Who Goes First

I remember bridge jumping during one spring break in college. It was an incredibly dumb thing to do, I know. Many levels of dumb involved.

But I remember the anxious waiting beforehand, wondering who would jump first. A lot of personal danger might be avoided if someone else proved the possibility first. I went second, and was quite grateful for the first guy.

I was reading Joshua 3 during my lunch break, when I came across this paragraph:

So when the people set out from their tents to pass over the Jordan with the priests bearing the ark of the covenant before the people, and as soon as those bearing the ark had come as far as the Jordan, and the feet of the priests bearing the ark were dipped in the brink of the water (now the Jordan overflows all its banks throughout the time of harvest), the waters coming down from above stood and rose up in a heap very far away, at Adam, the city that is beside Zarethan, and those flowing down toward the Sea of the Arabah, the Salt Sea, were completely cut off. And the people passed over opposite Jericho. Now the priests bearing the ark of the covenant of the LORD stood firmly on dry ground in the midst of the Jordan, and all Israel was passing over on dry ground until all the nation finished passing over the Jordan. (vs 14-17)

I've noticed the passage before, and thought how beautiful it was that God's presence went before them.  He entered the river and stopped it, that Israel might go through.  I thought it was a good image of how the Lord saves us.  But reading it again (while eating homemade stir-fry, by the way), I noticed some nuances.

The hymn writer Samuel Stennett wrote the hymn "On Jordan's Stormy Banks", singing of the promises that await God's people in heaven. They look across the Jordan, stormy and full in its harvest-time, and long for the culmination of the work of God in their hearts.  Sickness, sorrow, pain and death will be felt no more.  We shall see the Father's face, and in His bosom rest. The yearning depicted there is nearly tangible.

Stennett's hymn understands the Jordan as a symbol of death, a river flooded with the harvest of men. It keeps the people of God from life in His promised paradise, an unfordable barrier to our hope. If we understand the river Jordan as such, what hope does scripture give to our position, on this side of death?

I think, in Joshua 3, we see the priests as our hope, the priests who carry the ark of the covenant (which holds the two stone tablets, the ten commandments). The priests literally bear the weight of the law perfectly, and enter into the stormy waters first. The priests' presence, with the Lord's presence, holds back the tide of water until all Israel is through.

It struck me as I was reading, that Jesus is the priest who fulfills the law perfectly, who bears its demands without fault, and yet enters into death for us, that we might pass through it without the sting of separation from Him. He carries the weight of the law into death, that we might live. Jesus is the ark-bearing priest.

I think that makes the story of Israel crossing the Jordan even more compelling. It draws me to worship. He went first, accomplishing what we could not, so that we could follow Him into what we otherwise would never reach.

The Curse of Enmity, the Blessing of Dissatisfaction

This is something I first learned a few months ago at a Ridley class, but I noticed it again today, and thought it worth sharing.

In Genesis 3, the serpent deceived Adam and Eve, winning their trust, and thereby winning their worship from their Creator.  Immediately after the fall, God intervenes, proclaiming curses for what evil has been done.

Culturally we have a strong aversion to the concept of God cursing.  This goes hand in hand with our aversion to God's wrath- we much prefer a gentle, forgetful grandfather, to a firm, all knowing Lord. But the curse is not something from which we ought immediately recoil- even God's curse is a blessing to His children.

Just as an example, the first curse is meted out to the serpent.  In Genesis 3.15, the Lord promises to put enmity between the serpent and the woman's children, one of whom would one day crush the serpent's head, though be bruised.

It has commonly been observed that 'the child' of the woman that would crush the serpent's head, though be bruised, is in fact Jesus.  He crushes Satan and the power of sin, even as He is bruised.  That curse is a blessing.

But less noticed is the curse of enmity. How is this a good thing?  Earlier I mentioned the serpent's taking of our trust and worship.  In turning to him we have made him our god, our joy, our trust.  And so we continue to do daily.  We trust things other than God, things other than His words.  Our desires, our lusts, our appetites, our strength and pride and beauty- all are things which vie for our trust and worship.  And we give them quickly, for seemingly nothing in return, like 'a prostitute who requires no pay, but instead pays her lovers' (Ezekiel 16.33).

And so, left to our own, we would pour our lives out to them, hoping to the very end that they would satisfy.  Unless, somehow, we found ourselves unsatisfied.  Unless we began to distrust, dislike, even hate the thing we clung to, the thing we loved, we would never look elsewhere.  Unless enmity somehow came between us, we would never leave our empty lovers.

Hosea 2.6-7 reveals this curse of enmity as an ongoing work of the Lord. Speaking of His adulterous people, Israel, He says:

"Therefore I will hedge up her way with thorns,

     and I will build a wall against her,

     so that she cannot find her paths.

She shall pursue her lovers

     but not overtake them,

     and she shall seek them

     but shall not find them.

Then she shall say,

     ‘I will go and return to my first husband,

     for it was better for me then than now.’"

God keeps our wrong lovers from fulfilling us, that we might return to Him.  The curse of enmity between Satan and sin and our hearts is an incredible blessing. It means that the alcoholic hates his drink, the glutton hates his food, the sex addict hates that which leaves him feeling empty.  Our loves, by grace, begin to feel like enemies. And this is a blessing, so great a blessing, because it leaves us desperate for a true ally, a true love that will satisfy us.  It makes us thirst and hunger and long for something truly fulfilling, something we have long ago forgotten, but something that still seems perilously near to us- relationship with the Lord. While this curse of enmity is not in itself sufficient to birth in us the love of Christ, it is often the plow that breaks up the hard soil of our hearts to receive His Word of repentance.

Sleep, Darkness, Despair and Faithfulness

Despair is an experience shared by many believers. Where they once felt a vibrant faith, they now feel asleep. Where scripture once carried them to heights of worship and joy, they now find it dull, if not dark and confusing. Community leaves them frustrated, because they can't seem to feel what everyone else is feeling. Worship and singing is emotionless, except for a subtle, simmering anxiety, and a growing despair that, what once felt real to you, no longer feels real at all.

If you have read any of my other writings, you likely know that I am no stranger to this landscape- the sometimes dry, sometimes monotonous desert of faith. I have often found myself plodding along in some direction, long ago predetermined, without any perceived guidance or encouragement as I walk. All the while I can only pray and hope that what I once held dear might still hold me.

One of the most beautiful passages in scripture is the story of the covenant cutting ceremony between God and Abram in Genesis 15. In it, God and Abram lay out their promises formally, and then prepare to vow their allegiance to one another.

There is much to be said of the form and function of a covenant ceremony in the Ancient Near East. In summary, two parties make a pact together. Stating what they require of each other, they then split several animals down the middle (long-ways) and lay them out, one half over against one another, all in a line. This creates a pathway of blood between the halves.* To ratify the covenant, both parties walk this blood-path. This walk is the sealing of the vow, and it is signifies a promise with consequences. It says, 'if I break my half of our covenant, let me be severed, like these animals.' Both parties walk, both parties promise, both are legally held responsible for their end of the deal. To break the covenant is to be severed. It is to die.

One important detail makes the covenant-cutting ceremony of Genesis 15 shockingly unique- Abraham does not walk the blood-path. Instead, God walks it. Twice. Which means, He promises to uphold both halves of the covenant. He says, 'If I break my vow to you, let Me be severed- but if you break your vow to Me, let Me be severed in your place. If I am faithless, I will die- but if you are faithless, then I will die in your stead.'

This is hugely significant. This is massive. Because it demonstrates that what is most essential to our relationship with the Lord is not our faith, but His. What is crucial is not our promise, but God's. He has made a covenant with us, His children, to give us the promised land, even when we fail. He will not suffer us to lose the inheritance He has given us. In fact, He suffers to ensure that we keep it.

But I noticed something new in that story last night, talking to a friend around a campfire. Abram is forcibly kept from walking the blood-path. It appears that God does not want Abram to think that upholding the covenant is his responsibility, even if Abram wanted it to be so. The Lord uses deep sleep, darkness and despair, to prepare Abram to see that it was never his faithfulness that secured him in relationship with God. It was God's faithfulness, and His promise that secured him all along.

Perhaps the reason so many of us wrestle with spiritual slumber, darkness, doubt and despair, is because the Lord has put us in it- not to punish us, but to show us something of Himself. Perhaps He keeps us from walking in easy faith, and in confidence in our faithfulness, in order to demonstrate to us that it was never our walking, never our faithfulness that saved or secured us. It was Him, walking for us. It was His promises, and His faithfulness. It was a covenant that He made, and that He fulfilled, when He was torn for us. Perhaps our darkness is intended to let His glory shine the brighter to us, to reveal that what we once held dear was all the while holding us. That would be very good news, indeed.

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*As I understand it, this blood-path is why we often use a red carpet at weddings- a sign of a serious covenant under the Lord.