Some stories in the Bible honestly make me mad. My idea of justice gets ruffled, and I just can’t quite assimilate what I know to be true about God into the story. The pieces don’t match up in my mind, and I find myself saying, “Seriously, God? Did you have to do it that way?”
In case you haven’t guessed, God confronted me with one such passage this week.
So here I am, feeling called to share my writing. Urged to step forward in faith and seek traditional publication. Prodded to use this time and steward these gifts and encourage my friends. And pretty sure in all of it that the Spirit is the one doing the calling and urging and prodding.
But He isn’t exactly giving me the precise details of how to do it well. So I’m reading books on marketing and blogs on growing my email list. I’m watching tutorials on leveraging social media and trying to do all. the. stuff.
And, to be perfectly candid, it’s not really producing the results I hoped it would.
So I asked God, “What else do I need to do?”
The picture that played in my mind’s eye was unexpected: Moses, standing on a hillside before thousands of whining, thirsty Israelites, striking the rock with his staff.
And I knew that God wasn’t calling to mind the first time He brought forth water from the rock when He did, in fact, tell Moses to strike it. The reference was to the second time, when God told Moses to only speak to the rock, and, instead, Moses struck it. Twice.
If you want a refresher, take a minute to read the full text of Numbers 20:1-13. Then tell me, does this story not make you just a little bit upset at God, or am I the only one?
I just can’t help but empathize with Moses. His wife had just died. He’s been leading these grumbling people around in the wilderness for years already. The last time God brought forth water from a rock, Moses was specifically instructed to smack it with his staff — the staff that God had used time and time again to show His power through plague and parting and victory. Why wouldn’t Moses assume that it was okay to use it again?
Out of grief, and frustration, and prior experience, Moses strikes that rock. I imagine it was hard, the crack of wood on stone making those nearby jump in fright. He scolds the Israelites, saying, “Listen, you rebels, must we bring you water out of this rock?” Thwack! Thwack!
Water gushed out and the parched drank. But it wasn’t how Yahweh had intended.
So the Lord tells Moses and Aaron, “Because you did not trust in me enough to honor me as holy in the sight of the Israelites, you will not bring this community into the land I give them.” Ouch.
All the obedience, all the sacrifice, all the blood, sweat, and tears for Yahweh, all negated by one brash action. Or at least that’s how it feels.
I wrestle with this passage because it seems so unfair.
But God is just, I tell myself. Humans shouldn’t even be allowed to use the word fair, because we have no idea what it really means.
The sting from the passage remains, however. And now I must make it personal. “Why, Father, are you taking me back to this story that I don’t even understand?”
Because, like Moses, I don’t need to understand, I just need to trust Him.
Because nothing truly God-honoring is produced by man’s solo efforts.
Because I don’t need to beat the rock. God’s words are enough. The words He gives me to share with you are enough. He is enough.
So I sit in the tension of those revelations, finding both comfort and uncertainty. We walk in both the already and the not yet of scripture’s promises. We stand as ones both conformed to the image of Christ and still being transformed by the Spirit’s sanctification. The battle hangs in the balance of our command to both be strong and courageous and also to stand still and watch.
Our all-sufficient God goes before us, preparing a way for us to bring Him glory. Our holy — set apart, unique, distinct from all other — God wants to show His goodness and His power through us. But He might ask us to obey Him in a different way tomorrow than we did yesterday.
He doesn’t change, but the myriad ways His character can be displayed will, I’m certain, continue to be revealed for all eternity.
Today, I lay down my expectations, and I trust. I honor Him as holy. And I will not beat that poor rock.
What is the staff in your hand that He may be asking you to lay aside in favor of a bold, God-honoring act of faith and trust?
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