What Would Jesus Say?
“Now my heart is troubled, and what shall I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it was for this very reason I came to this hour. Father, glorify your name!” Then a voice came from heaven, “I have glorified it, and will glorify it again.” (John 12:27-28 NIV)
Between chapters 10 and 12 of John’s gospel, Jesus goes on an emotional roller coaster ride like only the Son of God could. And in the turmoil of it all, He responds as the Son of God would. I think so often it’s easy for us to look at Jesus and say, “Of course He always had the right answer, of course He never acted out in sin, of course He did the right thing each and every time. He’s God. It was easy. He didn’t have a sin nature to contend with. He wasn’t completely like us. He understood everything. If I understood it all, if I always knew ‘why,’ I’d probably sin a lot less too.”
I think that’s a lot of bird poo. (A new term I learned today at work. I think it’s a layman’s version of a more technical term you hear a lot in the claims world that refers to a similar substance from a different animal.)
We’ve talked about it here before. Well, I have anyway. Jesus was obedient. He learned obedience through His suffering. He wasn’t a robot. He made the choice to obey, which suggests that He could have made a different choice. If you’re not sure on that, check out my earlier discussion here.
Jesus didn’t have it easy. Not for a second of His time walking with us here on earth. It was never easy. Not ever.
And in this very brief stretch of His life, I believe He got onto a roller coaster ride like none of us have ever seen. I’m going to back up in a few days and tackle part of it piece by piece as it relates to Lazarus. But for now, take this as a summary: Starting in chapter 10, He provokes the Jews to the point where they pick up stones to kill Him. He returns to the other side of the river, and many willingly come to Him and accept Him. He hears of the illness of Lazarus, His dear friend. He makes plans to go to Lazarus, and His disciples resist in fear for His life (and their own, no doubt). He arrives and learns of Lazarus’ death, and after being very emotionally moved He calls Lazarus back from the grave. He endures further developments in the plot against His life. His friends have a dinner in His honor at which Mary makes a significant sacrifice and show of worship by washing his feet with costly perfume and her hair. The thieving and greedy heart of His disciple Judas is revealed. More people throng to Him. He enters Jerusalem on the back of a donkey amidst the overwhelming praise of the people. And the plot against His life thickens even further.
Just in a matter days. Parts of three chapters is all.
Every short while, a new wave of emotions to deal with. He’s down, the leaders plot against Him. He’s up, the people love Him. He’s down, His dear friend has died. He’s up, He restores him to life. He’s down, more plotting. He’s up, dinner with friends. He’s down, black hearted disciple. He’s up, intimate worship by a dear friend. He’s down, even more plotting. He’s up, the triumphal entry. He’s down, still more plotting and a deep awareness of what is to come.
With what I imagine to be a long, heavy sigh, Jesus tells His disciples that the time has come. He will be glorified, yes. Back up on the roller coaster. But the roller coaster drops as He describes how that will happen. He tells of the seed that remains just a single solitary seed unless it falls to the ground and dies. Only then can it produce. He goes on to tell them that those who love their lives will lose them. And those who let loose of their lives will gain it all. It was all very prophetic, if they could understand it.
At this point in the roller coaster ride, He tells us that it has been just that. “Now my heart is troubled.” If it were easy, He wouldn’t say something like that. If His emotions had remained fully stable all this time, He wouldn’t say something like that. If this weren’t a deeply painful time, He wouldn’t say something like that.
But He does say something like that. He says exactly that. “Now my heart is troubled.” Or as The Message will put it, “Right now I am storm-tossed.”
Jesus is going through some tough times. The storm has been throwing Him around pretty hard.
And He seems to know what any one of us, any one of the disciples who were standing by Him during these difficult days, would say. But we wonder, what would the Son of God say during painful times that pierced one’s soul?
What would Jesus say?
He asks the question for them, and He answers it.
“And what should I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour’?” Again, The Message says, “And what am I going to say? ‘Father, get me out of this’?” He knows we would be praying for just that. Father, save me from this hour! Father, get me out of this! I don’t want it any more. I can’t take it any more. Get me out of this. Get me out of here. Fix it. Do something. I don’t want to do this any more.
No, He says. No. This is the whole point of being here. I didn’t come to earth as a baby and grow up to be a man and endure what I’m enduring just to bail out at the end. This is what it’s about. This is what I came for.
The Message says this: “No, this is why I came in the first place.”
It hurts. I hate it. It’s painful. It’s miserable.
My heart is troubled. I am storm-tossed.
My heart hurts.
There. He’s said it. He hurts just like us.
And it occurs to Him that He could go to God and ask Him to take it all away. But He knows why He’s here. He knows that God can carry Him despite the pain. And He knows He will carry on.
So what would Jesus say? Jesus would say “Father, glorify Your name.”
In the midst of His emotional turmoil, while He knows the unsteadiness of His own heart which is wracked with pain, He straightens and says, “Father, glorify Your name.”
Do the thing that brings You glory, not what brings Me relief.
Do the thing that honors You, not what comforts Me.
Do the thing that You desire, not what eases My pain.
His very response brings God glory. And God confirms this from the clouds.
So that’s what Jesus would say.
Now what will I say?
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10:29
I had one of those rare minutes today, where I happened to catch a glimpse of my desktop clock at the exact minute that the time and date were the same.
It was 10:29 on 10/29.
I thought it was kind of cool. I was suddenly anxious to get to my lunch hour (well, more than usual, anyway) so I could look up verse 10:29. See, even though there are 66 books in the Bible, not all of them would have ten chapters. And of those that do have ten chapters, not all would have 29 verses. Somehow I thought a verse 10:29 might have something to say today.
I did find a handful of 10:29s. Some of them really didn’t seem to be it. Like Genesis 10:29, which says “Ophir, Havilah and Jobab. All these were sons of Joktan.” While the Word seems always to have something to say, this was just not speaking clearly to me.
By the time I was done, I did observe that all four of the Gospel accounts have a 10:29. And though none of them take place in the same circumstances, same account, same event, same teaching moment of Jesus, they do actually have a common thread woven through. In each case, Jesus is speaking to some side of worry.
Check this out.
MATTHEW: ”Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father.” (NIV)
Jesus assures us that the Father is totally aware, totally involved with us. He points out that He is attentive to sparrows, cheap little birds that nobody would really ever care about. We’re worth far more and can conclude that He’s even more attentive to us. No need to worry that He’s not paying attention to us.
MARK: “‘I tell you the truth,’ Jesus replied, ‘no one who has left home or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields for me and the gospel will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age (homes, brothers, sisters, mothers, children and fields — and with them, persecutions) and in the age to come, eternal life.’” (NIV)
Here Jesus tackles the difficult and painful reality that following Him may well be very costly. We may lose what we have, lose ones that we love, in order to follow Him. He assures us that though that may happen, the rewards are enormous — in this life and the next. No need to worry that we’ll suffer insurmountable losses or our sacrifice will be in vain.
LUKE: “But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbor?’” (NIV)
You might think I’m stretching here on this one. This was the lead-in to Jesus’ parable of the good Samaritan. What’s this have to do with worry?
I think it’s in the question asked by the expert in the law. And the reason behind it. Jesus has just told him to love his neighbor as himself. He knows he’s not doing it, so he attempts to “justify himself” by getting Jesus to define his “neighbor” in such a way that it looks like he’s doing it just fine.
I hear Jesus saying here that the point isn’t to justify yourself, not to make yourself look alright. The point is to do what He said, to love your neighbor as yourself. Put your energy into the right things — not looking good, not saving face, not puffing up, but doing the things He’s commanded us to do. No need to worry that we won’t look good enough.
JOHN: “My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all; no one can snatch them out of my Father’s hand.” (NIV)
This one might be the best one of all. We’re held tightly in God’s hands, and no one can snatch us away. We have been given to Jesus by God. We’re His, and He’s keeping us, His treasured possession, in the safest, most secure place He knows. Secure in the grip of the Almighty One. No worries that anything can threaten our position with Him.
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10:29 means something.
It means there’s no need to worry about all kinds of things. I might just remember that again tomorrow, at 10:29 on 10/30.
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Ready Position
So he reasoned in the synagogue with the Jews and the God-fearing Greeks, as well as in the marketplace day by day with those who happened to be there. (Acts 17:17 NIV)
When it comes to sports, my kids think I’m pretty clueless. Mostly I think they’re pretty right. But I’ve been watching them play football and basketball and soccer and baseball long enough that I’ve learned a few things. I’ve learned that there is there is what’s called a “ready position” that seems to apply to just about every sport they could play. I’ve learned that a lot of times, players aren’t in it. And I’ve learned that their coaches can get pretty excited about that. There’s not much that can get a coach fired up like the chance to call a guy out, and loudly, for standing flat footed.
The “ready position,” from what I can gather, has a lot to do with not standing flat footed and keeping your knees bent, your hands in front of you and your head up. In football it keeps you from being knocked flat over. In basketball it allows you to move quickly to respond to the guy you’re supposed to be guarding. In baseball it makes you able to move quickly on a ball in the field or to get a jump on base running. I honestly don’t know what it does for you in soccer. But I’m sure it helps.
Usually sports analogies are the territory of my husband the coach. But this is one that I didn’t want to pass up. I have come to believe that ready position isn’t limited to athletics. There is a spiritual “ready position” as well. There’s a “ready position” for ministry.
Our hearts most certainly have a “ready position.” I need to be exercising spiritual disciplines like prayer and confession and study and meditation on the Word and giving and all sorts of other spiritual training to make certain my heart is ready and prepared for what God may want to do.
But there’s also a physical aspect to our “ready position.” In a very practical, physical sense, we need to be in a position where God can use us. We need to be in the right place. And when we’re there, we need to be sure we are not standing flat footed and miss the opportunities because we didn’t get to the ball in time. Or didn’t get there at all.
Let me tell you about a friend of mine who has been teaching me this lately. She’s not teaching me this by sitting me down and spelling it out. She’s not lecturing on it. She’s not teaching classes on it. She may not even realize she’s teaching this at all since she’s more likely focused on just doing it. She’s teaching me this by simply living her life out in the open and doing it in such a way that God can work through her. By simply being in “ready position” and jumping into action when the opportunity arises.
Dr. Luke tells of Paul’s ministry “ready position” here in Acts 17. One of his observations is that Paul went to the synagogues and reasoned with the God-fearing folks who could be found there. He went to places that were obvious centers of ministry. But he also went out into the marketplace every day, hanging out and talking with those who “happened to be there.” He got himself into his “ready position,” put himself out there where the people were and made sure he was ready to go. Because he wasn’t standing flat footed, he was ready to spring into action when the opportunity arose.
This is my friend as well. She has intentionally placed herself, by way of her associations and work and volunteer activities, in places where she will meet people that she may have the opportunity to minister to. Let me give you an example. Recently, as a result of being in a “ready position,” she met a young woman who had lost her home in a fire. Because she was in the right place and was ready, my friend jumped at the opportunity, mobilized a number of us to assist her in furnishing, preparing and moving into her new home. She has continued a true friendship with this young mother, and my friend and her husband continue to minister to her and her family. They have sprung into action from their “ready position” and are allowing God to use them how He wants to. He’s using them from their “ready position” to help foster in another an openness to God that may not have happened otherwise. We don’t know what’s yet to come of this story.
But here’s what I do know. There wouldn’t be a story if my friend weren’t open to put herself regularly, frequently, and willingly into the path of those who need us to be involved in their lives. There wouldn’t be a story if she stayed home or stayed where it was safe and comfortable. There wouldn’t be story if she was standing around flat footed or sitting around on the bench. She’s in “ready position” at the line of scrimmage, cutting off the passing lanes, staying in front of the ball, and all kinds of other things I hear at ball games and when the talking heads yammer on ESPN.
So you see, I do know a couple of things about sports. I know that there’s a place you’re supposed to be. And I know that if you want to get anything done, you aren’t supposed to be back on your heels.
The challenge for me is to figure out what “ready position” looks like in my everyday life.
Seeing Strength the Other Way Around
Observe therefore all the commands I am giving you today, so that you may have the strength to go in and take over the land that you are crossing the Jordan to possess, and so that you may live long in the land that the LORD swore to your forefathers to give to them and their descendants, a land flowing with milk and honey. (Deuteronomy 11:8-9 NIV)
Seems I have to spend a lot of time asking God for strength. Sometimes, just strength to make it through the day. Strength to do the things that are sometimes hard. Strength to get out of bed when I’m exhausted and parts hurt. Strength to hold my tongue when I’m feeling provoked to meanness or sarcasm.
Seems I have to spend a lot of time asking for strength just to be obedient to the things God has told me to. It’s not something that flows so naturally from me.
So it’s striking to me as I read Moses’ instruction to the Israelites here — to be obedient so that they will be strengthened sufficiently to possess the land. Be obedient so you can be strong.
I wonder, am I going at it backwards sometimes? Should I be looking at doing it the other way around?
I don’t want to say praying for strength to be obedient to God is backwards. I have to pray for that. I just don’t have it obey on my own. He has to strengthen me.
But think about this. If I obey, I am also strengthened. I we obey, we will have strength to possess the land. To accomplish all God has set before us to do. To enjoy all He has blessed us with. To share all He has given us.
I pray so I have strength to obey. But then, I can turn it the other way around and also obey so I can have strength. It comes full circle.
And as I look at the circle formed by God’s strength and my obedience, I wonder something else. Is it more of a figure-8 than a circle? Is there another way this gets turned around?
I think so.
Turn this around: If we obey so we can be strong and possess the land (or just face the day), is the converse also true? That we lack strength if we fail to obey? That my disobedience will simply drain away my strength?
You’ve seen it. I’ve seen it. Saying No to God is exhausting work. It fatigues us to keep it up. We are left with no energy and no life within us when we insist on saying No to Him, skirting His direction, chasing after what will never fill us up. All strength is then gone.
I believe it is true that it works both ways. Well, all three ways. We need God to strengthen us to obey Him. When we obey Him, He makes us strong. And when we do not, our strength fades away into the night.
Strength begets obedience begets strength.
Sin begets weakness and exhaustion.
I’d best be getting obedient.
It’s Your Year
Exodus 12 opens with a declaration that on its face doesn’t seem highly dramatic.
It is two verses long.
One sentence.
Twenty-five words.
That’s it, and really, not much is said about it at all.
The Lord said to Moses and Aaron in Egypt, “This month is to be for you the first month, the first month of your year.” (Exodus 12:1-2, NIV)
Doesn’t sound too earth-shattering.
But at the right time I read them, these two little verses knocked me right off my chair. As a university student, I was in the middle of a fierce battle, much like we often face. The enemy was attacking, accusing me with old, settled, forgiven and overcome sin. It should no longer have been an issue. Yet it was still coming up and taking my tired little brain for quite a spin.
I was sad. I was frustrated. I was exhausted. The last thing I wanted was another challenge or a rebuke.
As I sat down at my cluttered desk in my dorm room, I laid my head on my open Bible. With tears forming in my eyes, I pleaded with God to be gentle with me.
I had been studying Exodus for months. And so far, God had been challenging my socks off with each new passage, each new day.
Sin was constantly being exposed in my life.
I was continually being convicted.
And my thinking was endlessly being challenged to a level I wasn’t sure I could cope with. I found myself to be so like the Israelites.
I fought God. I accused Him of dragging me to the desert to die. I made life hard for those who were like Moses in my life. And God patiently, but pointedly, showed me this day after day after day.
So in my exhaustion that morning, I begged God to just encourage me.
“Don’t convict me. Don’t challenge me. Don’t teach me,” I whimpered. “Just encourage me.”
All I wanted was to feel good for five minutes. Couldn’t I just have that?
I lifted my weary head and braced myself for the day’s thrashing. I looked at the page and immediately let out a howl. I threw back my head, thrust my arms into the air and laughed out loud!
You see, as God was telling the Israelites that it was the first month of their year, He was also telling me that it was my new year! It was my new beginning! God had delivered me from sin, had forgiven me, and therefore it was my year.
I realized at that moment that I couldn’t go back, even if I wanted to.
You see, Satan was wrong. We cannot go back in time. I cannot go back to a time before I was forgiven. And at a time when I needed desperately to be reminded of the permanence of my new life in Him, God so gently reminded me of the new year, my year, which was mine because of Jesus’ finished work on the cross. In His precious timing, He gave me the encouragement I begged for and the assurance I ached for that I was already forgiven and freed from the sin that Satan had tried to bring back to harass me.
God will tell us what we need to hear, when we need to hear it. Twenty years later I still cling to the promise He gave me that unmatched morning of my new year.
The one that starts each new day.
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When You Can’t Go Back
But then you weren’t willing to go up. You rebelled against God, your God’s plain word. You complained in your tents: “God hates us. He hauled us out of Egypt in order to dump us among the Amorites—a death sentence for sure! How can we go up? We’re trapped in a dead end. Our brothers took all the wind out of our sails, telling us, ‘The people are bigger and stronger than we are; their cities are huge, their defenses massive—we even saw Anakite giants there!’” (Deuteronomy 1:26-28, The Message)
If you have ever had the incredible (and I mean all kinds of things by that word) experience of giving birth, you might just share a vivid recollection that I have of that brief moment just as delivery became imminent. It was an overwhelming sense of desperation where I just wanted to stand up off the bed (like I could), grab my clothes (like they fit) and go home. To announce to all those who were trying to suffocate me with an oxygen mask and were saying ridiculous things like “think of happy things, like a flower blooming” that I had simply reconsidered and changed my mind. That I really didn’t think I’d be going through with this thing after all.
Of course, that overpowering urge to retreat was immediately followed up by the momentarily devastating realization that it was frankly just a little too late for that now. There was no do over, no undo button, no turning back. It was not unlike that split second frozen in time at the top of the tallest peak of the roller coaster after you’ve been painstakingly cranked up a notch at at time, just before you drop most certainly to your death. You want out of the car. And there’s only one way out. Down the hill. There’s only one way out of the delivery room too, and it involves having that baby.
You might want to go back. You might have lost heart. You might be scared out of your wits. But you really only have one choice: press on.
Here at the beginning of Deuteronomy, Moses reminded the people of what happened when they got close to the land and the scouts had come back with their report. They were close enough to moving in that some of them had actually seen the place. And you’ll remember that when the scouts came back, most of them freaked out about the giants, and dragged the people along with them in their terror. Only Caleb and Joshua returned with confidence God could do what needed to be done.
So Moses reminded them: Remember how you weren’t willing to go? How you rebelled against God? How you said how much God hated you? How you accused God of bringing you out of Egypt just to ditch you and leave you to die in the middle of nowhere?
And here’s what the Israelites said about that: How can we go up? We’re trapped. Our brothers took all the wind out of our sails. The spies returned with a message of defeat and despair and discouragement. They sapped our hope. The NIV says that they “made us lose heart.”
Two things are going on here. The Israelites have reached that moment of overwhelming realization that they can’t go back. They’re past the point of no return. They are in the delivery room and those pains are coming pretty fast and furious, and awfully close together. They’re at the top of the huge hill, ready to drop. They know they can’t go back.
But they also don’t want to go forward. They don’t want to push. They don’t want to drop. They are trapped. As far as they’re concerned, God hauled them into the desert to die.
They can’t go back. And they don’t want to go forward.
At the same time, they’ve completely lost heart. And why? “Because our brothers took all the wind out of our sails.” The scouts came back with tales of terror instead of stories of hope. Already broken down, the Israelites took hold of the worries of the scouts instead of hanging on to the word of God. And hope went out the window. Their hearts were broken. The wind was out of their sails. They truly were stuck in the middle of nowhere. Nowhere to go back to, nowhere to go forward to. And no will to go on anyway.
In their moment of desperation, their brothers, the men who were supposed to tell them of all the wonder of the land only told them of the horrors. Instead of telling them the joy that awaited them, they told them of the predators.
In giving them no hope, they took what hope they might have had and let it all drain out on the sand and wash away.
The scouts were frightened by what they saw. There were Anakites there, for crying out loud! (We’ll talk about them again soon.) And rather than go to God with their fear and let Him embolden them, they went back to the people and scared the daylights out of them too.
When I am frightened or nervous and uncomfortable, I can go looking to God to give me what I need, to calm my heart, to settle me down and get me back on track. Or I can drag others along with me into all that.
The problem with that is that then they lose hope. Then I take their hope because I am hopeless.
So we stay in the delivery room and push. We let the car drop down the hill and just hold on. Our courage, born of trusting in God’s goodness, works like that of Joshua and Caleb, and allows others to keep their hope and keep pressing on.
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Little by Little
Do not be terrified by them, for the LORD your God, who is among you, is a great and awesome God. The LORD your God will drive out those nations before you, little by little. You will not be allowed to eliminate them all at once, or the wild animals will multiply around you. But the LORD your God will deliver them over to you, throwing them into great confusion until they are destroyed. He will give their kings into your hand, and you will wipe out their names from under heaven. No one will be able to stand up against you; you will destroy them. (Deuteronomy 7:21-24)
When people say that “getting there is half the fun,” I just don’t get it. I don’t like getting there. I like being there. Driving somewhere is not fun. Being out of my car and where I intended to go is. Going through airport security and corralled into an airplane is not fun. Getting out on the ground in one piece is. Shopping is not fun. Playing with my new toy is.
The trip is exasperating. The trip is the one last thing that keeps me from my destination. It’s not fun.
“Getting there” is the process. The dread p-word around my house. I’ve yet to consider it fun. Ever. The p-word of process gives birth to another p-word I resent. Patience.
In order to value the process, appreciate its worth, one must have patience. I don’t.
I think it’s fair to say that the Israelites did not value the process either. “Getting there” was rarely much fun for them. And that was one big, long process. One outrageously long process. Process with a big huge P. Think about what “getting there” meant for them. Slavery in Egypt. Fleeing through a walled-up sea that for all they knew would collapse around them once they were all enclosed. Wandering around the desert for a really long time. Having nothing new to eat but manna every day. Wandering around the desert for a really long time. Fighting God every step of the way. Wandering around the desert for a very long time. Stirring the wrath of God repeatedly. Wandering around the desert for a really long time.
The process is finally coming to a close. They are just on the edge of going across the Jordan to the land God promised. If Moses would just stop talking. He’s been talking for chapters on end now. When will we just get to go across? It’s been decades since we left Egypt, and now we’re right here, and we still aren’t going over.
But Moses has to do this. He has to talk. There is so much to tell them. He has to remind them of where they have been, of what God has done for them. Of what the process has been to date. They have to remember. And they have to tell their children. They must be clear on this.
And they must be clear on the process for the future as well, for they will have cause to become fearful and resist God’s direction again. So he warns them of what is to come, the remaining process they must pass through in order to have fully arrived in their promised place. They will face enemies. And they will be tempted to be afraid. Instead of being afraid, he tells them, remember that your great and awesome God is among you. He will do the heavy lifting. He will drive out the nations.
But here’s the catch. It won’t be all at once. It will be little by little.
Little by little.
If He were to drive out the enemies all at once, wild animals would multiply around them. They aren’t sufficiently strong yet to totally possess the land. And if He destroys everyone at once, there would be a great vacuum. He has to go step by step, line by line, bit by bit, little by little.
I could say I’m ok with that. But I rarely am. I don’t like little by little, bit by bit. But God gets this stuff way better than I do. He knows that little by little is the way it must be done sometimes. He doesn’t want to move so fast that He creates a vacuum, that a greater peril is created than was destroyed. He will go at a sustainable pace.
The incremental nature of God’s working in my life is often maddening for me. I would so prefer that He just get in there and do what needs doing and get me to the place He longs for me to be. I would so prefer that he just orchestrate life circumstances to have completed the work He wants to do in me. The p-words of process and patience leave me really put out sometimes. I want to have arrived. I don’t want to still be in transit.
But He knows so much better than do I. Paul reminds us in Philippians 1:6 that He did begin a good work in us and He will carry it on to completion. But then there’s that last part of the verse: “until the day of Christ Jesus.” It’s going to be a long process. He will create sustainable change in me, but this usually means His work will be gradual, incremental.
Little by little.
Bit by bit.
Even the p-process of learning to be p-patient is something that will be p-piece by p-piece.
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Easier than Diagramming a Sentence
But if from there you seek the LORD your God, you will find him if you look for him with all your heart and with all your soul. (Deuteronomy 4:29)
I haven’t done my fact checking on this, but I’m told that kids don’t learn to diagram sentences any more. If that’s true, what a sad thing that is. That was half the fun of English class. I still diagram all kinds of things, including sentences once in a while. It’s sometimes the only way I get get my mind around something.
Break it apart. Make it into small pieces. Figure the small pieces out one at a time and then see how they fit together. I like diagrams and spreadsheets and charts and maps. They all help me understand.
The urge to diagram Deuteronomy 4:29 overcame me today. I’m pretty sure I cheated in a few spots where I just couldn’t remember quite what to do with a part of speech. I’m pretty sure no one here has much interest in checking my work. (Though if you’re interested, knock yourself out. I challenge any of you to give it a shot and let me know what you come up with.)
The diagram in this case helps me to break this into four smaller parts that are really four big things. The first thing is the what I think is the main thing: you will find Him.
You will find him. He’s findable. (I thought I made that word up yesterday, but I checked dictionary.com and it’s actually a real word.) He’s findable.
He can be found. He will be found. We can find Him.
He’s not kept away like the vice president in a secure, undisclosed location. He wants to be found. He makes Himself findable. You will find Him.
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Of course, while He’s infinitely findable, He desires to be sought out.
We look for Him. We seek Him.
The treasure map shows where the treasure is, making the treasure findable. The road map shows us how to get from where we are to where we’re going. The signs along the way help us know we’re still on the right road.
But the treasure does not force itself on us. Our destination doesn’t take away the journey. God makes Himself available, approachable, findable. But He doesn’t take us by force. We seek Him. We look for Him. We desire Him. We yearn for Him.
When we do, we find Him.
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But our search is not done in indifference. We search with all our heart and with all our soul.
If we really don’t care whether we find Him or not, even if we’re wandering around “kind of” looking, we aren’t going to find Him. I’ve said before that God doesn’t want much. He wants it all. Heart, soul, all of it. God desires to be desired. He wants us to want Him.
When we look for Him with everything we’ve got, we can’t help but find Him. Think about this.
He’s findable. We’re seeking Him. And we’re doing it with all that is in us. How could we not find Him with all of that going on?
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I struggle to decide whether I like the first thing or the last thing the best. The first thing is that He is findable. That we will find Him. But the last thing I see when I look at the diagram is actually right at the beginning. “But if from there you seek…”
From there.
Where is there?
Remember that Moses was talking about those who remained after God would destroy those who sought after puny gods of wood and stone. He said that God would destroy them, and swiftly that. Those that remained would be scattered. Here’s where he says “if from there.” They are scattered to the corners, worshiping things that are not God, chasing after things that don’t give life. And from there, they will seek God. From there, they will seek Him with all their heart and with all their soul. And they will find Him.
They will find Him.
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From the place of their rebellion, from the point of their rejection, they will turn. From there they will begin to passionately seek after God as their only source. They will give all they have to pursue the only thing that really matters. And they will find Him.
Wherever I am. Whatever I’ve done. At the point where I choose to seek God and mean it, I will find Him. From there.
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It’s not that complicated. Not nearly as complicated as diagramming the sentence.
From where I am, I seek Him. I look for Him. With all my heart and with all my soul.
And then what?
Then I find Him.
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Does God Smell?
There you will worship man-made gods of wood and stone, which cannot see or hear or eat or smell. (Deuteronomy 4:28)
Why do your feet smell and your nose run? (Answer: You were built upside down.) Is your refrigerator running? (Answer: You’d better go catch it.) Are you rolling on the floor yet? How about this one: Does God smell? Maybe not so funny. When I ask a question like that you can probably correctly assume I live in a house full of junior high guys. Of course, I’m not asking if God has an odor. I’m asking if He has a sense of smell. Can He smell? I wonder.
Moses is still talking to the people here before they cross the Jordan into the land God promised them. He continues his warning against creating and worshiping idols and goes on to describe what will happen if they do, that they will be destroyed swiftly and that the very few who do remain will be scattered and will begin wherever they are to worship gods made by man out of wood and stone.
Little-g gods made out of stuff that cannot see, hear, taste or smell.
I have to think that he is contrasting these pathetic idols to the one true God. The big-G God. He wouldn’t be contrasting them with a more high tech idol, made of polyurethane instead of wood or using virtual reality technology instead of stone. It’s either God or god. An idol is an idol is an idol. There would be no point in comparing a pitiful idol with a more hip idol.
So I conclude that he compares the man-made to the un-made. The creation of man’s hands to the Creator of man’s hands.
And by inference, I think we can conclude then that he assigns some attributes to God the Creator that god the created doesn’t have. The created god can’t see, hear, taste or smell. Fair to say then that the Creator God can?
God can see. He can hear. He tastes. He smells.
God smells.
So what?
So what if God smells? What difference does it make if God can smell?
Here’s what I think. I think that our God, Creator God, experiences. He experiences. On a sensory level. He sees. He hears. He tastes. He smells. He feels.
He experiences all there is to experience, and He experiences it in a far deeper, far more complete, far more pure sense than we’ll ever imagine this side of eternity. He certainly experiences far more, and of a much greater quality, than a miserable carved lump of pretend god ever will.
God is personal. He’s not like us. We’re like Him. We share a shadow of His attributes.
He delights. He rejoices. He grieves. He mourns.
God smells. Throughout the Old Testament there is abundant reference to oils, incense, and burnt offerings whose fragrance would be pleasing to God. These scents would delight His senses.
Because He has a capacity to experience.
Because He is personal. He is not a giant machine. He is not the wizard behind the curtain throwing switches and flipping lights. He is not an enormous version of the gods crafted from wood and stone.
He is personal.
He is knowable. He is reachable. He is approachable.
He is embraceable. He is delightable. He is findable.
I’m starting to make up words.
God can smell. God can taste. God experiences our relationship with us as surely as we experience it with Him. He is not the great cold unknown. He is God. Vastly different than cold stone or splintered wood.
He longs for an experience with us.
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Res Ipsa Locquitur
For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse. (Romans 1:20)
I drove to Minneapolis today for business. After the last exasperating detour finally guided me back on Highway 7, I looked up to see something incredible that I’d been missing in the midst of my asphalt frustration. The colors. It’s autumn, and spectacularly so. The trees in South Dakota turn in the fall too, but there are a limited number of them scattered throughout the state, and so they are much further apart and the effect is just not the same. There’s something particularly unmatched about the colors of fall in Minnesota.
Because I have a geeky mind instead of a normal one like yours, as I breathed in the beauty of the colors a phrase passed through my mind. Res ipsa locquitur. I don’t speak Latin. But sometimes I pretend to at work. I recently had to do some training and was reminded of the meaning of this phrase. It mostly has application in the legal field, and it means “the thing speaks for itself.” In my claims world, it usually comes up in a situation where there is simply no other explanation for an accident occurring than a certain party’s negligence. For instance, if a man is walking down the sidewalk and a television falls on his head, and another man had been carrying a television on the fire escape above him, there is really no other explanation than that the man carrying the television somehow dropped it. Res ipsa locquitur. The thing speaks for itself.
The colors of fall in Minnesota. Res ipsa locquitur. The thing speaks for itself. There’s no other explanation: God did it.
Paul writes to the Romans that ultimately, people have no excuse for not recognizing that God is. All that has been made points back to Him. No other explanation. The thing speaks for itself.
He echoes here in Romans what the Psalmist wrote in Psalm 19, “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge.There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard.”
That God created speaks for itself. Res ispa locquitur. It all points to Him as the only explanation.
Just like those colors, perfectly blended amongst the multitude of trees all over the roadside, God’s working in my life often also bears the marks of res ipsa locquitur. There are things that happen, things that I encounter, that simply have no explanation besides God’s engagement in my life. His working in my heart. His tapping at the side of my head.
God’s work often defies explanation at the same time it requires no explanation.
The thing speaks for itself. And I am without excuse.
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Only a Voice
Then the LORD spoke to you out of the fire. You heard the sound of words but saw no form; there was only a voice. He declared to you his covenant, the Ten Commandments, which he commanded you to follow and then wrote them on two stone tablets. And the LORD directed me at that time to teach you the decrees and laws you are to follow in the land that you are crossing the Jordan to possess. You saw no form of any kind the day the LORD spoke to you at Horeb out of the fire. Therefore watch yourselves very carefully, so that you do not become corrupt and make for yourselves an idol, an image of any shape, whether formed like a man or a woman, or like any animal on earth or any bird that flies in the air, or like any creature that moves along the ground or any fish in the waters below. And when you look up to the sky and see the sun, the moon and the stars—all the heavenly array—do not be enticed into bowing down to them and worshiping things the LORD your God has apportioned to all the nations under heaven. But as for you, the LORD took you and brought you out of the iron-smelting furnace, out of Egypt, to be the people of his inheritance, as you now are. (Deuteronomy 4:12-20)
When God spoke to the people at Horeb, there was a voice. Only a voice. He spoke out of a fire that reached to the heavens while they stood in deep darkness. They heard God. They didn’t see Him.
They heard only a voice.
They knew who He was. They knew He was there. They didn’t need to see Him. And He didn’t want them to see Him.
He wanted them to hear Him. To listen to Him. Not to get caught up in what He looked like, the form that He took.
They were given only a voice.
And it was enough.
Here in Deuteronomy 4, Moses helps the people understand why it was only a voice. Why God didn’t appear to them visibly at the time. In verse 15, he reminds them that when God spoke to them that day, they saw no form of any kind. Folks, he tells them, God did not choose to take on a physical form for you to see. Remember that. Don’t forget it. He didn’t give you a physical form to hang on to, only His voice. Don’t get caught up in the physical form, what He looks like, what shape He is.
Just listen to His voice.
Keep listening, Moses says. Because if the form becomes important, you will begin to seek ways to squish God down into some tiny little created object. Something constructed from your hands and subject to your control. And that’s not God. God won’t be that. So be careful. Be on your guard. Don’t become corrupt. Don’t start making idols – not any kind of idol – because you think you have figured God out and can make Him subject to your whims. Don’t do it. Be careful.
Moses’ urgent warning to the people here still works for me. About the time I think I get God figured out, then I begin to confine an infinite God to a finite shape and form and function. He is then no longer the infinitely unsearchable, yet intimately knowable God who spoke through the blazing fire. He is then only what I make Him, here only to do what I bid Him. And that’s just not God.
There is a way in which we construct idols by worshiping things that are not God and are not worthy of our worship. The way that we make things and people into gods. But there is another way, and I believe it is that way against which Moses warns the people here, that we construct idols by making God into a thing or a person that is within our control. When we construct God according to our own design. When we call ourselves the potter and throw Him on the wheel and form Him into our own desire. And then all our own deficiencies and all the limitations of created things are placed on a God who really has none.
If I can see God as a fish or a bird or a man or woman or an image of any other shape as Moses says in verse 16, then I have reduced God to nothing more than a wooden idol or a stone statue. I have reduced Him to nothing more than checkbook or a 401k or an important position or a human relationship.
And that is not God. He will not be that.
He didn’t reveal His form. By giving us only His voice, He gave us what radio used to give us before television came along. He gave us what books gave us before there were movies. We listen to the words and our imaginations run wild. We hear the voice, and the image is limitless.
His form, His shape, His appearance is left fully to the imagination.
We hear only His voice.
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Those Who Can’t, Coach
At that time I pleaded with the LORD: “O Sovereign LORD, you have begun to show to your servant your greatness and your strong hand. For what god is there in heaven or on earth who can do the deeds and mighty works you do? Let me go over and see the good land beyond the Jordan—that fine hill country and Lebanon.” But because of you the LORD was angry with me and would not listen to me. “That is enough,” the LORD said. “Do not speak to me anymore about this matter. Go up to the top of Pisgah and look west and north and south and east. Look at the land with your own eyes, since you are not going to cross this Jordan. But commission Joshua, and encourage and strengthen him, for he will lead this people across and will cause them to inherit the land that you will see.” (Deuteronomy 3:23-28)
In my house full of athletes occasionally we’ll hear the expression, “Those who can’t, coach.” The suggestion, of course, is that a guy may have taken up coaching because he loves and knows the game but may not have the ability, or may not still have the ability, to actually play it. Jokes aside, a guy in that situation can be angry and bitter that he’s not on the team, or he can do what the coach would do and find a way to help others be successful. Just as God challenged Moses to do with Joshua.
Moses’ whole life was about bringing the Israelites out of Egypt and into the land God promised to them. From the day that he was born and his godly mother chose to protect his life to the moment the daughter of Pharaoh herself took him as her own, from his flight into the wilderness to his encounter with the living God in a burning bush, from the first confrontation with Pharaoh on his return to Egypt demanding that Pharaoh release God’s people to his leadership of the people across the sea on dry land and to safety, it was all about God’s plan for him to lead His people.
But along the way, as it worked out, God ultimately told Moses he would not be allowed to go across the Jordan and enter the land. How heartbreaking that must have been for Moses. Everything he’d worked for, all he’d dreamed of, wiped away when God spoke. The rug pulled out from underneath him. Seeing the land would have made putting up with the burdensome, stiff-necked people all worthwhile. But right along with all those who were adults when they left Egypt and insisted on whining and complaining and doubting God, Moses was told “No, you will not be going.”
You can see his desire in the opening of this passage, where Moses pleads with God to let him go and see the land. As he continues his review for the people of all that has so far transpired, he reminds them of his desire to go over and see the land. But the best he was allowed to go was to go to the top of a mountain and look.
As God tells him he won’t see the land from anywhere but a great distance, He also tells him to commission Joshua, for he will go and he will lead the people.
Commission Joshua. Encourage Joshua. Strengthen Joshua. He’s going, and you’re not.
Joshua would take Moses’ place and experience that moment that Moses had lived for. He would be the one setting foot on the other side and leading God’s people straight into the promise. Moses could have been bitter. He could have been angry. He could have taken that all out on Joshua and refused to help.
He didn’t undermine Joshua. He didn’t mess it up for him. He did exactly what God asked of him. He commissioned Joshua. He turned the people over to him. He turned the dream over to him.
Moses didn’t get to go. He didn’t get to realize the most treasured part of his dream. But he did graciously and generously take the role of the coach for Joshua. He helped to equip him to carry on the dream. He passed up bitterness and instead, with a servant’s heart, chose to help Joshua have what he himself wanted.
He commissioned him, encouraged him, and strengthened him. He did what he had to do to ensure Joshua’s success.
He knew he couldn’t, but he was willing to coach.
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Two of These Things Are Not Like the Others
But Moses replied, “Are you jealous for my sake? I wish that all the LORD’s people were prophets and that the LORD would put his Spirit on them!” (Numbers 11:29)
Way back in the days when the Israelites were in the long wander through the desert, millennia before there was public television, the children used to play a game that was perhaps an early predecessor of a now well known segment of children’s programming. In this game, one Hebrew child would lay out a group of 70 things, 68 of which were the same and two that were different. The game was for the others to identify which two were different. They called it “Two of These Things Are Not Like the Others.” By the time it got to 1970s children’s television, it had to be condensed a little to fit neatly on the screen, and it became three similar items one different item in orderly quadrants.
We know this because there’s an account of one round of this game in Numbers 11. You remember that Moses was being crushed under the weight of leading the stubborn, disgruntled and contentedness-challenged people of Israel. In response, God instructed him to identify 70 elders from among the people, men who already had respect and authority, and He would put His Spirit on them so that they could assist Moses in carrying the load. When they all gathered at the Tent of Meeting, God came down and put His Spirit on the 70. At the moment God’s Spirit came on them, they prophesied, though apparently that was the only time they did.
Now, as it turned out, two of the guys stayed back at camp. Their names were on the list, they were recognized as the elders, they were part of the Gang of 70. But they stayed at camp. The text doesn’t say why. It doesn’t say that there was a good reason. It doesn’t say there was a bad reason. We just don’t know. We only know that Eldad and Medad stayed home. And at the time God’s Spirit was placed on the elders at the Tent of Meeting, on the guys that showed up, His Spirit also was placed on the two guys that stayed home. And they began to prophesy in the camp.
When he found out about this, Joshua, Moses’ right hand man since he wasn’t even a man, had a fit. “Moses, my lord, stop them!” Moses, make them stop! They’re prophesying but they didn’t go to the tent! Don’t let them do this! They didn’t follow the program. They didn’t listen to the instructions.
They didn’t go to the tent.
Moses, on the other hand, tells Joshua to relax. What they’re doing is a good thing. “I wish that all the LORD’s people were prophets and that the LORD would put his Spirit on them!” There’s no cause for alarm.
Now, this gets a little dicey, because it seems like maybe in order to be OK with what Eldad and Medad did we have to be OK with guys not doing what God said to do. God told Moses to make a list of the guys and have those guys meet at the Tent of Meeting. So presumably Moses told these two that they were supposed to go. And they didn’t. Yet God still put His Spirit on them. They still were able to prophesy. And Moses was delighted that they were. He had no response recorded in the text to what the other 68 were doing. But these two who stayed in camp, they pleased him.
So here’s what I’m thinking when I read this. If there’s a lesson about obedience for you here, don’t let me distract you from that. Always do what God is telling you to do. No matter what Eldad and Medad did and even if God still put His Spirit on them.
But let’s consider this too. Sometimes we don’t all have to do things the very same exact way. Sometimes 68 will do it one way and two will do it a different way. And God’s Spirit will still do His thing. I have to follow God, I have to be obedient. But I don’t always have to do that the very some way that my friends or brothers and sisters in Christ are doing. My church doesn’t have to do it the way 68 other churches do it. My family doesn’t need to look exactly the same as 68 other families. We need to be where God is going to work in us. Sometimes that’s at the Tent of Meeting. Sometimes that’s back home in camp. Sometimes that’s at church. Sometimes it’s in the office or the store or the gym (well, probably not the gym for me).
Sixty-eight people might do it one way. But for the other two, if they’re where God can work in them, they can do it whichever way they want.
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Everything Changes
Cain said to the LORD, “My punishment is more than I can bear. Today you are driving me from the land, and I will be hidden from your presence; I will be a restless wanderer on the earth, and whoever finds me will kill me.” (Genesis 4:13-14)
As we saw, Cain refused to acknowledge his sin. God gave him the opportunity to come clean. He declined. He behaves not so unlike his parents did after they ate the fruit. They hid. They pretended nothing had changed. They acted like God would not notice.
Cain does the same. Polygraph hasn’t been invented yet. I think I’m good to go here, he seems to think. But now God’s demeanor takes a turn. No longer does He extend the opportunity for Cain to be responsible and be restored. Now He will make him responsible. Now he will face the consequences. Things have changed.
Cain, I hear the blood of your brother crying out from the ground. How could you think you could hide this from Me?
God pronounces judgment. Cain will be driven from the land. The land which opened to accept his brother’s blood will no longer produce for him. And he will be a restless wanderer on the earth.
It’s never going to be the same again. Just like everything changed when your parents ate the fruit, when they chose their own way. Everything changes for you, too, Cain. Everything changes.
Cain’s whole life is the ground. He loves the land. But now it won’t love him back. He’ll be driven from it, and it will no longer produce for him.
He recognizes the severity of the judgment, the abyss into which he’s being thrown. God, how can You do this? This is more than I can bear. This is not something I can handle.
He takes what God says, and he expands on it. When he laments that he’ll be driven from the land, that he’ll have no place of his own, that the land will not love him, he also painfully observes that he will be hidden from God’s very presence. God didn’t say that. Yet Cain seems to understand. And as his lament continues, he observes that he’ll be a restless wanderer. Without the land, and without God, he’ll never be at peace, he’ll never settle down. He’ll be restless, wandering aimlessly the rest of his days. And he adds, whoever finds me will kill me. Again, God didn’t say that. But Cain seems to understand the bigger picture implications, the full effect of what God has declared.
Ironically, his ultimate fear is that he will be killed. The punishment is too great for him, that he face certain death for having killed his brother. And now he fears he himself will be killed. But God doesn’t intend for Cain to be killed, and puts measures in place that will prevent that from happening. He will not be killed. He will instead live on and experience the fullness of the curse. And now Cain has no choice.
Everything changes.
When we sin, everything changes.
When we turn down the opportunity God provides to repent and turn back and be restored, everything changes.
The good news is that everything changes when we take the repentance and restoration route too.
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With a Brother Like This
Now Cain said to his brother Abel, “Let’s go out to the field.” And while they were in the field, Cain attacked his brother Abel and killed him. Then the LORD said to Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?” “I don’t know,” he replied. “Am I my brother’s keeper?” (Genesis 4:8-9)
You saw Cain yesterday. He was hurt. He was angry. And rather than turn to do the right thing, he savored the moment. He nursed his anger. And then he allowed his anger to consume him. With barely a breath in the text after God’s warning to Cain about sin’s desire for him, Cain immediately invited his brother Abel on a fall afternoon drive to check the crops. Once out in the field, Cain moved quickly to murder his brother and presumably then buried him where he fell.
Sin crouched. Cain blinked. Sin pounced.
And suddenly, or perhaps not so suddenly, sin’s desire was fulfilled. It had him.
Far more than seeing the playful crouching and pouncing of a young cat, I see the sharp claws and the dripping teeth of the bats in Ted Dekker’s black forest. Sin dug its claws deep into Cain’s flesh and did not let go.
How much later, we do not know. But soon God came to Cain, looking for his brother.
“Where is your brother Able?” Cain, I’m looking for Abel but I haven’t found him anywhere. Have you seen him? Can you tell me where he is?
God didn’t ask Cain where Abel was because He did not know. God knew what had happened. His heart had already broken with what Cain had done. God knew precisely where Abel was, and as He noted later in the text, Abel’s blood was already crying out to Him from the ground. As always, God knew. He had no need to be informed. He did not ask because He was unaware. God asked Cain where his brother was because He knew that Cain knew where his brother was. Did we say before how committed God is to restoration? How He desires to give second chances? He asked because He wanted to give Cain a shot at restoration. He wanted to give him a chance to repent. He wanted to give him a chance to come clean.
Cain didn’t.
“I do not know.” Haven’t seen him all day. No idea what he’s up to.
He killed. Sin had its way with him.
He lied. Sin tightened its stranglehold on him.
Then he deflected. Sin fulfilled its desire.
“Am I my brother’s keeper?” First he sinned, then he lied to cover it, and finally he deflected to take the focus off. What are You asking me for? He’s not my responsibility. Why would You even ask?
Instead of jumping at the chance to own up to his sin and repent, he points the finger back at God for even making it an issue. He shifts the focus from his own sin, from murder and deception, and makes the issue all about God asking. All about God suggesting he might have something to do with his brother’s whereabouts.
God knew what Cain did. He didn’t come to Cain with guns blazing. He didn’t come and accuse, “Why did you kill your brother?” He came asking Cain to tell Him what he did. “Cain, won’t you tell Me? Where’s your brother?”
He came offering Cain the opportunity to be restored and forgiven.
The issue was never that God asked where Abel was. The issue wasn’t that God put some extraordinary expectation on Abel’s brother that he keep track of him. The issue wasn’t that God pointed out Cain’s sin.
The issue was that Cain first failed to heed the warning to master sin that was crouching and waiting for him. And that he second failed to take responsibility for his failure.
Sin crouches. And waits to attack.
God seeks us out. And waits to forgive.
We can let sin master us. Or we can let the Master forgive us.
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Sin and Sanchez
Then the LORD said to Cain, “Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must master it.” (Genesis 4:6-7)
Then the LORD said to Cain, “Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must master it.” (Genesis 4:6-7)
I have this cat at my house, you know. Have I mentioned this? Seems I have to tell stories of Sanchez if for no other reason, to make sure that folks know she’s still here, and still needs her own place. She’s quite the stalker. And croucher. And would be predator. You have to humor me some here, because I’ve never been around a cat much. So I’m sure all this is normal. But not if you’re just used to dogs and fish.
A lot of times she flattens herself to the ground and waits for her moment, sometimes even slinking toward her prey ever so slowly. Other times she leaps out at anything that moves. Or doesn’t. She frequently launches herself onto the computer keyboard when she just can’t stand watching a person’s fingers fly around anymore. (So, my frequent typos could just as well be attributed to her as to me.) One of her favorite things to do is to lie in wait on the big chair, and whenever anybody walks by to lunge at them. Might just slap a bit with her arms sometimes, while others she leaps out and tries to latch on and draw blood. (Often successfully, I might add.)
But the best trick of all is the amazing head fake she does in her litter box. Yep, back to the litter box. Her litter box sits inside a large plastic tote right inside the back door. When her exasperated foster family needs to get her out of our hair for a while, she gets put in the box and the lid secured. (Plenty of air holes, don’t worry.) She’s discovered the joys of the great outdoors, and often wishes she were out there. So if she suspects someone is going to go out the back door, she’ll quickly jump into her box and plant herself in the litter box, making like she’s taking care of business. But as soon as the door opens, the spring-loaded cat from we know where comes flying out of her crouch in the litter box and bounds out the door in one single, fluid motion, and she’s off to play in the bushes. And then we go after her to bring her back inside after we finally catch her. (Why we don’t see her efforts to run away as the greatest plan to be rid of a cat ever, I don’t know.)
Anyway, we’ve recently learned a lot about crouching and attacking and preying at our house. In fact, as I typed that sentence, the gray cat that was crouched behind me on top of the couch just pounced on my shoulder.
You already know that in his jealous anger, Cain killed his brother Abel after luring him out to an open field. He was outraged that God would find favor more in his brother than in him, and that his sacrifice was found wanting. All that goes into that inter-familial comparison is more than we’re going to tackle here today. But before he got as far as killing Abel, while he was only angry but not yet murderous, God warned Cain. He saw what was coming and He cautioned him about sin, about how it was crouching at his door.
God notes that sin has not yet overtaken Cain. He recognizes his anger, “Why are you angry?” There’s the suggestion that in this case, Cain’s anger is not quite justified. That what made him angry – whether or not he had done what was right in God’s eyes – was within his control. That he really had no one to be angry at but himself. And he encourages him to move on and just do the right thing. He still has that opportunity.
But if he doesn’t, God warns, then sin is crouching at the door. It is crouching not just to amuse itself like the cat at my house does, but it crouches at the door because it desires him. It wants Cain.
Sin desires to have him. To capture him. To overpower him. To own him.
While that cat is still crouching, Cain can still resist it. He can still kick it out of the way (not saying that would ever happen to cats crouching at our house). He can still dart to the side and miss the lunge.
He didn’t have to give in. He didn’t have to just stand there and let sin sink its claws into his chest. He didn’t have to be overtaken. It was still only crouching. It was still only at the door.
Sin desires us. It wants to overcome us. It wants to own us.
But it is still only crouching at the door. At least until we open the door and let it lunge in on us. The cat can’t open the door. We have to do that for her.
Sin awaits us. But it does not have to overtake us.
Sanchez fancies herself the mighty warrior cat, conqueror of all who enter our house. But even in her most stealth and insidious crouch, she can still be batted aside by the alert passer by.
Sin is crouching, waiting. But it is not stronger than I am in Christ.
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The Conversation