Reach Across the Final Gap

When I was very young, my older brother found a book of sleight-of-hand magician tricks for kids, and he tried a few of them. They were the simplest ones, using homemade materials like paper, balloons, etc. He was proud of his efforts and successes (and I, in my little sisterly awe, was proud of him as well -- "That's my brother"). At one point in this process, he and my parents somehow thought it would be a good idea to set up a "magic show" for the kids in our neighborhood.

We had a little gang that used the street for bicycling most days, and so one afternoon, my brother issued invitations for all the kids to come see his show. He set up a table in the backyard, and my parents helped to organize the spectators as they came in to see my brother's magic tricks.

For whatever reason -- stage fright, nerves, whatever -- once my brother began the show... none of his tricks worked. I watched from the corner of the house as he tried two or three tricks, but they each ended in failure. My dad came over to help him, but by that time, the neighborhood kids had lost interest. One boy picked up one of the water balloons on the table. "Hey, here's a magic trick. I'm going to make this balloon break." And he tossed it against a nearby tree, where... it broke.

My brother didn't say anything, and the kids all left the yard. No one stayed to watch the trick my dad was helping my brother try again. I ducked around the corner of the house and cried and cried.

It seemed horrible to me that all the work and effort and excitement my brother put into his show... ended in derision and disappointment and ridicule. He'd worked so hard to make it nice... and the audience had shown no appreciation.

There was a break somewhere in that relationship between my brother and his friends. Trust had been trampled on, and the resulting fall-out was painful, particularly for the little sister who was a bit of an empath and had inserted herself into the misery and humiliation and rejection her brother was surely feeling. 

Today, I read this same story in Exodus 32. It's not a story featuring sleight-of-hand tricks, but rather a golden calf that Aaron the high priest constructs for the Israelite people after Moses has been up on Mt. Sinai for forty days and forty nights (Exodus 24:18). 

In Exodus 32:1, the people come to Aaron and they say something that illustrates completely the reversal of their mindset from Exodus 20 when they receive the ten commandments the Lord gives them: "Come, make us gods who will go before us. As for this fellow Moses who brought us up out of Egypt, we don't know what has happened to him."

Contrast this to Exodus 20:2: "I am the Lord your God who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery." 

Who brought Israel out of Egypt? God did. And the Israelites know it, but as soon as they decide to change directions, they transition the blame from God to Moses. Moses brought us out of Egypt, disappeared; now he's gone, so we are responsibility-free. We can worship whomever we choose. 

It's a lot easier to blame other people than it is to blame God, right? There's less chance of it coming back to bite you later. The Israelites focus their vitriol on their deserted leader Moses, and they conveniently ignore the fact that the God Who sees them (El Roi)... still sees them.

Because God is not on their timetable, they intentionally switch their focus from Him to material things. And it takes them less than forty days. Out of sight, out of mind. 

Thank goodness we don't do that today, right? Whew! We dodged that bullet. We the people of God are so completely safe from making the same mistake of refusing to wait on the Lord until He answers, that we never turn our backs on that empty Mt. Sinai.

Right? 

And so the Israelites grab their sins with both hands and drag a priest of God into their plans.

The thing that blows my mind about Aaron is that I don't see him digging in his heels. He's not trying to steer the ship in a different direction. Instead, he boards the vessel and he stands at the captain's wheel as the people sail right into their own destruction. 

Why? He's supposed to be the main one responsible for the Israelites' religious education, so to speak. So as soon as the people come to him and demand a golden calf to worship... he gives it to them! He capitulates. He caves beneath the pressure of too many voices pulling his attention away from God.

Thank goodness that doesn't happen today, either, right? Whee-haw! Our pastors and teachers and leaders are pressure-free, smooth as silk, sliding out from beneath the weight of all the voices asking all the fun questions: Would a good God allow racial injustice? Global pandemics? Terrorist attacks? Childhood cancer? Thank goodness our pastors and spiritual leaders rise above it all and point us to God rather than caving to the sociopolitical agendas that tend to sit on the borders of our spiritual conversations and push buttons.

Right?

So, the thing is... none of this is a surprise to God. While the people are turning their focus from God to this statue made out of gold and looks something like a cow and declaring that it -- and not God -- is somehow responsible for saving them from generational slavery... God has been busy giving Moses instructions for the Tabernacle where He's been planning a spectacular holy meeting place between Himself and His people.

Can you feel His abandonment? The anger and betrayal He must have felt? You try so hard to make things nice, and the people trample it, drag it through the mud, trash all the forethought and care put into your idea...

This is no simple sleight-of-hand show with tricks that don't work because of a mistake in the performance, though. This is the real and awesome Creator of the world Who wants a relationship with His people more than anything.

And they reject Him. They betray Him.

Moses and God are both furious! Some of the fallout: Moses throws the calf into the fire, grinds it into powder, sprinkles the ashes over water, and forces the people to drink it, making them sick. He rallies the Levites to him and gives them instructions to go through the whole camp and kill people still clinging stubbornly to the idea of idolatry, and three thousand people die that day. God sends a plague upon the people and more die. All of this seems like just desserts.

Here's something interesting: Despite the betrayal, the rejection, the ensuing anger, Moses approaches the Lord and asks Him for mercy. Grace. He advocates for the people, asking the Lord not to obliterate them from the face of the earth (as both of them are tempted to do). He stands in the gap. "But now, please forgive their sin," Moses says, "but if not, then blot me out of the book You have written."

Make me a scapegoat. Let me take their punishment. Obliterate me instead of them.

You know what this looks like? I'll give you a hint: He wore a crown of thorns on the same day He took the sins of the people on His own shoulders and told the Lord: Make me the scapegoat. Let Me take their punishment. I'll die in their place.

God told Moses that the people who sinned would have to pay their own price, because while Moses was God's faithful servant, his blood was not a perfect or atoning sacrifice to cover the sins of mankind. Jesus, however, fills that role to perfection... and once and for all pays the price for our sins.

I hope that fact never grows old for you.

Because you and I could just as easily have been one of those in the crowd around Aaron, demanding desolation of God's good plan. We could have been the ones in the crowd jeering at the amateur magician. 

Just because we aren't one of the original Israelites who were wandering in the desert all those years ago doesn't mean that we don't turn our backs on the beautiful meeting place God is preparing for us, trampling on His plans, leaving His ideas hanging in tatters beneath our snubs.

This hurts. This whole message hurts. As an empath, I'm heartbroken all over again by this rejection in Exodus 32.

Because it doesn't just happen in Exodus 32. That rejection is smattered through all the pages of the Word, throughout history, through current events now, news stories, and media web pages that track real-time progress all over the globe. 

It's nothing new. The story of rejection is as old as Genesis 3:6: "... And [Eve] took some [fruit] and ate it. She also gave some of her husband who was with her, and he ate it," and as new as today. Right now. 

God gave us a Mediator, Jesus Christ, Who died in our place and makes a way for us to approach His throne -- which we can absolutely never do if He doesn't advocate for us. 

The thing is, though, we can't reject Him. God is not going to force us into that meeting place. He's not going to force a relationship, like some heavenly stalker intent on continual unwanted attention.

He calls us, but you and I have to answer. 

Y'all, I know too many people who say: "A good God wouldn't send me to hell. Or that person to hell. There's no such thing as hell; a good God wouldn't do that."

The thing is, hell is real, but it wasn't created for people. Matthew 25:41 says: "Then He will say to those on His left, 'Depart from Me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.'" 

Who is that fire prepared for? Not you, not me. The devil and his angels.

But it is going to be the final un-resting place for the ones who reject Him.

The thing is: He leaves His invitation out there. He comes 99.9% of the way. It's up to us to touch Him.

One of my favorite things about Michelangelo's famous Sistine Chapel painting is where God and Adam stretch their hands across the wide expanse of the ceiling to where they almost touch. If you study the painting, God's fingers are fully extended... and Adam's are relaxed... as though, if he put in an effort, those fingers would touch, and the gap would close.

But it's up to him to do that. It's his choice.

It's your choice. It's my choice. 

I'm so thankful we have that choice. Let's not waste it.