27 September 2026 | Exodus 17:1–7 “Once again”

I’m sharing this story today with permission from my friend, Steven. We know each other from a previous church in Payneham. One day, he came to me and asked me to lead his mum’s funeral service, which was a huge honour. Although I had never met her, I knew she was a legendary figure in Steven’s family and among her Cambodian community. But this wasn’t an ordinary service. It was a very unusual experience, one I will never forget. In fact, it has a lot to do with what I’m wearing today.

Steven was born in Cambodia. His grandfather and father were high-ranking government officials. In the mid-1970s, a terrible tragedy struck. As you may remember, during the horrific period of the Killing Fields, most of his family were executed. Through unimaginable horrors, his family became refugees. His mother barely managed to escape with her two young sons. And so, their desperate journey by boat began. After surviving that painful journey across the ocean, they eventually arrived in Australia. They thought they were heading to America, but when they arrived, they realised they were in Australia. 

His family lived in temporary accommodation somewhere in the Adelaide Hills for about two years. With the help of local churches, the boys attended a mission school, found faith, and eventually settled in Adelaide. The brothers grew up to become devout Christians. But their mother remained a deeply committed Buddhist. As a Cambodian woman who had survived and lost her family and almost everything she knew, she held on to her Buddhist faith, the religion of her homeland, to the very end. Perhaps that faith carried the memories of her painful past and a deep part of her identity. Perhaps it was also her way of making sense of, and living through, the trauma she had experienced.

When she passed away, the family sat down to discuss the funeral. The question was: Should they have a Buddhist funeral to honour their mother? Or a Christian funeral for the children? What do you think happened? What would you have done? In the end, they made a remarkable choice: they held two funerals on the exact same day. A Buddhist service at 6 PM, followed by a Christian service at 7 PM. It might sound a bit unusual to us, but I found it to be a deeply respectful and beautiful decision.

Steven gave me a bit of a nervous heads-up beforehand. He said, “Do, Young; everything will be arranged according to Buddhist customs. Are you okay with that?” I told him I was absolutely fine. That much, I expected. But then Steven dropped the real surprise: there would be four monks coming to lead their service. At first, I thought, “Wait a minute. It’s just me... and there are four of them?” It suddenly felt like a 1-on-4 spiritual battle! I told myself, “I cannot lose this!” So, how did I respond? I went into full battle gear. I put on my clergy robe, my fanciest stole, the cross necklace... Fully armed! I geared up because, in my mind, I was heading into a spiritual showdown. And by the way, that’s exactly why I am dressed like this today! And of course, I carried the Bible firmly under my arm.

When I arrived, the four monks were already there, dressed in their beautiful, bright orange robes, getting ready! The coffin was in the centre, surrounded by candles, fresh fruit, flowers, burning incense, Buddhist symbols, and small statues of the Buddha. I had never seen a Buddhist funeral up close in my entire life. The monks noticed me right away. They gave me a quiet, polite nod. I respectfully bowed my head and met their eyes in return, but without even realising it, I was squeezing my Bible very tightly against my chest.

I sat there alone in the waiting room, giving them some space. I could smell the incense and hear the low, repeating chanting in the background. And as I sat there, all kinds of thoughts started going through my mind. The whole idea of a 1-on-4 “spiritual battle” just disappeared. Instead, I felt a deep sense of reverence for the solemn reality of life and death.

I pictured her life again. The massacre. The two boys. The boat. The unknown destination. The fear of the open sea. I tried to imagine just how agonising that journey must have been. And then, to my surprise, a Buddhist word suddenly came to mind: “Gohae” (苦海). Have you ever heard of it? In English, it can be translated as the “Ocean of Suffering".

In Buddhism, human life is often described as a journey across an endless ocean of suffering. But suffering here doesn’t simply mean, “Life is hard.” It means the pain of things not going the way we want them to. It is the sorrow of losing the people we love. It is watching our bodies grow old and become sick. It is the emptiness we feel when the things we desperately hold onto slowly change and fade away. Even the good things in life, we simply can’t hold onto forever. And because pain, loss, and parting are part of the endless cycle of human life, we can imagine lonely sailors drifting across a vast and unforgiving ocean. How, then, do we escape this Ocean of Suffering? In Buddhism, the answer is to empty the mind, let go of our desires and attachments, and seek enlightenment through our own practice. In the end, we have to make the journey ourselves. We have to cross the ocean on our own.

But as I thought about her life, one question came to my heart: “Is there no hope? Is there no grace?” If they call life an “Ocean of Suffering,” I want to call life a “Wilderness Journey.” On the surface, they may look very similar. But perhaps there is one important difference. In one journey, we may feel that we have to find the way ourselves. But what if the wilderness is different? In the wilderness, God is not just beside us. God is at work in our journey. Without God, our journey means nothing. And perhaps that changes everything. This is where grace begins. Believe this: we are not simply people who endure the pain and try to empty our minds. We know we cannot do this alone. I have to say this: the “Ocean of Grace.” 

Today, we come to a very familiar story from the Bible, in Exodus chapter 17. We probably know this story well. The wilderness. The thirst. The dust. The scorching sun. The complaining. The resentment. The testing. And yet, this wasn’t the first time the people of Israel had faced a lack of water. God had already said, “I am the LORD your God.” He had already provided for them. He had already given them water in the middle of the desert.

But in today’s passage, the people of Israel set out once again. And once again, they arrive at a place with no water to drink. God’s leading, once again, does not take them straight to the Promised Land. Once again, the people are thirsty. Once again, they pour out their complaints and anger, turning their resentment toward Moses. Once again, Moses’ life is in danger. Once again, Moses stops arguing with the people. Instead, once again, he cries out to God like a child crying out to a parent. And once again, God shows him a way to get water. Once again, God provides water for them. But once again, the people doubt Him, asking, “Is the LORD among us or not?” Once again... and once again...

At first, we might wonder, “How could they keep doing this?” But then we have to ask ourselves: How many “once agains” are there in our own lives? Thirst and resentment. God’s answer. And then, somehow, the return of doubt. In big things and small things. We can’t help it. This is simply part of being human. Sometimes, we know what God promised. But we just can’t see where He is taking us. And this is the real difference between a wilderness and an ocean of suffering. In an ocean of suffering, we feel completely alone. We feel like we have to survive on our own. But the wilderness is different. In the wilderness, we are never meant to find the way by ourselves. We are there to depend on God.

And yet... there are times when God feels absent. And when that happens, we easily fall right back into our old habits. If we are honest, we all know that feeling. When life hurts, we hold on to our pain, but forget His grace. And when life is good, we take the peace for granted, and forget the grace we received. And before we know it, the “Ocean of Suffering” can begin to cover our whole lives. 

But, my brothers and sisters, here is the surprising thing. It is precisely there that, once again, God comes to meet us. This does not mean that God suddenly takes all our problems away. Sometimes we are still thirsty. Sometimes we still cannot see the way forward. Sometimes we are still standing in the middle of the wilderness. 

But even there, God helps us see again that we have not been completely abandoned. There may be so many “once agains” in our lives. We may fall once again. We may doubt once again. We may lose our way once again. And yet, we can keep going. Why? Because there is always God’s “once again.”

God’s “once again” of love and grace is infinitely greater and deeper than our “once again” of stubbornness, doubt, and complaint. And ultimately, it helps us realise that our journey means nothing without God. And this is the good news we hear in today’s passage.

Sisters and brothers, the wilderness may not disappear. The thirst may continue. But even in the middle of that wilderness, we can turn our eyes to God once again. The God who brings water from the rock in the dry wilderness does not leave us to drown in an “Ocean of Suffering.” Little by little, He leads us from the “Ocean of Suffering” towards the “Ocean of Grace.” And this is the blessing of “once again” that we discover as we walk through the wilderness today. 

Just as the bare trees in our gardens silently prepare for spring and suddenly burst into green life, God is always working deep within our dry roots, preparing a season of new hope.  If there is anyone here who feels like you are drowning in your own “Ocean of Suffering,” I pray that you will encounter the God who is right there with you, leading you through those waves and into His “Ocean of Grace.”

Because we cannot do it on our own. We need Him even more. We desperately need His grace, once again. I think of Steven’s mother, a woman who had to cross that vast, terrifying ocean, holding her two sons tightly, not knowing where they were headed. The ocean she crossed was undoubtedly an “Ocean of Suffering.” And to the very end, she finished her life speaking the language of that ocean within her own faith.

But her two sons, who crossed that ocean safely in her arms, encountered grace at the end of it. The “Ocean of Suffering” the mother crossed became an “Ocean of Grace” for her children.

Now, it is our turn. Let us not simply look back at His “once again.” Let us respond to it.

I don’t need all this armour. I don’t need to fight this battle on my own. I can simply trust Him, because God is with us.

So let us say:

“Once again, Lord.

Once again, I trust You.

Once again, I turn to You.

Once again, I receive Your grace.”

Yes, once again.

towards

Not because we have earned something.

Not because we deserve something.

Not because the thirst is gone.

But because we have discovered that God’s “once again” is always greater than ours.

So, once again, we thank You.

Once again, we pour out our lives.

We are full of praise once again.

Let us sail freely, and without fear, in His Ocean of Grace.

Amen.