Standing in the Breach

            Think about this: Have you ever defied God? Have you ever looked at a circumstance and said to God, “No. You can’t do this. I won’t allow it.”? Would you even dare to do something like that?

We spend so much time in church learning to be reverent and deferential toward God that we can forget that there is more to faithful obedience than being God’s yes-man or yes-woman. We expect our faithful speech to be full of praise and gratitude and thanksgiving. In recent times we have become obsessed with saccharine faithfulness. We have praise and worship services that gloss over life’s difficulties. It’s headline news when a saint like Mother Teresa or a church leader like Pope Francis or Canterbury Archbishop Justin Welby admits to wrestling with God over daily struggles of faith and discipleship. Our prayers are full of chatter about thanking you so much God, and loving you so much God, and being so amazed at how wonderful you are God.

The Passover Lamb

            As we journey through the Old Testament this summer and fall, we’re really getting the highlights reel version of the story: key moments rather than intense details. A week ago we encountered Moses at the Burning Bush, face to face with the Living God. This week we have skipped all the way to the Passover. A lot has happened in Egypt since last week’s reading from Exodus 3. Moses and his brother Aaron have confronted Pharaoh again and again, pleading and demanding that Pharaoh let the Israelites go. Nine plagues—water turned to blood, frogs, gnats, flies, diseased livestock, sores, thunder and hail, locusts, and darkness—have tormented Egypt, but Pharaoh has not been swayed. He has toyed with Moses and Aaron, pretending sometimes to respond to their complaints and changing his mind just as they thought they had tasted freedom. But Pharaoh’s heart was hard, and he refused to listen to Moses or to the Lord. The Lord’s deliverance will come without the cooperation of Pharaoh.

You Give Them Something to Eat

            In the middle of the lush fields and summer green of Forest Hill, the desert can seem a long way off. The closest desert, as far as I can tell, is somewhere out west, Texas, maybe, or New Mexico or Colorado. Here it’s easy to forget what deserts are like—or to pretend that they don’t exist.