We have our Darwinian instincts to thank for our ability to think on our feet – to react in a split second. Throughout evolutionary history, the reality of the “survival of the fittest” has eliminated the weaker, the dumber, and the slower – in favor of the stronger, the smarter, the faster. It is utterly unforgiving. Usually the demise of one unlucky species in favor of another comes down to a minor mutation! The brown horny toad, whose webbed feet are a millimeter thicker than the webbed feet of the brown horny toad on the next lily pad over, has that oh-so-crucial edge in the rat race of rigorous reproductive success.

But being “fit to survive” takes more than just generous genetics. Surviving for life or in life requires instinct. For example, the raised hairs on the back of your neck or the tightening in your gut triggers your “fight or flight” impulse. If you are walking down a dark alley and feel that you are being followed – your reaction is immediate. You don’t reason. You don’t remember. No, you don’t do anything. Adrenaline does. Adrenaline pumps your legs faster than you knew you could run. Adrenaline navigates you around corners and powers you over obstacles. Adrenaline makes you forget about everything but the present moment. Your vision narrows and you react. You don’t think. You react.

Forgive me for resorting to a cheesy scene from a B-rated Hollywood thriller. But you get the point. There is something about our innate desire to survive that resonates across the ages. We know the fear of our gut and the uncertainty of our minds that makes us react without thinking. It happens all the time – the inevitably ill-thought-out and regrettable reaction to one specific moment in time. The immediate regret of letting that word slip off your tongue at your child. The sheepish feeling of falsely accusing your spouse. And, oh, do we all know, all too well, the kind of retaliating rage and country-wide fear that leads to war, that perpetuates our pretension and power. Time and time again.

Because we know ourselves in this way – because we understand non-rational, unintentional actions that we are not proud of, or that we’d rather not remember – because of this firsthand knowledge, we feel connected to the people at the bottom of that mountain who surround Aaron, melting their rings and necklaces and anxiety and fear into control, into power, into a golden calf.

How soon they forgot! Did the Israelites forget their commandment to worship Yahweh – God, and God alone? Were they impatient? Did they get tired of waiting for Moses to make his way back down that mountain? I think so. Even more, I think these anxious, eager, and well-meaning folks felt forgotten themselves.

The Israelites felt forgotten by God, having themselves forgotten that the only reason they are still alive is because God, Yahweh, delivered them from the pursuit of Pharaoh. But without Moses, they can’t remember that it was God who delivered them. They want to give thanks. They have good intentions. And so they build a golden calf so that they have an altar, a place to focus their thanks, a god to pray to for their health and prosperity and safety. They remember the action of deliverance but forget its source. How soon they forgot. Or maybe they just didn’t take enough time to remember. They act on an impulse – and an immediate desire blinds them to the promises of the past and the faithfulness of God’s favor. (In this paragraph you use both present and past tense. Make it consistent throughout this narrative—either way is OK.)

And how soon we forget, too. When we are at our most vulnerable in life, when insecurity washes over us and we feel cheated, confused, or careless, when we are at this point, when we are in “survival mode,” we get busy building golden calves. And we do it in the name of God, but we have forgotten who that God is, and so instead we end up serving the gods of immediate gratification – of quick solutions and easy answers.

We prefer our power over God’s patience.

A couple of days ago, I was sitting around with some friends, and we started discussing the presidential fever that is on the cover of every magazine and in the opening line of every Letterman and Leno show right now. We quickly moved from discussing the various candidates to the issues we were most passionate about. Illegal Immigration was one. Just in the last two days, I’ve read articles on immigrant health care coverage for cancer and chemo, immigrant access to drivers’ licenses, immigrant raids in New York housing projects, and immigrant deaths in the deserts of Arizona and California. All four articles spoke of the quick decisions of nonlegal immigrants and authorities alike. Doctors assess quickly whether a nonlegal immigrant’s condition is an “emergency” or not – and treats them only if it is. New York has made access to drivers’ licenses a bit easier for immigrants, but this same government is running them out of their homes without warning and without mercy. And almost all immigrants cross the border out of desperation, despite their likely deaths. All four articles had hints of fear and uncertainty laced throughout these stories. No one wants us to forget that nonlegal immigrants are an inconvenience, nuisance, and problem.

The presidential platforms and policies related to illegal immigration will have to balance procedures of power, policing, and patrol with equal attention to corporate accountability and inevitable amnesty. It is complicated. It is both amatter of mercy and a judgment of justice. Regardless, it is not a matter of instinctual response. It is a matter of in-depth inquiry.

As we discussed the U.S.’s current immigration situation, my friend Jim said, “We are so quick to forget who we are. We are the immigrants, too, you know? And we have the worst history of them all. From the 15^th to the 19^th centuries, we killed Native Americans through battle, disease, and forced evacuation – all so that we could have a new chance at life in a new, free country. Of all people, it seems like we would understand the desire of Mexicans to make a new life, a better life. And they aren’t even killing us. And lots of them are helping our labor industries.” He’s got a good point. But we don’t ever remember these things when we are reacting … when we are building golden calves out of an uncomfortable itch to just do something – to just keep ourselves busy and to keep ourselves feeling important and in charge.

Five hundred  years ago we acted with hostility toward Indians who were on the land we wanted, and now we react with hostility toward those who want to live in our land, with us.

The narrowing blinders of one moment in time can trigger our “fight” instinct. If we feel threatened, feel the hairs on our neck raise up, then we feel that we have only one choice. 

We fall prey, as a country, to the Darwinian challenge to stay fit in order to survive. Like “Aaron,” we want an instant solution instead of a seemingly passive, patient persistence to wait. Who wouldn’t? These illegal immigrants are taking our health care, jobs, language, identity, and space. We want power over them and protection from them.

When we treat our neighbors this way, we are worshiping our golden calves of privilege, greed, and pride. People are dying, while we are still waiting to be stopped, to be reminded ... to be told again whose we are. It doesn’t matter what issues we’re talking about – nationally or individually. We often think, “Has God forgotten us? Or is God’s wrath burning hot against us?” It’s all about us.

This story – the story of the building of the golden calf, and specifically the reminder that Moses gives God on behalf of his people – is about remembering what really matters. Remembering that love and forgiveness and promise will always conquer and prevail over instinctual responses to do something and do it quickly. Do we ever stop to think about the fact that we do not always have to be acting? That sometimes we can be waiting? Sometimes we should take more time working to remember … working to think back to our own history – the generations before us, as Moses did (and the psalmist of Psalm 77 did), and draw wisdom from their experience rather than from our own gut.

My favorite part of this story is that God forgets, too. God gets jealous and angry, and rightly so, and in the heat of the moment, God dismisses his people. He seethes against this blatant disobedience, distrust, and disrespect. He forgets, or perhaps is willing to do away with, his promise to multiply the land and descendants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He does not forget that he made a promise – but he forgets that it is for an entire people, not just one faithful person. He wants to bless Moses, to reward the good and faithful servant, and in an act of courage and, quite frankly, audacious passion, Moses advocates for his people.

Moses reminds God that his promise is for all of his people – and that it is rooted in a covenant that, though conditional, was meant for the long haul. The vow was through thick and through thin, not just for “when God’s people do everything right.” And God knows this. God knows us by name. He knows his people are Israel, meaning “those who strive with God.” God knows he made a covenant with a struggling people – people who will be tempted by their instincts to survive and to resort to the comfort of the world views and gods that they are familiar with.

But it’s no wonder that God can be tempted to forget. Because, well, we forget. This is what happens when we don’t see the broader picture. When we live moment to moment. When our lives are just strung-together episodes of emotion, arbitrary acts, and instant instincts. When we live this way, we are prone to forget – because we lack connection, we lack commitment, we lack community. Israel is in the infancy of its covenant with their God – their personal and promising God – when they build this golden calf. And so is God. Both parties seem to be working out the kinks. And Moses knows they deserve working out because the reality of this covenant is that it is a narrative that is the very essence of both God’s identity and the identity of this struggling nation. Moses knows that the survival of this nation depends not on fitness – but on the forgiveness and grace of God.

We as Christians can no longer forget. We have no excuses. Jesus who died so that we might live … it is his blood that is our new covenant. We eat at the Lord’s Table so frequently – so that we might remember. Remember who we are and whose we are. I suppose God finally got tired of providing intercessors and mediators and prophets for us along the way to keep reminding us – and reminding himself – that the covenant cycle of promise, transgression, repentance, forgiveness, and restoration must go on, time and time again. So God sent himself, his Son, Jesus, because it was high time that his covenant be eternal – that it conquer death and sin and all that makes us forget who we are and whose we are.

So if this is the case, why do we keep on building golden calves? Why do we think God has left us, abandoned us? I wonder what would happen if in those moments, those fear-filled moments, we waited in anticipation instead of anxiety? What if we kept our hands folded in prayer instead of busying ourselves by building calves, building distractions, building monuments of forgetfulness?

Jesus Christ, our risen Lord and Savior, stops the “survival of the fittest” principle dead in its tracks. None of us are fit. Nor do we have to fight for our survival any longer. In and through Jesus, we can never forget where we’ve come from or where we’re going.

The blood of the new covenant is the gift of new life, a place of belonging for everyone. It is the end of forgetfulness.

Amen.