Marked Pages

“Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the children of Israel out of Egypt?”

                                                                                                                                Exodus 3: 11

By the time the desert had weathered him, and the sun’s insidious rays eaten their way into him, Moses was a cipher. The early romantic thoughts of rescuing his people from slavery as their princely deliverer were over.  All he knew for daily fare was the inhospitable topography and clime of the desert, and the bleating cries of the sheep of his father-in-law, Jethro. Forty years of such a life, spent amid the buzzing flies and smelly sheep, do something to wash hope out of a man. For forty years, the stature of the nobleman was gradually eroded by steep mountain paths, rough terrain, dry land and wilderness … till there was nothing left of Prince Moses of Egypt.

 Yet Exodus 2-3 tell us that when all human hopes had been extinguished by the fiery darts of the sun, Elohim stepped in (3: 1). The story takes a dramatic turn as God discloses himself to this nobody, a stranger and alien even to the desert where he had herded sheep for so long. Moses is invited to draw near, though cautiously, into the holy circle of the burning bush: “Do not come any closer” (v. 5).  This encounter was unexpected for Moses, but it was an appointment that the I AM had planned from long ago. God had waited forty years to hone a man whom he intended to make into the deliverer of his people.

 Moses’ reply is surprising for its reluctance: “Who am I …” (v. 11). How could he lead a people who no longer knew him? How would he speak to Egypt’s greatest when the law (ma’at) of the land required his life for having deprived an Egyptian of his many years ago? And yet, it was not to the princeling that God disclosed himself. Rather, it was to a despised sheepherder whose lonely paths took him away from human society, and whose intimates were the sheep he was herding. God knew that what the impetuous and arrogant prince of Egypt could not do, the emptied-out, sunburnt shepherd of the desert could. Moses doubted himself, but God knew: his choice was a humbled, broken person made deeply aware of the sins and humiliations of his defeated, imperfect life.

 And so, God commissioned him to be Israel’s deliverer.

 The story of Moses speaks deeply to each of us. We start out hearing the call of God as clearly as we hear ourselves talk. Moses’ notion early on that he would deliver the Hebrews was not false. It was certainly God calling him to a noble task. However, the making of the man lay not in the palaces of Egypt but in the tough terrain of the wilderness. God’s preparation was exacting and uncompromising: it would take all of forty years to deal with Moses. God was not mistaken in his choice: Moses is immortalised in scripture as being the meekest man around. Like Moses, we may have to endure the terrible seasoning of the wilderness till all that is proud and supercilious in us is rubbed away. The dark night may seem to tarry far longer for us than we think it should. But God is not mistaken about us, either: “For the revelation awaits an appointed time; it speaks of the end and will not prove false. Though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and will not delay” (Habakkuk 2: 3). 

 In the dread wilderness, Moses must have despaired many nights; in the light of the burning bush, he would come to understand that his forty years of discipline had been watched by a constant and faithful God who had purposed from the beginning to make himself a vessel worthy to bear his insignia and his name. 

“Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalms 46: 10)

This is a verse that has comforted many in difficult times. We run to it when we need the quietness and thoughtfulness of reflection in times of trouble and heaviness of soul. The background context of psalm 46 celebrates the security of Jerusalem as God’s holy city, the fortressed city set on a hill. Her foundation is secure because God is her “refuge and strength”  and an “ever-present help in trouble” (v. 1), much as God is our sure foundation, strengthening us and holding us firm in the earthquakes that may shake us and the floods that threaten to overwhelm.  

Within the fortressed walls of this city, God provides  shelter and satisfaction by the simple fact of his presence: “God is within her, she will not fall” (v. 5). His presence is not only demonstrated by the power he displays, but by the loving grace that is suggested in verse 4: “There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God”. The  liveliness of his abundance is described in terms of this river that pours out life and joy. Considering that Jerusalem  had no river, unlike other key cities of the region, like Damascus, Thebes, Nineveh, or Babylon, this “river” that makes glad the city of God is surely his sustaining and refreshing blessing on his people. In the Old Testament, Jerusalem was special because this life-giving and generous-hearted God had chosen to favour her. If she would just fix her eyes on him, no harm would come to her. Psalm 46 reads much like a metaphorical account of the Christian’s life. That is why it comforts. In the tumult of trials and challenges, God reminds us that we are his Jerusalem that he has chosen. As long as he is within us, we will not fall … “Therefore we will not fear” (v. 2).

In view of God’s majestic glory, power and grace, verse 10 is the psalmist’s exhortation to the people to “know” that the Lord is God.  Israel’s greatness, like ours, depended on this God, unshakeable and immovable, sustaining and exalted. That was what the earlier verses of psalm 46 were celebrating and announcing. No one could match him. In spite of all this, though,  it was often tempting for Israel to look to other gods and help for strength and sustenance, whether in military power, political allies, pagan idols and idolatry … she had a long history of faithlessness …

Verse 10 is God’s voice breaking through the tumult and noise of  dangers and threats around Jerusalem. “Be still!” he says. “Know who I am!”  The exclamatory marks are often missing when we read verse 10. But in the Hebrew, “be still” is probably well translated “Enough!” or “Stop!” Cease and desist from your loudness, your noise, your fears, your threats–look to me, and see who I am! The New American Standard translates verse 10 thus: “Cease striving and know that I am God”.  Cease striving in order that you will know I am God. That is what the verse means.

In Israel’s history, severe national testings and political uncertainties brought temptation to abandon the worship of this great God in favour of the illusory security of political alliances and idolatry. But God, who is God, will not share his glory with another. He steps into the pages of frantic human history and commands, “Cease! Desist! Look to me! Know this: I am the Lord! ”

We love this verse for the gentle comfort it brings our souls. But we must remember too that we are sheep that stray all too easily from God’s care and pastureland, for whatever reason. We are easily gulled, and just as easily spooked. At every new (and imagined) fear, we give way to a lot of baa-ing and bleating that pinpoint our deep-seated lack of faith in the goodness and loving care of  God, our very fortress and foundation. God intended the exclamation marks of verse 10 to stop us dead in our tracks and to re-consider our ways and acts in view of who he is.  In the midst of our frenzied hurts and disappointments, our fears and anxieties, God issues a stern command of love: stop all this noise and wailing, and see who you’re dealing with! I am still God, and I will be exalted.

“Be still, and know that I am God.”

“Woe to me!” I cried. “I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the LORD Almighty.” (Isaiah 6: 5)

When Isaiah saw the Lord, high and lifted up, seated on his eternal throne, that scene lifted his eyes far above the mournful state of Judah after good King Uzziah’s death (Isaiah 6: 1). The veil of heaven was lifted, and for a moment, Isaiah saw the unshakeable heavenly throne, and the shining glory of the illimitable God he served and worshipped. He heard the flaming ministers of God, the seraphim, crying out in thunderous rumbles that shook the temple, “Holy, holy, holy is the LORD Almighty, the whole earth is full of his glory” (6: 3). It was an incredible experience.

We envy Isaiah as we read of his encounter with God, and wish that we too would be given such a remarkable glimpse of heavenly things. Our eyes are fixed with longing for uplifting visions of God’s splendour and greatness. We expect a spiritual high to overtake us when we see God.

Isaiah’s vision of God’s glory occasioned a response from him, but that response was hardly one of effusiveness and spiritual indulgence. “Woe to me!” Isaiah cried. “I have seen God, and now I know just how filthy I am! What shall I do? I should be stricken dead!” His desperation is clear to all.

We look forward to the cleansing coal of the seraph in verse 6, of course, and are comforted that God quickly sends us relief at the sight of our sins in verse 5. But we should not gloss over these uncomfortable verses or Isaiah’s horror at himself. He fully expected to die: what sin-filled person could see God and live?

We should never forget that any true vision of God’s glory and holiness must elicit in us a heart-wrenching recognition of our wretched sinfulness. God does not show up just to entertain us with his beauty and greatness; he shows up to show us his holiness, and his expectations of us as his worshippers: “You are to be holy to me because I, the LORD, am holy” (Leviticus 20: 26). It was only when Isaiah really saw God that he really saw himself in the blazing searchlight of that perfect holiness.

If our faith has become too cosy, and our understanding of God limited to nothing more than a sentimental portrayal of what we think he should be like, and how he should satisfy our needs, then we need to be reminded of God’s holiness and our deep sinfulness. Yes, we should pray for a glimpse of heaven. We should pray too that in seeing the holy God, we would understand the humbling smallness of our stature and the abject poverty of our broken and sinful ways, so that, rising from the ashes, we would be moved to echo the seraphic cry, “Holy, holy, holy …”