided to take a stroll down a lane of false memories (Exod. 16:3). And in their dissatisfaction, they chose to listen to nostalgia more than the words of God, leading to an epidemic of unbelief spreading through the congregation.
The obvious danger of over-realized nostalgia is that it puts you on the short road to doubt and disbelief. But rather than becoming irate with them, God patiently says that he’s going to graciously provide for them (Exod. 16:4–5), sending them the “bread of the angels” so that they wouldn’t go hungry (Ps. 78:21–29). He nourished his people by giving them “meat to eat and bread to the full” (Exod. 16:8). Morning and evening, all their needs were met by God’s abundant supply (cf. Phil. 4:19). They weren’t forced to scavenge for food, nor were they just “scraping by.” Yahweh’s provision for his people exceeded what any of them could’ve hoped for (Exod. 16:6–8). That’s just the kind of God he is.
2. Grace Like Falling Manna
And all of this despite Israel’s incessant grumbling, which, not for nothing, is mentioned five times in a mere two verses (Exod. 16:7–8). Despite their lack of trust in him, God provided for them anyway (Exod. 16:9–13). He showed them his heart for them, meeting their needs when they least deserved it. And far from being a one-time deal, God’s gracious provision endured for the next forty years (Exod. 16:35). For the next four decades, Israel woke up to fresh manna every morning.
“Manna,” of course, is one of the most fascinating parts of Israel’s storied past (cf. Neh. 9:15; Ps. 105:4; 1 Cor. 10:3). “Manna” isn’t its real name; it’s just what everyone called it (Exod. 16:14–15). No one could make sense of the substance that fell out of the sky every time the sun rose, hence the name, stemming from the Hebrew for “What?” or “What is it?” But, even still, there it was, every morning: a flesh blanket of manna (Exod. 16:31; Num. 11:7–8).
His grace is rarely seen in boisterous or bombastic displays of might, showiness, or force. Instead, grace often shows up as a steady, quiet gift.
Whenever I try to picture manna, my mind imagines falling snow. I’m especially struck by the fact that there’s no sound when snow hits the ground. Instead, there’s just a profound quiet. Even as the ground is bedecked in white powder. This is sort of what God’s grace is like. His grace is rarely seen in boisterous or bombastic displays of might, showiness, or force. Instead, grace often shows up as a steady, quiet gift. Even if you can’t hear it, even if you’re unaware of it, it’s there for you every day, like fresh morning mercies (Lam. 3:22–23).
3. The Test of the Manna
Just as at Marah, where the Lord “tested” the faith of his people (Exod. 15:25), so, too, is the manna a heavenly “test” (Exod. 16:4). As Moses proceeds to explain (Exod. 16:16–19, 22–26), God’s people were supposed to gather approximately two liters of manna for every person per household. No one needed to be stingy since there was plenty to go around, but neither were they to hoard or stockpile it. The daily gatherings were just for those day’s needs, except on day six, when they were commanded to collect “twice as much bread” in light of the Sabbath the following day (Exod. 16:22-23, 26). It’s worth mentioning that the Sabbath command of “solemn rest” is in effect long before anyone had arrived in the foothills of Mount Sinai or been given the Ten Commandments. This, of course, is because the “six days on, seventh day off” rhythm isn’t a property of the law, but is baked into the fabric of creation (Gen. 2:3).] The “test” is rather straightforward: day by day, gather what you need, and on day six, gather twice that.
It would seem, though, that the Israelites possess the listening capabilities of a toddler who’s told no, or of a churchgoer during the announcements, since they promptly ignore Moses’s instructions, despite how clearly he explained them (Exod. 16:20–21). Some still collected more manna than what they needed. So, when the sun rose the next day, their leftovers became worm-infested and stinky. Naturally, Moses got very upset, but Israel wasn’t done not listening. After being told, “Don’t go looking for manna on day seven, because there won’t be any to gather,” some still went out to gather (Exod. 16:27). Their inability to listen and obey is almost comical.
You almost get the sense that God is explaining it to Moses so he can then explain it to the people in the most basic of terms, as if he’s talking to a bunch of toddlers. What was at stake, though, was neither unimportant nor trivial. Their refusal to listen and obey was indicative of much deeper issues, revealing just how little they actually trusted in God and his word. Instead of being satisfied with God’s words and trusting him for tomorrow’s bread, Israel’s dissatisfaction led to a preoccupation with “getting.” And as they gathered more than what they needed, or went out to gather when they should’ve rested, they effectively told the Lord they didn’t trust him. By their actions, they evidenced their unbelief and dissatisfaction with the words and promises of God.
4. Satisfied in the Word
But that’s the whole point. The daily regimen of manna was meant to instill in them deep trust and profound satisfaction in God’s words alone. It was an object lesson for the truer lesson “that man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord” (Deut. 8:3). The miracle of the manna isn’t really about bread at all, but instead about faith. It’s about trust. It’s about whether or not the redeemed people of God, that is, his church, will live like people who are supremely satisfied with God and his word.
Israel wasn’t totally satisfied, so they looked back on the “better days” back in Egypt and wished they could go back there. We ought to admit that we do the same thing, all the time. When Israel craves Egypt’s meat pots, it’s sort of like when church leaders or churchgoers yearn for the days when “everyone went to church,” or when the country felt more “Christian,” or when the days felt “simpler.” And underneath our nostalgia-filled “it was so much better when . . .” is thinly-veiled anxiety. Indeed, a close companion to all our worries about the future is a constant longing to return to those “better” days. It’s a continuation of Israel’s crisis, fearing what might happen and trying to make things better by nostalgizing how it used to be.
The problem is there has never been an era free from difficulty. There’s never been a generation without a crisis, and perhaps that’s never been more apparent than right now. Our world seems to stand on the edge of a knife. Like a row of dominoes set to tumble, we are dismayed by what may or may not happen with Israel, Iran, and Washington. What if? What then? We are so distraught over what might be that we tend to romanticize what once was. But whether you’re looking ahead or looking back, both are symptoms of a lack of trust — both signal that we’re not totally confident in what God is doing right now.
5. Waiting for a Time That Never Arrives
In some ways, this puts us in the same position as the prophet Habakkuk, who was told by God, “I am doing a work in your days that you wouldn’t believe if told” (Hab. 1:5). I wonder if we still believe that’s true, that God’s at work in our midst. It can be hard to believe sometimes, but that’s how it has always been. Faith is always hard. Whether it’s the Civil War of the 1860s, the Panic of 1873, the Spanish-American War at the turn of the century, WWI, the Great Depression, WWII, the Cold War, the Vietnam War, Watergate, the First Gulf War, 9/11, the Second Gulf War, the 2008 housing crisis, COVID, the Epstein Files, the impending AI apocalypse, there has never been an opportune moment to put all your trust, faith, and hope in God.
And if you’re waiting for that day to come, or if you’re wishing for those better days to return, you’re waiting and wishing for a time that doesn’t exist. The only way to get by or get through these times is to trust in the Lord no matter what. The answer to our ceaseless worrying about tomorrow is not wistfully wishing to return to a different era. Rather, the solution is God’s words, God’s kingdom, and God himself (Matt. 6:25–34). All of which is what God’s Son came to give us.
6. Daily Bread for Anxious Hearts
Christ himself is the true and better “bread from heaven,” the manna that fully satisfies (John 6:32–35). He alone is the “bread of life,” the church’s true sustenance and abiding meal. And just as the congregation of Israel was called to partake of the manna daily, so, too, is the church beckoned to partake of Jesus’s person and work in the gospel (John 6:51, 57–58). Thus, when it’s said that we need to hear the gospel every day, it’s not only because we forget it every day, although that’s true; it’s because the gospel is our daily bread, the steady and quiet gift of grace that our anxious and forgetful, and nostalgia-prone hearts so desperately need. Jesus’s body and blood are the true manna that feeds our souls in times of crisis or doubt. The word that sustains us is the word of the cross.
When it’s said that we need to hear the gospel every day, it’s not only because we forget it every day, although that’s true; it’s because the gospel is our daily bread, the steady and quiet gift of grace that our anxious and forgetful, and nostalgia-prone hearts so desperately need.
When nostalgia whispers in your ear or when anxiety paralyzes your heart, or when tomorrow feels unsteady, the gospel reassures us that there is fresh mercy on the ground and grace to be had in droves. It tells us all about a Savior who invites each of us to trust him and be satisfied with him, and to “come to him, all who are weary and heavy laden, and he will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28). Much like the good news Israel received, the good news for the church is that we don’t live by bread alone, but by the Savior who has already given himself for us, and whose grace is more than sufficient for all your present sorrow and whatever else tomorrow holds.
