I love it when I finish a good book. All the drama and action and intrigue comes to a satisfying resolution, and I can reflect on the ups and downs and the lessons learned, and imagine a happy future.
This morning I finished the book of Exodus. It began with a description of the nation that grew from Israel’s small family, and their subjugation by a new Pharaoh. It told the story of Moses, from the bulrushes to the palace to the desert and then back to Egypt. It related God’s mighty work in prying his people from Pharaoh’s grip with ten plagues and a crashing wall of water. It recounted God’s faithfulness in spite of the intransigence of his people, and it culminated in the glorious achievement of the construction of the Tabernacle.
And then, after all that, here’s how it ends, in Exodus 40:34-38: “Then the cloud covered the tent of meeting, and the glory of the Lord filled the tabernacle. Moses could not enter the tent of meeting because the cloud had settled on it, and the glory of the Lord filled the tabernacle.
In all the travels of the Israelites, whenever the cloud lifted from above the tabernacle, they would set out; but if the cloud did not lift, they did not set out—until the day it lifted. So the cloud of the Lord was over the tabernacle by day, and fire was in the cloud by night, in the sight of all the Israelites during all their travels.”
God’s people, and me with them, are headed for Leviticus and Deuteronomy and the Promised Land, but we aren’t going alone. God settled into his home built in the midst of his people, and he led them every step of the way. Literally, he led them. He signaled the start of the march, he showed the direction, he chose the next resting place and defined the duration of the stay.
I wonder how that felt? Following that God wouldn’t be a choice, unless you chose to leave your people completely. Loving him would be easy, it seems, because his care was visible. I suppose getting frustrated with him would be easy too – familiarity breeds contempt, the old saying goes. But to be able to look up from your work or play or rest and see the cloud and the fire, always there, had to have been supremely comforting and encouraging.
God is an amazing God, to walk patiently with his people like that. Even though it’s not visible to me, my own flame-filled cloud is right there for me to follow. Oh, for spiritual eyes to see!
Tuesday, February 28, 2017
walking with God
Monday, February 27, 2017
Bezalel
The many ways we use the word, and increasing frequency with which we use it, raises questions about what it really means. What makes someone a hero? Is it just actions, or is there a moral standard too? Is it impact, or just a display of courage? And if it is action and impact, what kind?
I’m mulling these questions because this morning I want to use “hero” to describe Bezalel. I wrote about him last week, and read about him again today.
Last week I wrote about this, from, Exodus 35:30-34: “Then Moses said to the Israelites, ‘See, the Lord has chosen Bezalel son of Uri, the son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah, and he has filled him with the Spirit of God, with wisdom, with understanding, with knowledge and with all kinds of skills — to make artistic designs for work in gold, silver and bronze, to cut and set stones, to work in wood and to engage in all kinds of artistic crafts. And he has given both him and Oholiab son of Ahisamak, of the tribe of Dan, the ability to teach others.’”
Then today, Exodus 37: 1 starts a lengthy passage describing the things Bezalel did: “Bezalel made the ark of acacia wood . . . .”
Maybe superhero is a better word. His super-powers were extraordinary wisdom, knowledge and understanding, plus “all kinds of skills”, plus exceptional creativity, combined with the ability to pass it all on. Oh yeah, and he was filled with the Spirit of God.
This man and his sidekick Oholiab singlehandedly enabled the Israelites to accomplish what God commanded. God designed in detail every single aspect of the tabernacle, and every single feature of the articles that would go in it. He designed the priestly garments and the ephod and breastplate. But Bezalel was the guy God equipped to see it in his mind, to figure out how to do it, and then to make it understandable to all the workers. And to be able to make the first one of everything.
Out of all the nation of Israel, God called this one guy for extraordinary leadership during a time of great challenge. Bezalel successfully carried out the charge. In my mind’s eye, he looms as a hero, a stocky, bearded guy with strong, callused hands, patiently crafting and showing, capable of doing every single part of that project. He’d have made an amazing contractor. Or Lowe’s employee.
Bezalel is my current mental image of what happens when God invites us to join him in work. He calls, and then equips. And if we respond faithfully, wonderful things happen.
Friday, February 24, 2017
church
I love my church. It’s relatively small, but there are a lot of talented, passionate people. We hear a lot of wisdom from the pulpit, our services are full of praise, and people serve each other without prompting.
Sometimes, though, doing church can get messy. Most of the time that only affects me when I’m involved in the mess. Sometimes I speak my mind in ways that don’t seem loving to everyone who hears. Sometimes I opt out instead of step up. Sometimes I’m reluctant to accept leadership that takes me in a different direction. On those occasions, my church accomplishes ministry anyway, but I don’t make it easier.
Because getting church right is hard, I like to read about successful church experiences, especially from the Bible. Most of those come from the New Testament, but this morning I read this cool one from Exodus 35, which describes the first church-building project I know of. Here are excerpts from verses 4-21:
“Moses said to the whole Israelite community, ‘This is what the Lord has commanded: From what you have, take an offering for the Lord. Everyone who is willing is to bring to the Lord an offering of gold, silver and bronze; blue, purple and scarlet yarn and fine linen; goat hair; ram skins dyed red and another type of durable leather; acacia wood; olive oil for the light; spices for the anointing oil and for the fragrant incense; and onyx stones and other gems to be mounted on the ephod and breastpiece.
‘All who are skilled among you are to come and make everything the Lord has commanded . . . .’ Then the whole Israelite community withdrew from Moses' presence, and everyone who was willing and whose heart moved them came and brought an offering to the Lord for the work on the tent of meeting, for all its service, and for the sacred garments.”
There are a couple of things that seem like good examples here. First, Moses laid out the need but called only on the willing. No coercion, just a call for volunteers.
Next, Moses outlined a variety of ways to contribute. People could give gold, or cloth, or animal hair, or wood or oil or spices. They could contribute their time and skills. A wide variety of materials and work was needed, so a wide spectrum of people could participate.
Finally, willing people stepped up and the need was met. This passage said “their hearts moved them,” which I understand to mean God nudged the right ones here and there. But he didn’t nudge everyone. That suggests I can sometimes sit out if my circumstances make it hard to participate.
There’s so much here of good leadership and willing response. And the results were phenomenal. I know because I’ve read Exodus before. God designed this beautiful tabernacle, but he invited his people to build it.
Thursday, February 23, 2017
Finding favor
I’m jealous of Moses and humbled by him at the same time.
This morning, I read a conversation between Moses and God, in Exodus 33. Here’s part of it, verses 13-17, with Moses speaking at the start:
“‘If you are pleased with me, teach me your ways so I may know you and continue to find favor with you. Remember that this nation is your people.’
The Lord replied, ‘My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.’
Then Moses said to him, ‘If your Presence does not go with us, do not send us up from here. How will anyone know that you are pleased with me and with your people unless you go with us? What else will distinguish me and your people from all the other people on the face of the earth?’
And the Lord said to Moses, ‘I will do the very thing you have asked, because I am pleased with you and I know you by name.’”
I’m amazed when I think about this. I picture Moses in his tent, with God’s presence shining around, just talking to God. And God replies. It seems so close, although Moses is careful to speak respectfully. I’m jealous of that amount of intimacy with God. I know I can have it too, but it seems like it would be different if I could sense God in the room and hear his voice.
And then, Moses dares to make a request that humbles me. He asks to be taught about God; he just wants to know God’s ways and gain God’s approval. I’m not sure what I would have asked God for in those circumstances, but based on a lot of my current praying it might have been more self-centered than that.
Moses models some critical behavior for me here. First, I should work hard on my relationship with God. That takes time, but intimacy in any relationship takes time. And then, my only desire from that relationship should be to know God better so I can obey better.
Someday, maybe, if I do this, I too can hear God say, “I am pleased with you and I know you by name.”
Wednesday, February 22, 2017
skilled hands
One of my favorite passages in the early Old Testament is Exodus 31:1-11, which I read again this morning. I’m guessing it’s probably not very high on most people’s lists, though.
In that passage, the Lord says this: "See, I have chosen Bezalel son of Uri, the son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah, and I have filled him with the Spirit of God, with wisdom, with understanding, with knowledge and with all kinds of skills — to make artistic designs for work in gold, silver and bronze, to cut and set stones, to work in wood, and to engage in all kinds of crafts. Moreover, I have appointed Oholiab son of Ahisamak, of the tribe of Dan, to help him. Also I have given ability to all the skilled workers to make everything I have commanded you: the tent of meeting, the ark of the covenant law with the atonement cover on it, and all the other furnishings of the tent— the table and its articles, the pure gold lampstand and all its accessories, the altar of incense, the altar of burnt offering and all its utensils, the basin with its stand—and also the woven garments, both the sacred garments for Aaron the priest and the garments for his sons when they serve as priests, and the anointing oil and fragrant incense for the Holy Place. They are to make them just as I commanded you."
Boring stuff, but here’s what it says to me: God values the work we do with our hands. In fact, I think he loves it when we make stuff. To me, that’s part of what it means to be made in his image; our Creator made us also with the skills to create. So when I read this, I’m reminded of the basic God-honoring nature of creative and constructive work. Our tradesmen, artists, pre-school teachers, and everyone who nurtures and uses those basic skills that take stuff and convert it into prettier or better or more useful stuff – those people should see this passage as evidence that God ordains and blesses what they do
But my musings go a bit farther. To me it’s fascinating that God made us with creative, inquisitive minds, plus he made this world with permanent laws of physics, plus he seeded the earth with all kinds of materials. An outcome of these three things is that we as a people are equipped by God to be able and to want to figure out how to make roads and bridges and skyscrapers and ships and airplanes.
That’s why, to me, the amazing technology of a modern merchant ship or the mind-boggling capabilities of GPS are just as much a part of God’s creation as the mountains and rivers. When I see a great thing that man has done, like the Sydney Opera House, I tend to praise God for it just as much as when I see wild horses running free.
God wanted to glorify himself and bless his people with a wonderful tabernacle, so he called and equipped good artisans and builders. Today I’m seeing his image reflected in the contractors building houses in my neighborhood, and the chemists designing new coatings in our lab, and the engineers figuring out better ways to move materials around our plants. I’m seeing it in my wife, who teaches music, and her students, who make music; in my friend, who leads crafts at Kid’s Connection, and all the children who make refrigerator-worthy gifts for moms and grandmas. I’m seeing it in the interior designers and writers and cooks and theater people, who all delight our minds and senses with things we couldn’t experience without them.
Ours is a beautiful, creative community because God made us to be that way. That’s a praiseworthy gift to all of us.
Tuesday, February 21, 2017
Sabbath
I remember years ago when Sabbath observance was a big deal in our churches. Pastors and professors and elders were passionately concerned with what is and is not permitted on Sunday. Conferences were held frequently, editorials were written, and there were even some church splits.
Is it good or bad that those days are long behind us?
This morning, reading along in Exodus 23, I came to verse 12: “Six days do your work, but on the seventh day do not work, so that your ox and your donkey may rest, and so that the slave born in your household and the foreigner living among you may be refreshed.”
On the seventh day do no work. What does that mean?
Grandpa would say, “If you don’t want to work, you shouldn’t make anyone else work either.” He would say that to honor this command, we should stay away from anyplace where people are paid to serve us. That makes sense in the context of this verse; it’s kind of the modern equivalent of letting slaves and beast of burden rest too.
One of my college profs explained that the purpose of Sabbath rest is to refresh our souls. He said that we avoid work because work takes our minds away from God. He recommended that the day be devoted to worship, contemplation, and conversation that centered us once again on God.
All that was a long time ago, though. Lately the only conversations about Sunday I get involved in relate to the second service. It seems like we don’t question what is or isn’t appropriate to do on Sunday anymore.
Is that good? For most of my work colleagues, once they get past Sunday dinner, in the words of one of them, “It’s another half Saturday.” I don’t think his perspective is at all unusual. Pretty much everyone I know golfs and swims and hunts and shops and travels and eats out. Is that OK? Is this nagging guilt I feel just because it’s different than it used to be?
It’s likely that Grandpa’s views were more restrictive than they had to be. It also seems likely that current practice may be out of whack. Most of the people I work with are dragging on Monday; they come back to work to rest up. Is that the outcome of a well-observed Sabbath?
Since I don’t know, and I don’t want to stir the pot with my friends, I’m going to talk it over with someone I know will accept my weakness without diminishing my worth, someone who won’t be offended no matter what I say about it. I’m going to pray. I’ve found it’s the best way to work through confusing obedience issues.
Monday, February 20, 2017
social responsibility
There’s a lot of talk since the election about social responsibility. Since we’re polarized as a country, of course there are only two positions being argued, but neither really matches up with what I’m reading today in scripture.
The following are excerpts from Exodus 22:18-29, a section titled Social Responsibility
“If a man seduces a virgin who is not pledged to be married and sleeps with her, he must pay the bride-price, and she shall be his wife.” Okay, I’m guessing the left won’t like this one, in this age of sex without accountability. But God made us for marital faithfulness, since that’s his picture of the church’s relationship with Jesus.
“Do not allow a sorceress to live.” How intolerant! Again, probably not going to be a favorite of the all-religions-are-the-same progressives, but God knows that occult practices open our souls to evil.
“Do not mistreat or oppress a foreigner, for you were foreigners in Egypt.” Certainly the alt-right, and to varying extent most on the right, tend to put the needs of foreigners far behind our own. God reminds us that, really, we’re all foreigners whose citizenship is supposed to be in heaven.
“Do not take advantage of the widow or the fatherless. If you do and they cry out to me, I will certainly hear their cry.” Widows and orphans are scriptural short-hand for anyone who is powerless, like most people who get entitlements. Or like poverty-stricken white coal miners. I guess everyone is OK with neglecting someone, based on which side they belong to. God reminds me here that he is for the helpless and against anyone who doesn’t help them.
“Do not blaspheme God or curse the ruler of your people.” It’s interesting that God put these two things in the same command, but I think he’s telling me that any legitimate authority comes from him. Either side will curse a President of the opposite party. I’ve always supported any President once elected, but that can be hard. I think that pleases God, though.
“Do not hold back offerings from your granaries or your vats.” OK, I think most on either side struggle with this. Leftists want the government to tax us instead of giving to philanthropic causes; rightists seem to try to hang onto their money unless they’re truly people of faith. But there’s huge blessings in giving, for the giver as much as the recipient.
My lesson this morning: I can’t trust the things I’m reading on blogs, or the accusative sound bites I hear, as I try to be socially responsible. There’s only one source of that knowledge: the God who designed us all and puts us in our nations and neighborhoods. To help klutzes like me, he even came down and lived here a while to show me how.
This morning, I pray that I can see people as God sees them, and not as evil or threatening, or entitled either to other people’s money or our tolerance of any level of wrongness. We’re all the same; we need help sometimes, and sometimes we need loving accountability.
Friday, February 17, 2017
trembling
Mount Sinai must have been quite an experience. It certainly wasn’t like the pictures in the children’s story bibles.
Far from a beautiful experience, Exodus 19 describes a dangerous situation. God warned his people that if they tried to come up the mountain to see what was going on, he would destroy them. Then came the cloud and the noise.
The overwhelmingly forbidding atmosphere is captured in Exodus 20:18-19: “When the people saw the thunder and lightning and heard the trumpet and saw the mountain in smoke, they trembled with fear. They stayed at a distance and said to Moses, ‘Speak to us yourself and we will listen. But do not have God speak to us or we will die’”
God’s presence seems in scripture always to evoke fear, maybe because any person who encountered God was forced also to face their own sin. It’s as if meeting God always carried with it a gut-felt reminder that our relationship with this Being has been shattered by our own waywardness.
I’m reminded of another passage about Mount Sinai, in Hebrews 12. There, this mountain is contrasted in with Mount Zion. On Mount Zion, instead of being kept away, God’s elect sing in the streets, mingling with the angels and living forever in the presence of God. No more fear.
But Mount Zion isn’t anything special unless I, like the Israelites, can feel in the pit of my stomach the unworthiness exposed at Mount Sinai. God’s perfect law, his Ten Commandments, were given that day, and since then every man and woman has failed to obey them. God’s law showed the Israelites, and Jesus showed me, what Godly living looks like. But it also set a standard that I can never meet.
Once again, I’m reminded to be grateful for Jesus’ act of salvation. This time, it’s the fearful spectacle of Mount Sinai, whose rumbling, thunderous, fiery aspect shows the latent power of God’s anger. Anger, praise Jesus, that I won’t have to face.
Thursday, February 16, 2017
holy war
I noticed something this morning in a familiar Bible story. I think it struck me because I wrote a sermon related to it a while back.
The story is the one where the Amalekites attack the Israelites, and Joshua leads the battle defending God’s people. Moses watches from a hill and raises his hands; as long as he keeps them up, Israel wins. At the end of a long day, the Amalekites are sent packing.
Here’s the part not taught in Sunday school, from Exodus 17:14-16: “Then the Lord said to Moses, ‘Write this on a scroll as something to be remembered and make sure that Joshua hears it, because I will completely blot out the name of Amalek from under heaven.’
“Moses built an altar and called it The Lord is my Banner. He said, ‘Because hands were lifted up against the throne of the Lord, the Lord will be at war against the Amalekites from generation to generation.’”
God declared war on the Amalekites that day. Generations later, he would direct King Saul to exterminate them, down to the kids, dogs, and all the livestock. It was Saul’s failure to do this – he kept the herds and took the King captive as a trophy – that led to him losing his throne.
What God is declaring here we would call genocide, which makes this a really hard passage. But what is really happening here is that God calls for a sacrifice of atonement for the sin of trying to destroy his people. When I studied for the sermon, I learned that the Hebrew word used when God gave this mission to Saul is one for setting aside, or consecrating. God called for the Amalekites to be devoted to him, and he named it a blood sacrifice. This has perfect consistency with the laws laid down in Deuteronomy.
It’s a sobering thing, though. Toward those who fight against him, God is implacable. Moses notes that the real offense of the Amalekites was their opposition to God’s sovereignty; they “lifted their hands agains the throne of the Lord.” (By the way, isn’t it neatly symmetrical that the Lord’s army won as long as Moses’ hands were lifted?)
I’m led to consider the ways I might challenge God’s sovereignty. Am I guilty when I try to go my own way instead of seeking his guidance? Or maybe when I medicate my fear or loneliness or hurt with sinful escape instead of prayer and dependence? I don’t know where that line might be, but I do know there are days that I honor other authorities more than I honor God.
That seems to me the same type of sin that led to destruction of the Amalekites. It makes grateful once again that Jesus makes good on all my shortcomings. Scripture shows me all the ways I’m more like God’s enemies than I am like Jesus. Jesus, though, calls me brother and gives me his white robe of perfection to wear. That way, when God looks at me he sees Jesus’ righteousness; he remembers that I’m one of those elect that are adopted children.
It’s a humbling, exhilarating blessing. I wonder why sometimes I consider it so cheap.
Wednesday, February 15, 2017
praise songs
Exodus 15:19-21: “When Pharaoh’s horses, chariots and horsemen went into the sea, the Lord brought the waters of the sea back over them, but the Israelites walked through the sea on dry ground. Then Miriam the prophet, Aaron’s sister, took a timbrel in her hand, and all the women followed her, with timbrels and dancing.
“Miriam sang to them:
‘Sing to the Lord,
for he is highly exalted.
Both horse and driver
he has hurled into the sea.’”
Miriam was echoing a verse from a song Moses led, sung for the same purpose: to give God the glory for their deliverance.
Since I’m Dutch, I rarely burst into song when I feel grateful. I’m more likely to mask what’s inside by being totally cool and saying something really understated like, “Nice!” But that’s one way that my Calvinist forebears didn’t do me any favors.
I think people who openly praise God, and let their emotions show when they do, experience something wonderful that I don’t. I think it would an amazing feeling to be so grateful that I want to sing without caring who is watching or listening, or what they think.
I’m not there yet – in fact, I’m a long way away. But I have gotten to the point where I can publicly break with the local baseball/seed corn cap fashion stricture enough to put on hats I like better. I’ve endure the ridicule that goes with wearing cardigans and sport jackets. So maybe I’m getting to the point where a little song and dance once in a while won’t intimidate me.
More than that, though, I want to feel like praising, like it’s bubbling out of me. I want to see God working, and be overwhelmed by it. I think if I really felt it, I’d find a way to show it.
Tuesday, February 14, 2017
no graves in Egypt
The story tells of Pharaoh setting out to pursue them, and how the people reacted – not in faith, but in panic. Exodus 14:10-14 says, “As Pharaoh approached, the Israelites looked up, and there were the Egyptians, marching after them. They were terrified and cried out to the Lord. They said to Moses, ‘Was it because there were no graves in Egypt that you brought us to the desert to die? What have you done to us by bringing us out of Egypt? Didn't we say to you in Egypt, “Leave us alone; let us serve the Egyptians”? It would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the desert!’ Moses answered the people, ‘Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today. The Egyptians you see today you will never see again. The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.’”
The Lord will fight for you, Moses said, and he did. Exodus 14:24-25: “During the last watch of the night the Lord looked down from the pillar of fire and cloud at the Egyptian army and threw it into confusion. He jammed the wheels of their chariots so that they had difficulty driving. And the Egyptians said, ‘Let's get away from the Israelites! The Lord is fighting for them against Egypt.’”
It was a fight God intended all along – at the start of this chapter, in the first four verses, he told Moses that he planned to harden Pharaoh’s heart so that God would gain glory by defeating him, and all Egypt would know that he was the Lord. And of course, in the end the Israelites escape by walking through the parted waters and Pharaoh’s army drowns trying to follow.
There are two takeaways here for me. First, God’s plans are always bigger than I know. Just like the Israelites didn’t see what God was doing because they were absorbed by how it would affect them, I too often focus on my own complaints because I don’t get what God is doing.
Second, I won’t get in trouble doing what God tells me to do. It might look like it, just like Pharaoh’s army looked like big trouble. But God has every situation under control, and he allows me to experience things in a way that builds me up and furthers his purpose. That might involve danger for my body, but never, ever for my soul or eternal destiny.
Just as much as the Israelites, I need to work on trust. God works for his own glory and for my good. Knowing that, I don’t have to see how it all works to know that it’s going to work out fine.
Monday, February 13, 2017
timing
The story of God’s people in Egypt ends in two short verses that are easy to read past, but serve to bring the whole saga into sharp focus for me. Exodus 12:40-41read, “Now the length of time the Israelite people lived in Egypt was 430 years. At the end of the 430 years, to the very day, all the Lord’s divisions left Egypt.”
I don't know the significance of 430 years, but the fact that it’s recorded in scripture tells me there is a deliberate purpose here. God knew when he brought his people to Egypt exactly when he would bring them out again. So it gets me to thinking about the whole series of events, and I begin to see purpose in all of it.
Settling in Egypt to survive the famine, in Goshen as the best herdsmen in the country, there was security. That all makes sense from a human standpoint.
But wouldn’t it be easy for the people, as they grew numerous and prosperous, to think they had done it themselves? If life in Egypt were easy, would they rely on God? Would they have ever called out to God if Pharaoh hadn’t oppressed them?
And then those plagues – how could any Israelite doubt that they had an almighty God who would fight for them? In the end, after all the hardship and the terrifying spectacle, God gives them a chance to take some of Egypt’s riches on their way out of town.
The outcome is this: A large, powerful, tough, wealthy people who have learned to look to God first and depend on him are on their way to the promised land. If God’s purpose was to equip them for the calling he has laid on them, it’s hard to think of a method that would have produced such excellent results.
This realization makes me confident that I can trust God. I don’t always understand the things that go on in my life, or the lives of people I love. But the history of God’s people helps me see that in my history too God has always worked good from it, and never has it deflected me from God’s purpose. Often, in fact, these things nudge me back onto the path God has put me on.
That’s why I love the Old Testament. God never changes – he’s exactly the same God as he was then. He loves me no less than he loved Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Moses, and he’s just as involved in my life. Sometimes in order to make better sense of my life it helps to see God at work in someone else’s, to remember the great things he has done in centuries past.
Friday, February 10, 2017
hardened
Sometimes, though, scripture gives me an inkling, like it did this morning when I read Genesis 10. Verses 27 – 28 read like this:
“But the Lord hardened Pharaoh’s heart, and he was not willing to let them go. Pharaoh said to Moses, ‘Get out of my sight! Make sure you do not appear before me again! The day you see my face you will die.’
‘Just as you say,” Moses replied. “I will never appear before you again.’”
God is fierce in his defense of his people, and unforgiving of those who abuse them. He made sure that Pharaoh would experience the full measure of his judgment – he hardened Pharaoh’s heart. Moses’ reply - “Just as you say. I will never appear before you again.” – chills me. Pharaoh is going to get exactly what he demands from Moses and from God.
It’s a warning, stark in its bluntness. God can be fierce in his anger, and unrelenting in his condemnation. And when God condemns, there is no salvation. Literally, there is no salvation. I can’t think of anything more sad or fearful than that.
It makes me so very grateful that God called me to him. And it makes me more determined than ever to fight for those souls I may be able to influence. I want to be just as fierce in prayer for the unsaved as God is against those who oppose him and victimize his people. May he grant me the strength and constancy to do so.
Thursday, February 9, 2017
staff
Even though I walk
through the darkest valley,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
The staff of God’s man Moses did wonderful miracles on behalf of his people in Egypt. In this dark valley of suffering and oppression, the Israelites didn't have to fear. God was with them.
It’s a good reminder again for me that no matter where I go, I don’t go alone. I used to sometimes go into physical danger; now I walk regularly into conflicts that are verbal and passionate. Sometimes I feel alone, but I never am.
Any child of God knows that feeling, of not really being alone. It’s one of the greatest blessings of faith.
Wednesday, February 8, 2017
discouraged
So Moses goes back to the Lord, in Exodus 5:22-23, and says this: "Why, Lord, why have you brought trouble on this people? Is this why you sent me? Ever since I went to Pharaoh to speak in your name, he has brought trouble on this people, and you have not rescued your people at all."
God responds to Moses by reminding him of the covenant and also of God’s commitment to bring his people out of Egypt into a promised land. And then, these sad words from Exodus 6:9: Moses reported this to the Israelites, but they did not listen to him because of their discouragement and harsh labor.
Life can be hard. It can be hard because of harsh conditions and long working hours. It can be hard because of dysfunctional relationships. It can be hard because of low incomes and high expenses. It can be hard because of worries about the future. It can be hard because of sin, mine and the ones others commit that affect me.
I know many discouraged Christians, and sometimes I’m one of them. This reading from Exodus this morning suggests that often, when life seems hard to me, God is trying to tell me that he knows, and he’s with me. God wants me to see not my momentary troubles but his eternal glory, which is my own Promised Land. God often sends me brothers and sisters to remind me of these things.
Like the Israelites, do I not listen because I’m too discouraged? I think often that’s true, and the thought shames me. Isn’t discouragement just a lack of faith? Am I so fragile that I let what I consider hardship – which is nothing like what others go through – defeat me when I know I’m loved by the God who controls all things?
God says to me what he said to Moses: I remember my covenant with my people. But sometimes I forget. God made a deal with us – that’s what a covenant comes down to – that he would be our God and provide for us, if we would just follow him. And then, in finalizing the contract (remember that walk between the halves of the animal carcasses?) he took accountability for both sides of the bargain.
Remember the covenant, God says to Moses when things looked bleak. But the people were too discouraged to care. Today, I’m ashamed of my discouragement. I want to help other discouraged people see that these troubles are momentary, and we know how the story ends.
Tuesday, February 7, 2017
savior
Things have gotten tough for the Israelites in Egypt, and the people begin to cry out for a savior. I wonder what they thought of who they got?
Out of the desert comes a middle-aged man, on foot, with a shepherd’s staff. Many of the people probably remembered him: This is Moses, that failed prince turned murderer who had to get out of town to escape justice. His last attempt to help hadn’t gone so well, and here he is again. Alone, just like last time. I’d be surprised if that looked like salvation to them.
Jesus didn’t look like salvation to his generation, either. And too often he doesn’t look like it to mine. This morning, I’m wondering how often I have something to do with that.
For a few hundred people I see every day, and maybe a couple thousand more I interact with intermittently, I’m one of the most visible markers of Christianity. I’m out there; I’ve never made any secret of my faith, and I’ve told people about Jesus as overtly as circumstances reasonably allow. I have no idea who all may be watching, but I do know some who are. I know of a wonderful family of atheists. I know of several dozen lapsed Christians of many denominations. I know of two members of the LGBTQ community (sorry if I left some initials off but it’s so hard to keep up). All of these are people I work with and have friendships with.
I try to be open to all of them. I want to let them know that God sees them, just like he saw the Israelites in Egypt. He hears them, even when they address their frustrations and hopes elsewhere than him. He loves them, even though they’re sure he doesn’t. And he wants to save them – the Savior is already here, and I’m one of his foot soldiers.
But I bet sometimes they watch me and don’t see much that makes them want to take any path I’m on. At my best, I’m a poor representative for Jesus; at my worst I’m the most misleading kind of fake news. I must seem even less credible than Moses, the desert rat who crawled out of the wasteland after decades away and started telling people what to do.
I’m convicted this morning with the critical importance of my witness. And I’m comforted by the fact that no mistake I make can ever keep God from carrying out his plans.
Monday, February 6, 2017
others
In my devotions this morning, I read of another country that “otherized” a key segment of its population
.
Exodus 1:8-10: Then a new king, to whom Joseph meant nothing, came to power in Egypt. “Look,” he said to his people, “the Israelites have become far too numerous for us. Come, we must deal shrewdly with them or they will become even more numerous and, if war breaks out, will join our enemies, fight against us and leave the country.”
The king feared the Israelites. Should he have? Even if it was appropriate, were the measures he took, which seem brutally oppressive and even murderous, good ones? The Bible makes the key point that, to this king, Joseph means nothing. This people, after all, were the family of the man who saved the country. But they’re different, so they must be dangerous. Their numbers make the king feel he’ll lose control.
I think I sometimes do that. I look around and think, “We need more people in this meeting who will support (fill in the blank).” Or maybe, “We need to get a better balance on church council,” which is code for mostly people who think like me. I’m counting, fearful that the other side will win based on numbers, just like this Egyptian king.
When I do that, I miss an opportunity to learn and grow from fresh ideas and perspectives. And I subconsciously am wishing for an outcome that will exclude those who don’t think like me. It all comes from a scarcity mentality – the idea that there isn’t enough, so if I don’t fight for my piece of the pie, I might not get any. An abundance mentality, on the other hand, says, “It’s easy to make more pie. There will be enough for everyone.” After all, aren’t we far more powerful and able when we all work together?
In God’s work, the only appropriate mentality is an abundance mentality, because God loves abundantly. He wants everyone to have a seat at the table, and a voice in the conversation. This “otherizing” that I do he sees as the equivalent of a little boy calling his brother “stupid.” Because it is.
I’m hoping today that I can start being more adult about things. When people who think differently raise their voices, it’s because they’re afraid. Maybe if I just listen, there will be a way to calm their fears without compromising anything God values. Because using my values as a yardstick is a bad idea if they aren’t fully aligned with God’s.
Friday, February 3, 2017
prince
“Your father’s blessings are greater
than the blessings of the ancient mountains,
than the bounty of the age-old hills.
Let all these rest on the head of Joseph,
on the brow of the prince among his brothers.”
Joseph was indeed the prince of his brothers, in more than one way. He not only showed the most noble behavior but he literally was crowned royalty in his adopted land of Egypt.
But Israel and Joseph both know very well who gets the glory in this fantastic story. The preceding two verses read,
“ . . . because of the hand of the Mighty One of Jacob,
because of the Shepherd, the Rock of Israel,
because of your father’s God, who helps you,
because of the Almighty, who blesses you
with blessings of the skies above,
blessings of the deep springs below,
blessings of the breast and womb.”
God blesses us for a couple of reasons: to enable us to become more holy, and to enable us to bless other people. Joseph became a devoted man of God in servitude to Pilate and in the Egyptian prison. And then he blessed all of Egypt through Joseph.
And in doing so, God advanced the grand epic of his salvation plan. As I said before, to me this is one of the best parts of the whole Bible.
Thursday, February 2, 2017
youngest first
This morning, I read about Jacob’s last days, when he made Joseph promise to bring his bones back to Canaan, and when he blessed Jacob’s two sons. It was the second event that got me thinking.
Specifically, it was this part, from Genesis 48:17-20 17 “When Joseph saw his father placing his right hand on Ephraim's head he was displeased; so he took hold of his father's hand to move it from Ephraim's head to Manasseh's head. Joseph said to him, ‘No, my father, this one is the firstborn; put your right hand on his head.’
But his father refused and said, ‘I know, my son, I know. He too will become a people, and he too will become great. Nevertheless, his younger brother will be greater than he, and his descendants will become a group of nations.’ He blessed them that day and said,
‘In your name will Israel pronounce this blessing:
“May God make you like Ephraim and Manasseh.”’
So he put Ephraim ahead of Manasseh.”
Isn’t it interesting that Jacob, the younger brother who stole the blessing meant for the eldest son from Esau, intentionally gives his best blessing to Joseph’s younger son? I don’t know what it means, but it makes me think of a couple of things.
First, it reminds me that God doesn’t work according to our rules. He intended to work his plan through Jacob, no matter that tradition would look toward the eldest. Years in the future, he passed up all the impressive, mature sons of Jesse to anoint the boy David to be king. I wonder, then, how often I’ve hesitated because it seemed to me that a pastor or professor or older person surely was better suited.
It also reminds me that God chooses who will be blessed. None of us earn it by our status. Being the eldest brother, or a white male, or an immigrant woman will not earn any of us anything special, not by itself. God blesses those he chooses to bless, including but not limited to his followers.
There are a couple of actionable take-aways here, as we’d say at work. First, when I see something to be done, I should do it. Sure, someone else might be more qualified by my logic, but the fact that God showed it to me suggests he thinks I can handle it, or at least he’ll equip me to. Second, it isn’t my job to decide who deserves a blessing. I should spread blessings as far as I can on as many people as possible, because I can. God will decide whether judgment is necessary; that’s a task I shouldn’t be trusted with.
I’m sure any theologian who accidentally stumbles across this will shake his or her head. There’s meaning in these verses that I can’t see. But one of the wonderful things of scripture is that it speaks to me at my own level, with relevance for my life. And these simple lessons, for me, on this day, are enough.