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You see a man busily writing. His face reveals the intensity of his focus. He sometimes smiles as he writes, then stops to think again. At times he shows some dissatisfaction, and he goes back to rewrite some sentence or phrase. Clearly, he wants to get this just right.

We hesitate to interrupt his concentration, but we can't restrain our curiosity. "Excuse us," we say. "What is that you're working on so diligently?"

He looks up from his work and smiles. "I'm writing a toast. It's a toast that I'm going to give at a party."

"Ah, I see. It must be for someone very important."

"Oh yes," he says. "It's for my wife!"

"That's very sweet. What's the occasion? An anniversary?"

"Yes, that's right," the man replies. "Our silver anniversary!"

Our smile slowly gives way to a more quizzical look. "Silver anniversary," we ask. "Doesn't that mean 25 years of marriage?" We are understandably confused, for the young man doesn't even appear to be 25 years old himself. How could he possibly be celebrating his twenty-fifth anniversary?

"Yes," he says blissfully, "25 wonderful years of marriage."

"But ... but," we stammer. "I'm sorry, but how can you have been married for 25 years? You can't possibly be old enough."

"Oh, no, I haven't been married for 25 years yet," he concedes. "In fact, we haven't been married at all yet. Our wedding is next month. But I want to be sure to get this right: All that I want to say to her and about her on the occasion of our silver anniversary!"

Does such a scene sound sweet? Perhaps a little foolish? Well, that is essentially the scene portrayed in the passage we shared earlier from the Old Testament book of Deuteronomy.

Deuteronomy is a long good-bye. Moses has led the children of Israel from their bondage in Egypt, through the series of plagues, and the Passover. He has led them across the Red Sea, to Mount Sinai, and received on their behalf the law and covenant of God. He has led them through the wilderness and to the border of the promised land, where they balked in their faith. He continued to walk with them and lead them through their forty-year sentence of wilderness wandering. He led them through hunger and thirst, through worship and battles, through births and deaths. And now, some forty years after the original generation left Egypt under Moses, their adult children stand poised to enter the promised land across the Jordan River. Finally, old Moses will pass the baton of leadership, having completed his very long leg of the journey. Before Joshua succeeds him and the Israelites march across the Jordan, Moses says his farewell.

Deuteronomy is that farewell.

For what amounts to more than thirty chapters, Moses reminds the people about all that God has said to them and done for them along the way. He reminds them of the consequences of their disobedience, as well as the benefits of their righteousness. He reminds them of God's rules and regulations for holy living. And, in the passage we share together today, Moses writes for the people the script of their testimony.

"When you have come into the land that the Lord your God is giving you," Moses instructs the people, "and you possess it, and settle in it ..." (v. 1). Then he proceeds to prescribe for them what they are to do and to say.

I wonder if these instructions didn't seem a bit premature to the Israelites. After all, Moses was taking so many things for granted. At this point in time, the people were still camped on the far side of the Jordan River, gazing across at the seemingly impregnable great walled city of Jericho. That battle by itself must have seemed so improbable to the people, and it was only the first of many. There were so many other towns, cities, fortresses, and armies to be encountered, unseen beyond the horizon. Yet Moses was fast-forwarding past all of those battles, as well as past the whole process of settling the land.

"When you have come into the land ... and you possess it, and settle in it," Moses says. Talk about something easier said than done! It seems almost impertinent for Moses to refer so casually to the long ordeal that lies ahead, to reduce all of the challenges ahead of them to a mere dependent clause in a sentence.

Casually say to the graduate student, "When you have completed all of your course work, finished your research, written your dissertation, and successfully defended it, then here is what you should say on the occasion of your graduation." Blithely say to the pregnant young woman, "When you have given birth to your baby, weaned him, and raised him through all the years of childhood and adolescence, then here is what you should write on his birthday card when he turns 21."

For the unmarried young man to begin to compose the toast for the celebration of his silver anniversary may seem sweet, but it also seems terribly naive and premature. There are so many years and experiences, so many challenges, so many struggles, and so much growth between now and then.

Still, there in the trans-Jordan region, Moses passes quickly by all of the challenges and obstacles that lie ahead for Israel, and he cuts right to the toast. "When all of that other stuff is done," he says, "then here is what you need to say and do on that occasion." It may seem premature -- even impertinent or naive -- but I suspect that Moses learned it from God. Way back when Moses first encountered God, at the burning bush more than forty years earlier, the Lord told him, "I will be with you; and this shall be the sign for you that it is I who sent you: when you have brought the people out of Egypt, you shall worship God on this mountain" (Exodus 3:12).

At that point in the story, Moses had not even agreed to take the job God was offering -- to go to Egypt as God's agent of deliverance for the Hebrew slaves -- and already God was talking to Moses about what would happen when the mission was accomplished. "Whoa, there! Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Lord!"

Still, all of this premature talk has its own sort of beauty. It is the beauty of certainty -- Babe Ruth calling his shot or Joe Namath guaranteeing victory in Super Bowl III. It is President Kennedy pledging a man on the moon. It is the beauty of certainty, and it is most splendid when the promise comes from God, for his guarantees are absolute.

Moses confidently fast-forwards past the challenges, the struggles, and the battles, and he says to the people, "When you have come into the land that the Lord your God is giving you as an inheritance to possess, and you possess it, and settle in it...."

Yes, then what?

Then comes the toast! Only in this case, the toast is a testimony.

Moses tells the people to take an offering to the place of worship: first fruits from the harvest of the land. The offering represents the people's gratitude to God, for the harvest reminds them of God's provident care. The same God who had fed them with manna from dew and water from rocks throughout their wilderness sojourn would also be responsible for the bounty enjoyed through the cycles of planting and harvest.

Giving to God a portion of the first fruits is a lovely way of honoring and thanking him. Imagine the five-year-old daughter who, upon receiving from her parents a gift of new crayons or markers for coloring, makes her first project an "I love you" note and picture for her mommy and daddy. This is the quality of the first fruits offering: let the first thing I do with God's gift to me be a way of saying "thank you" and "I love you" to him.

Then, upon presenting the token produce at the place of worship, the Israelites were to recite a certain script: "Today I declare to the Lord your God that I have come into the land that the Lord swore to our ancestors to give us" (v. 3). It was a confessional statement -- an expressed recognition that God had, indeed, kept his promise, and that the worshiper himself was a beneficiary of that promise.

And then, in the next moment, the person with the offering was to make this longer statement: "A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous. When the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard labor on us, we cried to the Lord, the God of our ancestors; the Lord heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. The Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with a terrifying display of power, and with signs and wonders; and he brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. So now I bring the first of the fruit of the ground that you, O Lord, have given me" (vv. 5-10).

This is the toast, you see, written long before the anniversary. This is Israel's testimony: how God had found them, saved them, led them, and prospered them. The testimony tells the marvelous story of what God had accomplished. For what began as "a wandering Aramean" has become an entire nation, settled and established. What had been a helpless group was miraculously helped. What was once a bunch of slaves in a foreign land is now a free people in their own land. And here is some of the produce of the land to prove it!

This is always the quality of a testimony, of course. Just like those early worshipers in ancient Israel, our testimonies are stories. They are stories of where we were when God found us and the place to which he has brought us. Stories of how he has led us and what he has led through. Expressions of our gratitude to God for his faithfulness and provident care.

All of us who have traveled some miles with God have those stories. They are meant to be declared in the place of worship. And even for those of us who have not yet reached the place we believe God has in store for us, it's not too early to start writing our toast. Amen.