A Blossom in the Wilderness

This is hardly my first time reading the book of Numbers, but something was impressed upon me this time that I don’t remember feeling so strongly before: this is a really ugly book. For me, this read through, the ugliness was oppressive and relentless:

• The Lord strikes Israel with a deadly plague after the people crave some meat, like they ate in Egypt. (11:33-34)
• God condemns all the Israelites over twenty to die in the wilderness because of their rebellion. (14:29-30)
• When a man’s found gathering wood on the Sabbath, God commands Moses to have him killed. (15:32-36)
• Three men lead a revolt against Moses and Aaron, so the Lord has them and their families destroyed, then wipes out over 14,000 more Israelites before Moses and Aaron intervene. (Numbers 16)

That kind of stuff unnerves me, if I'm being honest. I don't always know what to do with it—except to acknowledge that it's scripture, God-breathed and useful (2 Tim 3:16), even if I can't understand how.

But then I arrived at chapter 17. Aaron’s leadership was called into question, so the Lord devised a plan. God said to Moses,

Tell the people of Israel to bring you twelve wooden staffs, one from each leader of Israel’s ancestral tribes… Place these staffs in the Tabernacle in front of the Ark… Buds will sprout on the staff belonging to the man I choose. (17:2, 4-5)

So, staffs are gathered, labeled, and left in front of the Ark. We don’t see what happens next, but I can just imagine the skinny white shoot peeking out of Aaron’s staff and stretching out its first, pale green leaves. Then, years pass in hours. The shoot reaches higher. The leaves, darker now, spread everywhere. The first white blossoms bloom. A bee buzzes through the Tabernacle. Petals fall, kernels grow, and the hulls split to reveal an almond shell within.

When Moses entered the Tabernacle again in the morning, “he found that Aaron’s staff… had sprouted, budded, blossomed, and produced ripe almonds!” (17:8) Aaron was God’s man—just look at the garland of life and beauty crowning his walking stick.

As I was reading Numbers, this scene was a refuge for me, a brief glimpse of beauty in an ugly book. It gave new meaning to Isaiah’s promise that

The desert and the parched land will be glad;

the wilderness will rejoice and blossom.

Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom;

it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy. (35:1-2)

Aaron’s staff is a literal blossom in the wilderness. For a moment, this desolate, oppressive, relentless place bursts into bloom. By the time I reached chapter 17, I needed that. This trek through the desert was leaving me spiritually dehydrated, and Aaron’s staff was an oasis. Here, I recognized the God of Genesis 1 and of Revelation 21 and 22.

I’ve never shied away from acknowledged the ugly parts of scripture. I think Christians need to be aware of and honest about a lot of things in Numbers. But, at the same time, I’m not going to be preoccupied with this. Not because it’s unimportant, but because it would do my soul and my neighbor no good. Instead, I’m going to follow Paul’s instructions in Philippians:

From now on, brothers and sisters, if anything is excellent and if anything is admirable, focus your thoughts on these things: all that is true, all that is holy, all that is just, all that is pure, all that is lovely, and all that is worthy of praise. (4:8)

I’m going to remember the ugliness, but I’m going to dwell on the beauty. An old, gnarled staff that’s sprouting, budding, blossoming, and producing—I’m going to focus my thought on these things, the things that nourish my heart. My heart needs more beauty, not more ugliness. Especially if I want to go out and bring some more beauty to the ugliness in our world.

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Tassels

Something caught my eye recently, as I was reading Numbers chapter 15. The Lord tells Moses,

Give the following instructions to the people of Israel: Throughout the generations to come you must make tassels for the hems of your clothing and attach them with a blue cord. When you see the tassels, you will remember and obey all the commands of the Lord instead of following your own desires and defiling yourselves, as you are prone to do. The tassels will help you remember that you must obey all my commands and be holy to your God. (15:38-40)

Now, I immediately tune out most of the Old Testament commands that have to do with clothing. If you want to lose Nance, just start talking about every little detail of a priest’s garments (Ex 28), what to do when a skin disease shows up on your clothes (Lev 13:47), or prohibitions of wearing blended fabrics (Lev 19:19).

But this time was different. It wasn’t the tassels themselves or the blue thread that stuck out to me, though. It was the reasoning behind all that: “When you see the tassels, you will remember and obey all the commands of the Lord… The tassels will help you remember that you must… be holy to your God.” (15: 39, 40) Everywhere they went, those tassels were a visible reminder to all of Israel of their call to obedience and holiness. The tassels kept the people aware, throughout the day, of who they were and whose they were. (Many modern Jews still use these – they’re called tzitzit. You can see some in the image above.)

I think the Lord commanded Israel to don those tassels because God knows that we need continual reminders. We serve an invisible King (1 Tim 1:17) who lives in a place you can’t find on a map. We’re up to our ears in busyness and distractions. Not to mention, we’re constantly tempted to reject obedience and holiness. And so, the Lord came up with tassels, to redirect the people’s attention and remind them of their covenant commitments.

Do you have any “tassels” of your own? Something that serves to remind you of who you are and whose you are?

Years ago, for a lot of Christians, a W.W.J.D. bracelet was that tassel. Those white letters reminded you, throughout the day, to give thought to your choices and to recall Christ’s example.

But a tassel doesn’t have to be worn. It’s anything that nudges you to live, this moment, into the person God’s created you to be. An alarm on your phone encouraging you to pray. A sticky note on your mirror where you jotted down a challenging verse from scripture. A Bible you sat on top of your smart phone before bed, to start your morning off on the right foot. A cross tattooed on your wrist.   

I think there’s a lot of wisdom in sewing some tassels onto our days, and if you don’t have any regular reminders that can interrupt and redirect you towards Christ, I hope you’ll find some that work for you. Don’t let the busyness, distractions, and temptations carry you off, away from God’s presence. Stick some holy roadblocks in your life, that force you to stop and remember, that call you to obedience and holiness.

You can listen to this week's devotional here!

Find Your Hobab

In Numbers chapter 10, we meet a fellow by the name of Hobab. 

If you’re anything like me, you don’t remember reading about Hobab before. He’s only mentioned twice in the Bible. He is, we’re told, Moses’s brother-in-law, the son of Reuel (which is apparently another name for Moses’s father-in-law Jethro – see Exodus 18). In Numbers 10, as the Israelites are about to embark on what will turn into a 40-year journey through the wilderness, Moses turns to his wife’s family for help.

One day Moses said to his brother-in-law, Hobab son of Reuel the Midianite, “We are on our way to the place the Lord promised us, for he said, ‘I will give it to you.’ Come with us and we will treat you well, for the Lord has promised wonderful blessings for Israel!”

But Hobab replied, “No, I will not go. I must return to my own land and family.”

“Please don’t leave us,” Moses pleaded. “You know the places in the wilderness where we should camp. Come, be our guide. If you do, we’ll share with you all the blessings the Lord gives us.” (10:29-32)

The Israelites were entering a desolate, unknown territory. But Hobab hadn’t lived all his life in Egypt like the Israelites. He knew the lay of the land before them, and he could guide Moses and the people on their journey.

In life we find ourselves walking so many roads that we have never travelled before, but others have. As you parent, at work, going through a divorce, caring for aging parents, following Jesus—most of the challenges we face have been faced and overcome (or at least survived) by someone before us. Others have journeyed through that wilderness and come out with experience and wisdom that can guide us on our journeys.

They are our Hobabs.

Moses understood how critical this kind of guide is. That’s why he wouldn’t take “No” for an answer. When Hobab balked at Moses’s first offer, he pleaded—‘Please! You know where we ought to camp out here. Come and be our guide’. (10:31) Moses knew that “Plans fail for lack of counsel, but with many advisers they succeed.” (Prov 15:22) Hobab’s counsel was essential for Israel’s success.

And wise, experienced guides are essential for our journeys, as well. Moses was never shy about accepting help from others—Aaron, Jethro, Hobab—and we shouldn’t be either. The Lord created people to do life together, and Jesus called twelve disciples to follow him together, because we’re stronger and more faithful when we have strong and faithful supporters in our lives. “Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” (Ecc 4:12)

So don’t try to cross this wilderness alone. Don’t enroll in the school of hard knocks when you know plenty of graduates who’re ready to share what they learned. Seek counsel for the challenges ahead. Enlist a guide for the journey.

Find your Hobab.

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Without Grumbling

Is there anything worse than having to get out of bed and go back downstairs for something after you’re settled in for the night?

Probably. But in the moment, I couldn’t name one thing. I forgot the monitor, so we can hear Jo wake up. Emily wanted me to bring up a cup of water for her. The cat starts wailing, because—I don’t know, a door is shut (that he doesn’t want to walk through, but he doesn’t want it closed, either)—and it’s time for him to go stay in the guest room. I didn’t make sure the house was locked before I came up. Whatever the reason, it is invalid and intolerable, because I’m already in bed. It is the worst thing imaginable. And I’m going to tell the world about it.

A lot of y’all may not have witnessed this, but in the right setting, I am an expert complainer. I don’t appreciate things upsetting my plans, stealing my precious free time, or requiring me to move when I’m not planning to move, and I know how to express it. After all, most of my job is finding words. I have some experience expressing myself.

I also have some experience with the Bible, and, while I was reflecting recently on the latest grounds for griping, I remembered something in said Bible about all of this. It’s from Philippians 2:

Do everything without grumbling or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, “children of God without fault in a warped and crooked generation.” Then you will shine among them like stars in the sky… (2:14-15)

“Do everything without grumbling or arguing.” That line itself is liable to set a grumbler grumbling. At best, by the grace of God, you’ll roll your eyes and say, “Fine!”

But as much as I need to hear those words sometimes, it’s the lines after them that really got me thinking: Do everything without complaining or bickering, so that you may become children of God without fault in a warped, crooked generation. Then, Paul adds, you’ll shine like stars before the watching world.  

In this passage, Paul points to our contentment and our ability to be interrupted and inconvenienced without grumbling as what sets Christians apart from the world around us. If you want to be different, a child of God in a warped generation, you can start by putting a lid on those gripes. But if you complain every time you have to get out of bed and go downstairs, congratulations: you’re acting just like any self-avowed heathen might. You’re not shining with any light from Christ in the world. It’s when you bite your tongue, when you stop demanding your own ease and fishing for sympathy, that you shine.

(Paul also points to arguing as a mark that distinguishes someone as a child of God. I don’t have time to get into that now, but how’s that going for you? How’s that going for any of us?)

The next time your schedule, your expectations, or your comfort get disrupted, and you suck in some air for carrying your gripes out into the world, I hope you remember: you have two options in that moment. You can tell the people around you things they don’t want to hear anyways, or you can shine a light into the dark of discontent and anger that we live in every day.

I hope you—I hope I—will choose the light.

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New

I think that "new" is one of the most important words in the Bible. “New” is the name of God’s solution to all the world’s longing, hurt, and brokenness.

The Lord’s people cannot keep up their end of the covenant, so God makes a new covenant. (Jer 31:31; Luke 22:20)

The people don’t have it within themselves to be faithful to the Lord, so the Lord gives them new hearts and a new Spirit. (Eze 36:26-27)

Creation is not as it was meant to be—it’s infected with death, decay, suffering, and scarcity—so God will make a new heaven and a new earth. (Isa 65:17; Rev 21:1-4)

We are not the people we were created to be—we’re infected, with greed, rage, jealousy, lust, and self-absorption—so God makes us new creations in Christ. (2 Cor 5:17)

Isaiah 43:19 sums it all up nicely, when the Lord tells aching and weary people: “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” In the wilderness, where you’ve felt so lost and hopeless, I am making a way. In the wasteland, where you feared you’d waste away yourselves, I am pouring out streams. I see your situation, your struggles, and your needs, and I’m doing a new thing for you.

We believe in a God who makes things new (Rev 21:5). God sees the cracks in our lives, sees the jagged edges in this world, sees our frailty and pain and desperation, and, like at creation in Genesis, God takes it in God’s hands, forms it and molds it like the dust of the ground, and breathes new life into it.

At the beginning of January, we’re always thinking about change and fresh starts. “New year, new you,” right? I got an email Monday from a gym offering me a discount on membership, so I can get started on a new lifestyle. There’s not a thing wrong with that – I probably should exercise more – but I hope our horizons this new year, our goals and expectations for transformation, go beyond physical health to include our spiritual wellbeing.

Praying more, or praying better.

Studying and learning scripture more deeply.

Finding new avenues of service.

Beginning the long-avoided work of forgiveness or reconciliation.

Wherever you’re at today, whoever you are right now, God can make you new. God can bring the change you’re longing for—that’s what God does.

What new thing are you hoping to see in your life or in the world around you this year? And how could you be a part of the change you want to see?

This past Sunday I had the rare pleasure of sitting in a church service instead of leading one, and the pastor opened with a New Years prayer that I want to leave you with:

Creative God, you make all things new in heaven and on earth.

We come to you in a new year with new desires and old fears,

        new decisions and old controversies,

        new dreams and old weaknesses.

Because you are a God of hope,

        we know that you create all the possibilities of the future.

Because you are a God of love,

        we know that you accept all the mistakes of the past.

Because you are the God of our faith,

we enter your gates with thanksgiving and praise,

we come into your presence with gladness and a joyful noise,

and we serve and bless you. Amen.

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