"...Whom the Lord Knew Face to Face" (Deut 34:1-12)

“No Player Bigger than the Team”

About five years ago, the soccer club that I support, Liverpool, were in the midst of a drought. It had been nearly thirty years since the last time they had won the English Premier League. This dry spell was not quite of the magnitude of, say, the Boston Red Sox going 86 years without a World Series. But for Liverpool fans who were accustomed to greatness, it was discouraging. It didn’t help that their noisy neighbors, their rivals Manchester United, had won more than a handful of titles in the meanwhile.

Liverpool’s best player at the time was Philippe Coutinho, a Brazilian international. And if you know anything about soccer, you know that those Brazilians are pretty good. They’re practically born with a ball at their feet. If a soccer player’s name ends with that special ending “-inho”—like Robinho or Ronaldinho or Fernandinho—you know they’re going to be magicians with the ball, maestros conducting the orchestra. Many Liverpool fans loved Coutinho and hoped that he would be the one to bring back a league title to Liverpool. They were heartbroken when the famous Spanish club Barcelona came along with a record offer, £142 million, and Coutinho’s head was turned. He left. Many Liverpool fans saw this as a nail in the coffin. “We will always be a selling club,” they said. “Our best players will always be stolen by the giants. There’s no title in our future.”

But as it would turn out, Coutinho’s departure was the final piece to Liverpool’s puzzle. Without having all their hopes pinned on one player, the team began to share responsibility more evenly. The front three players all blossomed together and began to score buckets of goals. In 2019, Liverpool won the European title, called the Champions League. And the following year, they won the national title, called the Premier League. They were back. And all without Coutinho.

Hindsight, of course, is 20-20, and many fans knowingly nodded their heads and uttered that old sports adage, “There’s no player bigger than the team.” And even though these fans may have been the same ones who complained when Coutinho left, there’s no arguing with the truth of that proverb. What matters most in a team sport is not the magic of an individual but the collective performance of the team.

“The Servant of the Lord”

It’s a truth that translates pretty well into the broader playing field of life. What matters most is not the power or greatness of a leader, but the collective responsibility and integrity of the people. Our scripture today tells the story of Moses’ death, and on the surface it can read a little bit like hero worship. “Never since has there arisen a prophet in Israel like Moses… He was unequaled…for all the mighty deeds and all the terrifying displays of power that [he] performed in the sight of all Israel” (Deut 34:10-12). But if we read a bit more closely, we might discover an entirely different impression, namely that scripture is actually downplaying the individual significance of Moses.

To begin, we have God’s sobering reminder to Moses, “You shall not cross over there” (34:4). God gently leaves it at that, but we might remember the reason for Moses’ non-entry. Earlier he had struck the rock in self-righteous anger, shaming the Israelites and not giving glory and thanks to God for the provision of water (cf. Num 20:1-13, 24b). In other words, Moses is human too. God’s decree that Moses should not enter the Promised Land may still feel inscrutable, given all he’s done, but perhaps part of the reason is to remind the people of Israel that, well, no player is bigger than the team. Moses has led Israel in so many commendable ways. But at the end of the day, Israel will not be able to look back on its history and say, “Moses led us into the Promised Land.” No, as great as he was, he too would die in the wilderness like the rest of his generation.

Immediately after God’s decree, the narrator refers to Moses as “the servant of the Lord” (Deut 34:5). It is a subtle descriptor but significant. Rarely is there a mention of Moses without a mention of the Lord, and in this particular case, their relationship is made clear. Moses is a servant. His greatness is a matter of his servant’s disposition. And this is his final act of obedience. He dies, we are told, “at the Lord’s command” (Deut 34:5). It is one thing to die at God’s command when the body is completely failing and craves its final rest. But Moses, the narrator tells us, is healthy: “His sight was unimpaired and his vigor had not abated” (Deut 34:7). To die in this state, is probably not an easy obedience for Moses. Yet he is ever God’s servant. And he trusts that death is a part of God’s life—even without any promise of an afterlife. A couple millennia later, Francis of Assisi will tenderly sing, “Praised be you, my Lord, through our sister Death, from whom no one can escape.” Only a servant of life, only someone who really trusts in the Creator, could see goodness in death.

“No One Knows His Burial Place”

After Moses dies, we learn that “no one knows his burial place to this day” (Deut 34:6). It is easy to overlook the importance of this notice. In the Old Testament, people commonly build altars or pillars to commemorate the site of an important encounter, whether it is a revelation of God or a death. For instance, when Rachel dies, the storyteller says, “Jacob set up a pillar at her grave; it is the pillar of Rachel’s tomb, which is there to this day” (Gen 35:20). The absence of a burial place for Israel’s greatest leader is incredibly conspicuous. Surely someone would have set up a pillar, right? The implication here is that God has actually prevented such a commemoration.

If we go back to the beginning of today’s scripture, we see that God has led Moses up a mountain, presumably alone, to show him the Promised Land. Then Moses dies at the Lord’s command. What happens next is almost completely lost in our English translation. Our translation says, “He was buried in a valley in the land of Moab.” But the original Hebrew says this: “He buried him in a valley in the land of Moab” (Deut 34:6). Who buried Moses? The only other character in this passage is God. The suggestion is that God buries Moses in secret on purpose so that no one will know his burial place. Why? God wants to guard against that human tendency to worship heroes, which tends to weaken our own sense of responsibility and integrity.

In ancient Israel, there seems to have been a special concern against the worship of the dead, which was common in neighboring cultures. For instance, the passage in Leviticus against making gashes or marks in one’s own body has nothing to do with tattoos or the importance of honoring one’s body. It has to do with a practice that was commonly performed in the worship of the dead. God is concerned there that people will attribute too much significance to a person who is gone and at the same time ignore the very source of that person’s life. To worship the dead is to miss out on life. And so God quietly, inconspicuously buries Moses away from the sight of the people.

The Memory of Moses Is the Memory of God

Next Sunday is All Saints Sunday, when we remember our loved ones who have passed. Our memory of them, however, is not limited to the deeds they did or the words they said. Our memory of them is inflected with gratitude, recognizing that who they were is inextricably connected with who God is. We cannot look at their life and not see God. Whether it was their laughter and a spirit of hope, or their quiet demeanor and a spirit of trust, or their ability to move on and a spirit of forgiveness—we see in them the spirit of God, and we know that the God of the living is with them still and they still live in God (cf. Matt 22:31-32). And while all of this does not erase our grief, because they are gone in a very real way, it does somehow accompany and perhaps even transcend our grief, because they are also still here in a very real way, in the abiding presence and love of God. We can say with today’s lectionary psalm, “Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.” You are our home at all times.

That line in today’s scripture that sounds a little bit like hero worship now sounds different to me: “Never since has there arisen a prophet in Israel like Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face” (Deut 34:10). The memory of Moses is in fact the memory of God—the God who gave life to Moses and who called Moses and who worked wonderful deeds through Moses, all because God knew Moses. And the good news we have in Christ, is that this extraordinarily special relationship between God and Moses is in fact the relationship we all enjoy with God if we open ourselves up to it, if we make ourselves, like Moses, a servant of life and the God of life. We and Moses are made of the same stuff. We are human, frail and finite, and we are caught up in an extraordinary loving relationship with the Creator.

The translation of our scripture today says that Moses dies “at the Lord’s command.” The original Hebrew is more literally rendered that Moses dies “at the mouth of the Lord.” A rabbinic tradition expounds on this scene to suggest that when Moses breathed his last, it was in fact God kissing Moses, drawing from him the same breath that God had earlier breathed into him. Maybe it’s just a fanciful interpretation, but it resonates with my faith in a God who calls us his own. And so I trust that this intimacy with God that Moses knows in his last moments, is for all of us. God is our home, now and forever, as the Psalmist says.

And so I’m left with a lot to ponder. And while this pondering is on death, it is also fundamentally on life and the God of life. When I remember loved ones passed, how am I remembering God? How is God’s life manifest among theirs? And what about me? How is God’s life being manifest within my life? When people remember me, how will they be remembering God?

Prayer

God of life,
Whose love puts on quite a show
In Moses, your servant,
But also in others whom we have known
…
Open our eyes to see,
Beyond the surface,
Your Spirit doing great things
In our loved ones, in strangers, in enemies even…
And in us.
In Christ, who calls us your beloved children: Amen.

"My Face Shall Not Be Seen" (Ex 33:12-23)

Seeking Certainty and Control

As I read today’s scripture, I am reminded of a college friend who was once involved in a romantic pursuit. After weeks of finely calculated moves, he finally secured a first date with the girl he was pursuing. It was a casual date over coffee, but it went well and lasted a few hours. My friend, however, was crestfallen. There was no kiss at the end of the date. So he set about planning for another date, and soon enough he got it. This time, there was a kiss at the end of the date. But again, my friend was crestfallen. He had sent her a text later that night, and he didn’t hear back for a whole day. Maybe her kiss had just been an act of charity, he thought. Maybe it didn’t really mean anything.

You can probably see the pattern that is emerging here. It continued for some time. Soon they were texting regularly every day. But still my friend was unsatisfied. First, it was because her messages weren’t as long as his. She’s not reciprocating, he said. Then her messages were long enough, but they didn’t contain enough exclamation marks or emojis. She’s not as enthusiastic as I am, he said. On and on it went. My friend would seek reassurance of his girlfriend’s care, and as soon as he got it, it wasn’t enough. He needed more. He wanted proof of their relationship, certainty that it was real. He wanted to know it was in his control.

Moses Negotiates with God

Last week, we saw Moses placate an angry God who was planning to destroy the Israelite people. (Just a reminder: if this depiction of an angry God is disturbing, it may help to remember that this God is a character in a story. To be sure, the character of God in the Bible is inspired by people’s real experiences of God, but it is not equivalent to the reality of God. The character of God that we read in the Bible is always already an interpretation of the people who are writing.) Even though Moses talks God down from consuming the people of Israel, the character of God is still stung by their infidelity and declares, just before today’s scripture, “My angel shall go in front of you [to the Promised Land]…but I will not go up among you, or I would consume you on the way, for you are a stiff-necked people” (Ex 32:34; 33:3). God is distancing Godself from Israel. An angel will lead them, but not God Godself.

Our scripture today begins with a worried Moses who is seeking reassurance of God’s care. “Consider…that this nation is your people” (33:13), he pleads. In other words, “Why just an angel? Why won’t you go with us? We are your people after all.” Moses’ words soften God’s heart enough that God makes a small concession. “My presence will go with you.” But here the “you” is singular. God will accompany Moses, but still not the people.

Moses is not consoled. He seeks further reassurance that God still loves the people of Israel and will accompany them to the Promised Land. “If your presence will not go, do not carry us up from here. For how shall it be known that I have found favor in your sight, I and your people, unless you go with us?” (Ex 33:15-16). By now, God’s heart must be melting at the sight of Moses’ earnest concern for the people, because God agrees, “I will do the very thing that you have asked; for you have found favor in my sight” (Ex 33:17).

But again Moses is not entirely consoled. He wants further reassurance of God’s presence and love. He wants certainty. He wants to know that this relationship is in the bag, that it’s completely under his control. So he asks to see God: “Show me your glory, I pray” (Ex 33:18). God yields to Moses’ request, but only so far: “I will make my goodness pass before you…but you cannot see my face; for no one shall see me and live” (Ex 33:19-20). So, God hides Moses in the cleft of the rock, narrowing his angle of vision, and God covers Moses’ vision with a hand until God’s face has already passed by.

The Good News of Mystery

This famous passage has captivated readers and inspired all sorts of debate as to whether a person can see all of God or not. After all, other passages seem to indicate that, actually, Moses has seen God. For example, in Numbers, God tells Aaron and Miriam, “With [Moses] I speak face to face—clearly, not in riddles; and he beholds the form of the Lord” (Num 12:8). But I wonder if this debate misses the point. I wonder if the meaning of our scripture today has less to do with whether or not we can see God and more to do with Moses’ pattern of seeking reassurance.

Like my friend in college, Moses keeps pressing for more and more. He desires certainty of the relationship. Ultimately, he wants the relationship to be in his control. And therein lies the problem. Relationships are not a matter of certainty and control. They are not about mastering another person, so that we know everything about them and can predict their every move and calculate our own every move accordingly. To approach a relationship that way would be to kill it. The relationship would look more like a computer program, a bunch of 0s and 1s. The other person would be turned into an object, a still life, a freeze-frame photo. We would no longer be open to their depth, their difference, their holiness, their life which cannot be captured or contained. Maybe that is what God means when God says, “No one shall see me and live” (Ex 33:20). “If you think you’ve seen all of me, then this relationship is as good as dead. If the reassurance you’re seeking is certainty and control, then we’re as good as done. That’s not a relationship. That’s you, all by yourself, alone, isolated, trying to control the world.”

It is good news that God’s face cannot be entirely seen. That is the good news of any healthy relationship. The mystery is actually a mark of intimacy. Not knowing the other person completely is not a problem. It’s actually constitutive of a healthy relationship. It means we are living not in a mindset of mastery but rather by faith and faithfulness, trusting that there is always a hidden, yet-undiscovered goodness in the other person. The mystery means there is always more. You might call it eternal life.

“God’s Mystery”

I do not think it is a coincidence that Paul regularly talks about mystery and even refers to Christ as “God’s mystery” (Col 2:2). Christ is always surprising us, always showing us a new angle on God’s goodness. We think we know God, but then Christ tells us a story or does something unthinkable. Think about his parables, how they turn the worldview of his listeners (then as now) upside-down. A God who is waiting and watching for the wayward son who disowned him to his face, whose first response when the son returns is not reproach but rejoicing? A God whose justice is the good pleasure of paying every worker the same wages, no matter how many hours they worked? And think about Christ himself, who eats with the unwanted and unwelcome (“tax collectors and sinners”), who stops to embrace little children and the sick, whose wisdom and power are on fullest display in the cross, which seems foolish and powerless to us.

The mystery of God, which is Christ, does not mean that God is distant. It means that God is intimately near. It means that, despite all the natural difficulties and pains of this life, we are in the embrace of a Beloved whose love exceeds all that we can hope for or imagine, who will surprise us, again and again, with goodness and grace.

Gregory of Nyssa, who was a church leader in the fourth century, writes, “Concepts create idols. Only wonder comprehends anything. People kill one another over idols. Wonder makes us fall to our knees.” May Christ be ever for us not an object of knowledge or control, but a wonderful mystery, the living embrace of our loving God.

Prayer

God of hidden face,
Beloved who holds us in intimate embrace—
Sometimes our fear gets the better of us,
And we want the certainty of control.
…
May your mystery be for us not a stumbling block
But an enticement into relationship,
Inspiring us to trust in your yet-undiscovered goodness,
Inspiring in us a wonder that makes us fall to our knees.
In Christ, the mystery of God: Amen.

"God's Steadfast Love Endures Forever" (Ex 32:1-14)

“Quick to Turn Aside”:

Settling for Snacks

Impatience can make me fickle. My four-year-old nephews have taught me this. They frequently teach me things about myself, for I see in their rather transparent behavior the same motives that I often have but that I have learned to hide from myself.

Frequently near dinnertime the nephews will be hungry and clamoring for food. “How much longer?” they ask. These polite enquiries soon give way to loud demands. “I want some goldfish! I need juice! Do we have any grapes?” Dinner may only be minutes away, but such is their desire that they are willing to settle for less. They are willing to settle for snacks even when there is a feast around the corner.

In the same way, the Israelites have grown impatient. Moses has gone up the mountain to receive from God the laws that will help establish a good and ordered common life among the people. But it’s been nearly forty days now, and people are beginning to doubt that he’ll ever return. “We don’t know what’s become of him,” they’re saying (Ex 32:2).

The conventional interpretation of this passage is that the people give up on Moses and God and turn elsewhere. It seems like a clear-cut case of idolatry, right? I mean, they make a literal idol, a golden calf.

But I wonder if this interpretation isn’t a little too convenient. It makes it awfully easy to distance ourselves from the Israelites, to point fingers that protect ourselves from any similar self-accusation. After all, who among us has crafted an actual idol to worship in God’s place? But when I read more closely, I see something that strikes closer to home. After Aaron has made the golden calf, the people praise it with the same language that they praise God, “These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!” (Ex 32:4). Moments later, Aaron himself declares, “Tomorrow shall be a festival to the Lord”—using the divine name by which God revealed Godself to Moses (cf. Ex 3:14). And the next day, they worship through burnt offerings and sacrifices of well-being, rituals that God has previously prescribed as a means of drawing near to God (Ex 20:24; cf. Ex 24:3-5). All of this behavior, which resembles authentic expressions of worship, suggests that the Israelites actually think they’re still worshiping God, even if through the medium of a golden calf.

Their speech makes clear that they remember that God has delivered them from Egypt and they know their need for divine help going forward (cf. Ex 32:1). It’s just that they become impatient. Their idolatry is less about worshiping a different God and more about securing God on their own terms. They want a God who operates on their timetable, so they fast-track their worship.[1] They want a God they can see. So they make an image.

As God puts it, they are “quick to turn aside.” In their impatience, they take what they can get…which is nothing more than the work of their own hands. Like my nephews before dinner, they settle for a snack when a feast is not far around the corner.

“Change Your Mind”:
A Story of Two Changed Minds

For me, the wrinkle in today’s scripture is not the people’s behavior. That seems relatable enough. I regularly confuse God with what I want from God.

The wrinkle for me is God’s behavior. God is indignant with the people. God’s wrath burns hot against them, and God plans to consume them (Ex 32:10). Only after Moses intercedes, reminding God of God’s longstanding promise to Abraham, does God relent. “Turn from your fierce wrath,” Moses pleads. “Change your mind and do not bring disaster on your people” (Ex 32:12).

Today’s scripture is a story of two changed minds. The people change their mind in a bad way. They turn away from God. God changes God’s mind in a good way. God turns toward the people in mercy.

But how do we make sense of a God who changes God’s mind? Isn’t God immutable, unchangeable, the unmoved mover? As one prophet in the Old Testament declares, “God is not a human being…that he should change his mind” (Num 23:19). And yet the Bible is filled with stories like today’s, where God does change God’s mind. In the book of Jonah, when God sees the repentance of the Ninevites, “how they turned from their evil ways, God changed his mind about the calamity he had said he would bring upon them” (Jon 3:10). Likewise, in the New Testament, Jesus tells a parable that implicitly compares God to a judge who eventually relents to the persistence of a troubled widow and changes his mind, granting her demands (Luke 18:1-8).

The Harder Truth of God’s Mercy

Our lectionary psalm for the day declares, “[God’s] steadfast love endures forever” (Ps 106:1). In the New Testament, the writer of Hebrews similarly affirms God’s incarnate love, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and tomorrow” (Heb 13:8). This is a principle of my faith. God’s love in Christ does not change. So, my interpretation of passages like our scripture today, is not that God literally changes God’s mind. Rather these passages show us a significant turn in the evolution of a people’s faith. It is the Israelite community of faith who are changing their mind about God. It is the community of faith who are waking up to the incredible reality that their God is a God of mercy.

In the time and place that Exodus was written, it was normal to think of the gods as doling out judgments left and right. So, when I see divine vengeance in scripture—when I see God’s wrath burn hot, God doling out judgment left and right—I am inclined to think of this not as revelation but simply as the prevailing cultural perspectives of the day. It’s just the way everyone thought of God.

It is the novel element in scripture, what is different than the surrounding culture, that captures my attention. The revelation in today’s passage for the Israelites is that their God is not simply doling out judgments. The natural judgments of our actions, the consequences that we might call karma, are a hard fact of life that we must learn to accept. But an even harder truth to accept is God’s mercy. That is the good news that is so different from what the world believes. We hear from the prophet Hosea God declaring, “I will not execute my anger, for I am God and no mortal…and I will not come in wrath” (Hos 11:9). When God changes God’s mind at the end of today’s scripture, I choose to interpret that, actually, it is Israel changing their mind about God.

They realize that their God is not out to get them. And that is good news.

“We Must Help You”:
Embodying God’s Steadfast Love

This stunning revelation is given expression by another curiosity in today’s scripture. Of the three parties—God, Moses, and Israel—Moses shows us the real God. The character God in the story initially follows the trajectory that is normally assigned to the gods of that time and place. But Moses steps in and insists, like the psalmist, on God’s steadfast, unchanging love. This move is a familiar one in Jewish spirituality. The people regularly wrestle with God and remind God of God’s own promises. In effect, it is the people’s faithfulness to God’s way that gives flesh and reality to God in our world. Jesus, who was Jewish, is the supreme example of this. His faithfulness to God’s way of steadfast love made God a living, flesh-and-blood reality in our world.

The call I hear in today’s scripture is that I am meant, like Moses, like Jesus, to insist on God’s steadfast love and to give it a flesh-and-blood reality in my own life. With that in mind, I’d like to conclude with a short anecdote from the life of Etty Hillesum, a Dutch Jewish woman who followed God faithfully under the terror of the Nazi regime to her death in Auschwitz. Even as she headed toward what she knew was the end, she writes:

We must help You [God] and defend Your dwelling place inside us to the last. There are, it is true, some who, even at this last stage, are putting their vacuum cleaners and silver forks and spoons in safekeeping instead of guarding You, dear God. And there are those who want to put their bodies in safekeeping but who are nothing more now than a shelter for a thousand fears and bitter feelings. And they say, ‘I shan’t let them get me into their clutches.’ But they forget that no one is in their clutches who is in Your arms.[2]

Etty insisted on God’s steadfast love. While the world around her grew impatient and feared for its future, putting its trust in the gods of war and clamoring for judgment on the enemy, Etty trusted in the harder truth of God’s mercy. She writes almost tenderly of an encounter one day with an angry Gestapo officer:

The real import of [this] morning [was] not that a disgruntled young Gestapo officer yelled at me, but that I felt no indignation, rather a real compassion, and would have liked to ask, ‘Did you have a very unhappy childhood, has your girlfriend let you down?’ Yes, he looked harassed and driven, sullen and weak. I should have liked to start treating him there and then, for I know that pitiable young men like that are dangerous as soon as they are let loose on mankind. But all the blame must be put on the system that uses such people. What needs eradicating is the evil in man, not man himself.[3]

It is easy to hear Etty’s compassion and dismiss it as unpractical. If no one resisted the Nazis, what would have happened? I cannot answer that question. But the question that haunts me even more, is the one that Etty’s example poses: “If we do not embody God’s love, who will?” 

Prayer

Merciful God,
Whose steadfast love is forever,
When we are quick to turn aside from your way—
When we are inclined first toward judgment
And cannot see your holy image
In ourselves or others—
Grant us patience
…
Reveal to us the hard truth of your mercy
And inspire in us hope for your kingdom. 

In Christ, who declares your kingdom to be among us: Amen.

---

[1] In fact, it will be roughly nine months before the tabernacle is constructed and the people can enjoy the full richness of authentic worship.

[2] Etty Hillesum, An Interrupted Life: The Diaries of Etty Hillesum, 1941-1943 (trans. Arno Pomerans; New York: Pantheon, 1983), 151.

[3] Hillesum, An Interrupted Life, 72.

"I Am the Lord Your God" (Ex 20:1-4, 7-9, 12-20)

“I Command You to Yawn”

In the The Little Prince—that short, profound children’s story that has spoken to millions of adults, that tale of a mysterious young man who shows up on earth and recounts his travels throughout the universe and the lessons he has learned—there is a funny little scene where he visits a little planet and meets a king:

“Ah! Here's a subject!” the king exclaimed when he caught sight of the little prince. 

And the little prince wondered, “How can he know who I am if he’s never seen me before?” He didn’t realize that for kings, the world is extremely simplified: All men are subjects.

“Approach the throne so I can get a better look at you,” said the king, very proud of being a king for someone at last. The little prince looked around for a place to sit down, but the planet was covered by the [king’s] magnificent ermine cloak. So he remained standing, and since he was tired, he yawned.

“It is a violation of etiquette to yawn in a king’s presence,” the monarch told him. “I forbid you to do so.” “I can’t help it,” answered the little prince, quite embarrassed. “I’ve made a long journey, and I haven’t had any sleep...” “Then I command you to yawn,” said the king. “I haven’t seen anyone yawn for years. For me, yawns are a curiosity. Come on, yawn again! It is an order.” “That intimidates me...I can’t do it now,” said the little prince, blushing deeply. “Well, well!” the king replied. “Then I...I command you to yawn sometimes and sometimes to...” He was sputtering a little, and seemed annoyed.

For the king insisted that his authority be universally respected. He would tolerate no disobedience, being an absolute monarch. But since he was a kindly man, all his commands were [meant to be] reasonable.[1]

For me, the humor of this scene has to do with the absurdity of a law that governs how a person feels. Yawns are a bodily reflex. They emerge as the result of a feeling: tiredness. They are not the kind of thing many of us can do on command. Laughter is similar. We can fake-laugh just as we can fake-yawn. But authentic laughter and authentic yawning emerge from how we’re feeling inside. And that’s something that laws just can’t touch.

Laws are meant to govern the behavior and conduct that we choose, not the involuntary reflexes of our heart and body.

Commandments?

Today’s scripture is what our world knows as the “Ten Commandments.” Growing up, I thought of the Ten Commandments in the same way that I thought of laws. They were a bunch of “thou shalt nots.” They were a disciplinarian’s list of bad behavior. Wrongful conduct. “Don’t murder. Don’t bear false witness.” They were like, “No cookies before dinner”—but much more serious.

But the Bible itself never calls them commandments. Instead, they are later referred to as the “Ten Words” (Ex 34:28; Deut 4:13), which suggests perhaps that what we’re looking at is not quite the same as laws and statutes. Sure, some of these Ten Words resemble laws that are common to all society today, laws that address governable behavior, such as “Do not murder,” and “Do not steal.” But if we look closely, some of the Ten Words actually pertain to what is in our heart, such as “Do not covet” and “Honor your father and mother.” If we take these words seriously, they begin to resemble the silly king’s demand that the little prince yawn. Are these legitimate laws? Aren’t honoring and coveting involuntary matters of the heart? Shouldn’t commandments concern governable behavior, such as, “Do not swindle your neighbor,” or, “Do everything you parents tell you to do”?

Perhaps these Ten Words are not really commandments, at least not in the sense of enforceable laws that govern behavior. Perhaps something else is going on here.

A Lover’s Pledge

Let’s pay closer attention to the way they begin, the way they are framed: “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery” (Ex 20:2). These are extremely intimate words. The “you” in them is singular. God is speaking to every Israelite, and by extension every one of us, effectively declaring God’s love.

Perhaps like me, you have been conditioned to hear “I am the Lord your God” as an almost authoritarian claim, as though God were an almighty ruler, saying, “I am your king; now obey me!” But it is equally possible to hear in these words a lover’s pledge: “I am yours!” God declares. I chose you (cf. John 15:16). I brought you of Egypt that we might live together and enjoy the fullness of life! So, please, choose life! (cf. Deut 30:15).

Julian of Norwich, a Christ-follower from the thirteenth century whose writings are among the earliest we have of a woman writing in English, had a suspicion that failing to perceive God’s love is what hinders many of us in life, even us who follow Christ. She writes, “Some of us believe that God is all-mighty and may do everything, and that he is all-wisdom and can do everything, but [believing] that he is all-love and wishes to do everything, there we fail. And it this ignorance which most hinders God’s lovers, as I see it.”[2]

A Choice I Make Again and Again

When I look at the Ten Words as the invitation of a God who loves me, who delivers me out of Egypt, which is to say, out of every attachment that deprives me of life, I begin to see not a disciplinarian’s list of no-nos but rather a gateway into a new way of life. I know about life in Egypt. I know the gods they worship. I know what it is to chase after control, prestige, and wealth, and how these things ultimately do not satisfy. It is like drinking salt-water to quench my thirst. These things just inflame the thirst, even as they set me in competition with others and make the world into a tournament of winners and losers. Egypt is full of strife. But these Ten Words offer a glimpse into another world, what I think Jesus was calling “the kingdom of God.” And this new world, the kingdom of God, begins with what’s inside my heart, with my attitude and my feelings.

I have a friend from college who would always say, “Happiness is a choice,” and for a long time I thought she was crazy. Happiness is a feeling, I thought, and feelings just happen. They come and go. I can’t control them.

But I have come to appreciate that, while I cannot control my feelings, I can trust and choose a way of life that is bigger than my feelings, that transcends them and can even help to reorient them. The first four “words” (in today’s Ten Words) invite a spiritual reorientation: (1) no other gods, (2) no idols, (3) no empty use of God’s name, (4) and a day of rest. In other words, it is the divine Lover pleading, “Please stop chasing.” Idolatry is not just making a statue and bowing down to it. It is any fixation, any attachment, that takes my eyes off the divine Lover, that makes me think I can do it on my own, that if I just have this, or achieve that, or win this person’s attention, I will be secure and happy. Spoiler alert: it does not make me happy. Choosing to chase after idols is choosing unhappiness.

But I can also choose to trust that God has made to me the irrevocable pledge, “I am yours!” I can choose to trust that life is not a reward I achieve on my own but is rather a gift received through relationship with God and others and through Sabbath rest. And while it is true that these choices do not magically, instantly make me happy, that I cannot upon command “be happy” any more than I can yawn or laugh,  it is also true that these choices are the way out of Egypt. They reorient my heart. They lead me toward a happy, fulfilling life. My experience has born this out. When I am chasing life, I am unhappy. When I am receiving life right where I am, accepting that I am God’s beloved and that relationships are a gift to be cherished, then I am headed somewhere good. Happiness is not magic. It is the choice I must make, again and again, to trust that God loves me and cares for me.

Prayer

All-loving God,
You call us yours
And lead us out of Egypt:
When we seek life
Somewhere else—
Away from your presence beside us—
Help us to hear you pleading, again,
“I am yours”
…
May we choose your love,
Again and again,
And know the happiness of your salvation.
In Christ, who calls us friends: Amen.

---

[1] The Little Prince.

[2] Julian of Norwich, Showings, chp. 73.

"Be of the Same Mind" (Ex 17:1-7)

A Messy Business

My sister-in-law, Erin, tells the story of when her parents’ church, which had started as just a handful of families, began to grow. They were meeting in a small sanctuary at the time. But the prospect of a growing children’s program had them planning for the future. For five years, they saved up money for an education wing.

Finally, they had enough. It felt like a hurdle had been cleared. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and looked forward to what the future had in store. And then…there was a church business meeting. Erin remembers it well. It began at 6 o’clock. On the agenda were several final decisions concerning the new building. Once these decisions had been made, ground could be broken and construction could begin. People showed up in a celebratory mood, anticipating the beginning of a new chapter.

Four hours later, the mood was anything but celebratory. What had backed the meeting up? Toilets…as it were. How tall should they be? Youth-sized? It was the education wing after all. But a small contingent in the business meeting asked, “What about years down the road? What if we have no children and the education wing is used only by adults? We need adult-sized toilets. We can bring stools and potty seats for the kids.” The quarreling over toilets roiled on for hours. At ten o’clock, Erin and her mom left. It was a school night. The meeting continued. Eventually a fragile peace was reached. There would be one adult toilet in the education wing. The rest would be youth-sized.

…Church business can get messy, can’t it?

Quarreling

The thing is, it was a necessary conversation inasmuch as toilets are a necessity, a legitimate need. Where the meeting got clogged, perhaps, was in the murky, subterranean competition of egos. What backed things up, perhaps, was a fundamental distrust or disregard. There was a failure to listen and an overriding impulse to insist on one’s own way.

What happened with the Israelites at Rephidim was not so different. Today’s scripture begins by pointing out that they have a legitimate need. “They camped at Rephidim, but there was no water for the people to drink” (Ex 17:1). The people are thirsty, so they go to Moses with a request, “Give us water to drink” (Ex 17:2). In my mind, this request is just as legitimate as their need. Their thirst—legitimate. Their request—legitimate.

The trouble lies in the manner of their request. It’s not the substance of their request that is the problem, but how they express it. “The people quarreled with Moses” (Ex 17:2). The Hebrew word here, riv,  is the same word used for making a formal complaint and bringing suit against another person. It implies distrust. Accusation. Listen to how the people take their very real and valid experience, namely thirst, and allege that it was Moses’ intention all along: “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?” (Ex 17:3). They are thirsty, no doubt. That is a valid and pressing concern. But their request maligns Moses and spreads skepticism. It is as though they cannot accept a difficult reality. Their thirst is an unacceptable problem, and it must be blamed on someone. Their bitterness poisons not only their relationship with Moses but their faith as well. Listen to how they doubt Moses’ assurance that God is with them. They cry out, “Is the Lord [really] among us or not?” (Ex 17:7).

United They Stand

One of the supreme ironies of Israel’s wilderness experience is that the biggest threat to their survival is not without but within. The very next story—which has a legendary feel to it, as though it has been retold time and again around fires and has grown into this wonderfully illustrative tale—this next story shows that the key to life in the wilderness is unity. Or in everyday language, teamwork. Amalek and his forces attack the Israelites. As long as Moses is able to raise his hands, Israel prevails. But Moses begins to tire, which leaves the battle hanging in the balance. What swings it in Israel’s favor is simple: collaboration. Aaron and Hur each hold up one of his hands, and eventually Israel triumphs.

Aaron and Hur’s collaborative spirit draw a meaningful contrast with the Israelites’ quarreling. By putting these stories back to back, the storyteller seems to be making a point: “United, Israel will stand. But if they are quarreling, and everyone does only what’s right in their own eyes, they will fall.”

Not Thinking the Same Thing,
but Thinking the Same Way

Elsewhere in today’s lectionary, Paul gives the church in Philippi some advice that seems relevant to the Israelites’ plight, “Be of the same mind” (Phil 2:1). Now, at first glance, this counsel seems awfully idealistic. Is Paul urging uniformity? Is his idea of unity that the church all thinks the same thing?

I don’t think so. I think he’s advising them not to think the same thing, but rather to think the same way. He continues: “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others.” This is high-minded language to say something really simple: “Listen to one another.” To listen means to be poor in spirit, to recognize that the perspective and voice of another person is a gift that enriches life. When Paul says, “Be of the same mind,” he’s actually saying, “Think the same way…think first of others. Listen.”

These words are spiritual dynamite, if we pause to think about it. Paul is suggesting that what makes us followers of Christ is not that we all think the same thing, that we all share the same beliefs, or that we all sign off on the same creed. Rather, we think the same way. Faith is not so much about the substance of our thoughts as it is about the spirit by which we live. It is less of a noun and more of an adverb that defines all our actions. It is less of a what and more of how.

Listen to how Paul concludes: “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself…” (Phil 2:6-8). What distinguishes the mind of Christ is this extraordinary self-emptying. He could have claimed equality with God, he could have lorded it over everyone. But if anyone was bending the knee, it was him. He didn’t come with a program or a platform. He didn’t come to conquer, whether by sword or popular vote. He came with self-giving love that gives pride of place to the other. Christ listened. Repeatedly in the gospels, Jesus is interrupted or suddenly confronted by an intrusion. And repeatedly, he listens—and in so doing gets to the heart of the matter. He looks not to his own interests, but to the interests of others.

Willing to Sit Down with Everyone

Today is World Communion Sunday. Our scripture is a fitting text. On the one hand, it shows us a God who indeed meets our need, a God who provides water in the wilderness as surely as Christ fills us with love at this table. On the other hand, it shows us our humanity, our difficulty accepting our very real needs and our tendency instead to distrust and blame others. Community can be messy. Just ask my sister-in-law’s home church.

The good news, though, which Paul points us toward, is that we don’t actually have to agree on everything. Trying to all think the same thing is getting ahead of ourselves. It’s trying to take ten steps, when we only need to take one. The mind of Christ is simpler. It is to be poor in spirit, to treasure the other. It is to listen. To look not to our own interests, but for just a moment to look first to the interests of others.

I think I’ve shared it before but a question that really gives me pause is this: Is it better to be right in the wrong spirit or wrong in the right spirit? I think the mind Christ is more about a way than a what, that it has more to do with the spirit in which we live than with the particular beliefs, programs, agendas that we espouse. What scandalized Jesus’ contemporaries more than anything was not his theology but his behavior. Have you seen the people he hangs out with? The people he eats with? The people he listens to? Tax collectors and sinners. Nonbelievers and enemy centurions. That is the mind of Christ that Paul invites us to share. Catholic theologian John Shea gets to the heart of it with a quip that captures the hope of this World Communion Sunday: “The heavenly banquet table is open to everyone who is willing to sit down with everyone.”

Amen. May we follow Christ in this way.

Prayer

Compassionate God,
Who gathers us around a common table,
Who knows our very real and legitimate need,
Our hunger and our thirst—
Teach us how to be content
When there is not agreement
…
Teach us the mind of Christ:
How to be poor in spirit,
How to treasure others,
How to trust you are among us.
In Christ, who eats with tax collectors and sinners: Amen.