Choices – The Word Worker

Stewards and Kings

In Tolkien’s famous trilogy, the kingdom of Gondor was ruled by kings who carried elven blood in their veins and lived by a sense of honor stemming from the Valar themselves. These kings ruled from a great throne while their most trusted advisors sat in stewardship below. When Isildur failed and left Gondor kingless, the stewards remained below the throne, vowing to keep their trust for the day the line of kings was restored. That is, until Denethor assumed stewardship and forgot about the throne above him. When the rightful king appeared, Denethor rejected him furiously, resentful of any threat to his own perceived authority. He chose angry despair and self-destruction over hope and redemption, all to preserve his own vanity.

By contrast, the rightful king returned without fanfare. He spent his time fighting in the ranks, walking with the fearful, and comforting the broken. Few even knew his true identity. As the final battle approached and his identity could no longer be hidden, he did not march into the city and seize the throne from the recalcitrant steward. He walked secretly in the camp, healing the injured and bolstering the courage of frightened soldiers. Only when victory was won did he claim his birthright, and then bowed to the smallest of his subjects in humility and service.

The first century Jewish religious elite had developed a reputation of scholarship. Their time spent poring over scrolls and arguing about application inflated their authority in their own eyes. When the King arrived and did not bow to them, His stewards, they flew into a self-destructive rage and went to war against Him. They even allied with those they considered most evil in order to preserve their own self-righteous vanity.

Jesus, the King Himself, came as the humblest of men. He walked the earth in homespun wool, went hungry and thirsty, healed and comforted and fed those with need. He walked the road to the cross, crushed under the weight of responsibility and love, every moment also carrying the unused authority to obliterate his tormentors. Only after resurrection proved Satan’s ultimate defeat was His Kingship proclaimed to the four corners of the earth.

The problem with Denethor and the Jewish elite was that they forgot that a steward is a servant. He or she has no authority, simply cares for another’s most precious assets. A steward carries responsibility to another, responsibility that effaces all other purpose for his or her life. However, all authority lies with the owner of those precious assets, and the steward must give account to the owner for every action taken. A steward who forgets the interests of the owner in favor of his or her own fails. A steward who inflates his own importance to preserve his position fails. A steward who focuses on unproductive actions to the detriment of the owner’s precious assets fails. A steward who takes advice from the owner’s enemy instead of listening to the owner fails.

There is only one King, and souls are His most precious asset. We, humans, are his stewards tasked with preserving souls, including our own. We have no authority over each other in His kingdom, only a responsibility we could never bear without His mercy. Souls are fragile things and require gentle tending to thrive. Each is different and must be carefully cultivated with love and compassion and understanding of what that soul needs in order to reveal the beauty for which it is loved by the King. We as stewards, as humans, as treasured souls, have no other purpose.

Service or Advertisement?

We’ve all seen them, the advertising campaigns purporting awareness of some issue or another, some need. We’ve seen the politicians showing up at events or businesses when there is personal advantage to be gained. Many platitudes are exchanged, few practical or permanent solutions are implemented. Usually the one who benefits most from such is the supposed benefactor.

In the early weeks following the events of Pentecost, the newly faithful experienced a heady sense of fellowship, of unity. This togetherness extended to the sharing of physical resources so that the needs of all were met. Their unfeigned generosity spoke to the masses, drawing more and more people who wanted to experience what changed these people so profoundly, what made them so selfless.

Not all attracted to the expression of faith understood its source. They saw the overwhelming response to kindness and wanted that sort of attention for themselves. Ananias and Sapphira turned an everyday business transaction into a personal advertisement by donating less and calling it more. Simon, who before conversion had built a life on pretending to solve people’s problems for personal gain, even in his sincere desire to change treated the power of God as just another commodity for enriching him personally.

This attitude was hardly new to humanity, or to those publicly bearing God’s name. Absalom, resentful that his well-intentioned but questionable behavior had not been sanctioned, turned what should have been his responsibility to help serve the people into a way to manipulate their perception of right and wrong. He traded on visible work to increase his personal authority and punish the good man who held him accountable.

During the times of kings and prophets, many of the leaders of Israel turned the gathering of resources meant for service into their own personal stranglehold over the lives and needs of the people. In response, the people hoarded for themselves, forgetting concern for anything outside of their own needs and wants. The entire nation vaunted its perceived wealth while abusing God’s generosity with grasping avarice.

It’s easy to see the comparison with such behavior in the examples of modern societal hypocrisy mentioned above, but those claiming faith are not any more immune to selfishness than anyone else in history. Every day some one or more of us holds our reasonable service hostage to our insistence on personal control. We may work, but only with a spotlight and a mirror pointed at ourselves. Godliness, or at least behavior that makes us stand out, is our commodity, and we are unsatisfied unless any paying forward occurs within that harsh circle of artificial light.

A man named Joseph set the greatest example of service to those early first century faithful, yet no one remembers his name. It is mentioned only once in the entirety of scripture. This man apparently didn’t have much of monetary substance because God highlighted his donation of the proceeds of one field as remarkable in the midst of an entire church sharing their resources. When a murderer turned preacher was ostracized by understandably frightened people of God, this man offered opportunity and connection, his own character standing as testimony for that of the other. When a boy missionary failed to persevere in the face of opposition and hardship on his first attempt, this man fought others for the boy’s second chance, and when none would take the risk, offered that opportunity himself. As a result that boy is mentioned later as an unshakeable defender of faith and supporter of the faithful. This man whose name is forgotten is known by the term of affection used for him by God’s chosen messengers: Barnabas, or “son of encouragement.” It is his impact on others, his unwavering desire to build others up, that is remembered.

If Barnabas’s first concern had been to draw attention to himself or even to the church as an image of perfection, he would never have even considered supporting a murderer, much less one who had last been seen trying to kill the faithful. By human standards, that sort of person not only looks bad, but would draw all sorts of negative attention from the murderers’ former associates. If his priority had been to rise in authority, even just among the faithful, he would never have stood up for those with damaged reputations. Instead, he would have bowed and scraped and heralded the doubts of respected but mistaken men who failed to recognize God’s called.

Unlike Ananias and Saphira, Simon, Absalom, or the Israelite leaders, Barnabas was not a walking advertisement. He didn’t paste labels on his work, didn’t send out shiny mailers denigrating the character of others or campaigning for a following, didn’t spy on others to make sure they didn’t mess up. He simply filled needs, whether physical, emotional, or spiritual. He served without reservation, trusting the God who redeemed him to discern hearts and build a people greater than human bounds.

The Burden of the Blame Game

When Adam and Eve were faced with the exposure of their poor choice in the garden, they were overwhelmed with guilt. They suddenly knew the weight of disobedience, the loss of rebellion, and in a childish effort to rid themselves of those feelings they began pointing fingers. “It’s her fault.” “It’s his fault.” “It’s your fault for making us.” I’m surprised they didn’t say it was the fruit’s fault, as that seems to be one of the most common excuses for bad behavior these days.

Every day I hear it. “X thing is the reason for y behavior.” “The world would be a better place if X thing didn’t exist.” “I knew someone who used X thing and ended up struggling with Y problem, so never use X thing.” It all sounds like a child calling a toy stupid after breaking it. If it isn’t some object at the tip of our pointed finger, it’s an expression or a poor unfortunate soul.

In the garden, Satan knew the power of conscience and exploited it, twisting need and trust into desperation and despair. The choice Adam and Eve made to eat the fruit was made in innocence, the innocence of a child wanting the privileges of adulthood without the ability to meet the responsibilities. The choice they made to pass blame was made in full awareness and with intention, and it was that choice that cost them the garden.

The fruit that God forbade didn’t offer all knowledge as Satan claimed. It was simply an object, a symbol of trust that God had all knowledge and used it in love for the children He chose to create. It was a reminder that God wanted to love and be loved. It was proof that God carried all responsibility as Creator of all our characteristics. When eaten against His warning, the fruit simply brought pain into that reminder. All Adam and Eve gained was the weight of a responsibility they could never carry.

Ever since the horrible day that Adam and Eve had to experience the burden of their choices, God has presented demonstration after demonstration that guilt is not His goal. Time after time He showed His children pictures of redemption. His heartbroken words to Cain calling him back from sin into relationship fell on deaf ears. The sacrificial goat to symbolically carry the sin of an entire nation away from the center of worship failed to make an impression on a people drowning in denial. The Son of God speaking redemption from the cross itself only enraged a religious culture addicted to the power of guilt. The never-failing presence of God at the seat of Mercy, in the cloud that led them, in the angel army that stood between them and their enemies, in the impossible queen of a pagan oppressor, or in an unassuming son of a carpenter went unappreciated.

Today we carry guilt like a badge of honor. We drown in victimhood to Satan’s lies, blaming whatever item that has been misused or whatever platitude we have misapplied or anyone else available for the consequences of choices we have made. We claim we shouldn’t bear consequences because we were innocent, we were misled, we were confused, all because in our deepest soul we know that we can never make it right. We can never save ourselves. We can never eliminate the knowledge of our betrayal of trust. This is Satan’s victory.

No one and nothing in this world contains the power to either impose or remove guilt. No object or person can bear the responsibility for our choices. Any effort to place that burden on any earthly being or object leads only to more misery. Only the Source of power and knowledge is capable of not only bearing it, but eliminating it entirely. Our part is simply to preserve our innocence by trusting Him, not acknowledging or giving credence to Satan’s whispers, and choosing to use the very best of our little in gratitude for His responsibility without dwelling on our mistakes. There is no guilt, there is no burden, there is no blame game in God’s embrace.

Making Ourselves Comfortable

http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oY48KduIPPU/S__hHti5jwI/AAAAAAAAAg8/JZgJCefvoAM/s1600/favoritism-bird-favoritisim-demotivational-poster-1260546897.jpg

The book of Micah, and indeed most of the prophetic books, were written to the Israelite nation, to the people claimed by God to be His physical representation on Earth. Unfortunately, what Micah had to say to them was not complimentary. The message he brought from God declared that they had made themselves comfortable on God’s shoulders and were about to be ripped apart.

This did not mean that the nation was prosperous, or that they found comfort in God’s presence and provision. It did not mean that, like a child with a parent, they ran to God with every need. The Israelites had taken the reigns of their own well-being, each person doing whatever brought him or her the most of what they wanted. Leaders had taken their God-given responsibilities and made themselves guns for hire to the highest bidder. Even the teaching of God’s principles was held hostage to their desire to please themselves. Priests refused to impart knowledge or perform sacrifice without payment. Prophets charged for their preaching and, in order to preserve their income stream, delivered whatever message would bind their customers to them.

That did not mean they told people what they wanted to hear. Contrary to what we’re often told, that’s not really what solidifies power over others. We can see this repeated in the behavior of the Jewish leaders in the first century of this age. Enforcement of legal minutae required micromanagement of people’s lives. Failure to perfectly comply meant expensive consequences. Effort to perfectly comply required constant consultation with and subservience to these micromanagers. Because there were disagreements between leaders, factions arose, each faction trying to enforce their own sets of rules and solidify their own position, leading to even more reliance upon leaders to alleviate confusion and simplify decision.

The apostle Paul called the early church to account on numerous occasions for slipping down that same path. Christians who were born from a Jewish background were so uncomfortable that they sought control over their new spiritual family through a dead legal system. Those who escaped that trap latched onto specific teachers and their opinions, fawning over and repeating those to the exclusion and oppression of any others. Some even clung to physical wealth and position as the ultimate success, and used God’s principles as excuses for their bullying.

In every single one of these examples, people had aimed at the wrong target. They confused their comfort zones with the peace that comes from surrender. Peace is not easy, and surrender is not comfortable. True reliance on God challenges every instinct and preconceived notion mankind shares. We have to look past the limits of our individual existence, our immediate satisfaction, and our physical senses. Forcing others unto our comfort zone is wrong; claiming God’s authority and blessing for it is the ultimate selfishness, the ultimate godlessness. It is making ourselves comfortable on the shoulders of God, placing ourselves over the head of our Creator to avoid having our self-service challenged.

Unveiled

https://brothersofthebook.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/Moses-shining-face.gif

II Cor. 3:13-18; Ex. 34:34-35

When Moses descended from the presence of God for the second time, bringing the record of God on slabs of stone, the people of Israel avoided him in terror. Though Moses himself, having spent so much time bathed in the glory of God and having no desire for power for himself, was completely unaware that Glory beamed from his own face, the people could see it all too well. The selfish fear that drove them to cover their ears at the voice of God held them apart from His presence in Moses. From that time forward, Moses was only able to speak with God without covering his face, a shadowy reminder of exactly how great a separation existed between God and the people through whom He had chosen to work His will.

Like the veil shading Moses’s face from a people unwilling to approach God, the system of governance included in that stone record served as a curtain over their reluctant hearts. Every act prescribed within it emphasized the darkness human choices had allowed to stain the world, contrasting it starkly with the pure light of the perfect God. Every event in the future of the nation would prove the necessity of the rigid and often harsh methods required under that legal system in order to prove desire for connection with God. Even such unmistakable symbols of their need were twisted to be self-serving, and in the end they resorted to murderous destruction rather than expose themselves to His light.

When God Himself stepped from His grave in physical form and returned to Heaven in the cloud of glory that had filled the Tabernacle and shone through Moses’s face, the need for that separation to be emphasized ended. The hope and promise that underlay everything the nation of Israel experienced became present reality. Many, uneasy in the freedom and open communion found in the spirit of the resurrected Son, clung to the rigidity of the Israelite legal system. As God ripped the covering, the barrier, away they hung on for dear life and so barricaded themselves from true fellowship with Him.

Those who let longing for God outweigh their fear became like Moses, transformed into a vessel for the glory of God. The selfishness that held darkness between them and God was banished. The need for the rigid rules and rituals engraved on stone slabs was burned away by the fire of God’s presence.

Unlike Moses, who wore the veil himself as a reminder to others, our veil is only a reflection of ourselves. If we maintain a separation from God’s offered freedom by clinging to physical structures that keep control within our hands, we have a veil of our own choosing. Only by relinquishing all control, by exchanging fear for desperate longing, are we unveiled and able to stand in the Glory that is God.

To Outline or Not to Outline

Anyone who participates in the writing community for very long will certainly run into the great debate. Should authors outline before writing or not? I suspect the heat of the discussion stems from academic writing instruction, in which outlines are necessary for structuring arguments and organizing large volumes of factual information.

Certainly outlining can be a helpful tool in fictional worldbuilding as well. For a complex plot involving multiple characters and storylines, keeping track of where everyone and every event fits into the pattern is quite a challenge. Many authors do feel the need to outline their entire plot before getting started just to keep themselves on track.

Many others have a different process altogether. Their stories grow from a visual image, a title idea, a character sketch, or some other small detail, without any clear story to plan. For them, the story develops one person, event, or detail at a time. Each stems from the last like a tree putting out new shoots in spring. Such authors must start writing the beginning before the next step develops. Waiting to start until outlining the plot from beginning to end would mean their stories were never written at all.

As a “pantser” myself (by the seat of my pants – pantser), I acknowledge that this does present certain disadvantages. Where a plotter may have to cut thousands of extra words in the first edit, a pantser often adds thousands to fill in holes caused by meandering creation. Extra edits are often required (at least in my experience) to separate character voices and hone individual character arcs that might have been clearer if planned from the beginning. Writing time itself may be longer; where someone who can outline an entire story may be able to quickly work through their plan, a pantser may have difficulty with continuous writing due to constantly having to figure out the next step of the story.

I have tried outlining stories from the beginning, hoping to discover that clear path to the end, or even the end at all. That effort cost me months of productivity. I simply could not make things happen. So, a pantser I will continue to be, drifting along a piece of a scene at a time, taking the time required for all of the bits of story in my head to put themselves together.

To outline or not to outline, “that is the question.” How do you answer?

Squandering God’s Estate

https://as1.ftcdn.net/jpg/01/42/39/98/220_F_142399803_l6pGWyMjGF8flPtDnTT5Z96sEn8wuYTW.jpg

Jesus told a story of two brothers. The older brother fulfilled society’s expectations of a dutiful son. He worked alongside his father, maintaining and supervising the family estate. He never broke the rules, never disappointed his father, never neglected his responsibilities.

The younger brother was the family wild card. He chafed at responsibility and expectations, and when he reached manhood he demanded that his father hand over whatever his part of the inheritance would be worth so that he could go out on his own. He was sure he could find a better life for himself than drudging away under his father’s thumb. When his father, instead of rebuking his restlessness, gave him what he wanted, the young man traveled as far from home as he could get. With no one he had ever known to see or comment on his lifestyle, he indulged every desire and filled his life with every pleasure he could imagine.

On the surface the brothers look like polar opposites: one the responsible, respected son; the other rebellious, thoughtless, and selfish. But the story doesn’t end there, and the young men are both full of surprises. The younger brother woke up one day to find all of his money gone; he had done nothing to replenish his resources, had been entirely focused on his “good life” until he could no longer pay for his pleasures. Then, as drought set in and work was scarce, he took the most demeaning job in his society in the hard realization that he had wasted his truly good life. He had squandered every blessing ever given him, including that of a father who only wanted the best for him.

The older brother came home from working one day to find the house in a fever of celebration; the rebellious son had returned in humility and had been received with joy. The son who had been outwardly responsible and respectable immediately revealed his true heart, a knot of well-hidden resentment and rebellion. All the while he did what was expected, he hated responsibility, wished for the pleasure his brother pursued, and resented what he perceived as lack of appreciation from his father.

Both brothers shared the misunderstanding that their inheritance was a physical thing: money, possessions, etc. Neither understood their father’s love and provision for them as being his true estate. Both threw away, squandered, the relationship that was their father’s truest legacy.

Jesus told this story to Jewish leaders who complained that He welcomed sinful people into his presence. Those sinful people were the brother who had thrown everything away for his own pleasure, and who had been humbled and drawn back to the father’s embrace. The leaders were the “responsible” son who secretly harbored a rebellious heart. Neither those who had wasted their lives in rebellious lifestyles or those who prided themselves on outward righteousness had appreciated the love of God. They viewed God’s “estate” as an oppressive system of rules and demands; the only difference was whether they rebelled openly or secretly.

Jesus came to show us His true estate. He came to demonstrate the open arms of the father and the joy of belonging with Him. He came to show the difference in being a son and being a slave. Those who recognize the blessing of belonging to God approach Him with a longing to serve in gratitude and love, and receive the treatment of sons with awe and wonder. Those who see themselves as sons strictly because of their own outward fidelity, expecting privileges that ultimately get them out of such fidelity, behave like slaves. They throw away their inheritance for the sake of selfish pride.

The great news is that, no matter how we have squandered our portion, our condition is not final unless we make it so. The younger son was welcomed home with great celebration. The older son was reminded that he had always had access to what he sought, he had just been looking from the wrong direction. We will never stop being God’s children as long as we live, no matter how we waste our time and His chasing the wrong dreams. He will always be there to welcome us home. But why squander any of it? Why throw away a love, an eternal estate, so full as His?

The Price of Easy

My favorite story is the Tolkien’s _Lord of the Rings_. In that story, the ring possesses power to change and shape the world to the will of its maker, appealing to the deepest desires or fears of whoever holds it. At one point, Frodo tries to rid himself of that responsibility by offering it to the most powerful being remaining in Middle-earth, Galadriel the elf queen.

At the time, all Galadriel longed for was an end to evil in Middle-earth. The ring’s power whispered to her promises of success. All she had to do was wear it, become a goddess able to banish Sauron and shape the world with her own ideals. All would bow before her, it promised, following her command, and the world would be only good. For a moment she faltered, everything she had ever truly wanted seemingly at her fingertips. There would be no more war and suffering; life would be perfect and effortless. Easy.

The problem was that all the promises were a lie. The ring’s creator was entirely evil, and the power within the ring came from the depths of his own wicked heart. Indeed, that power could not be separated from him; it was his voice that spoke through it, and he that wielded it regardless of who held it. Galadriel’s vision could never have been accomplished, and in trying to achieve it her own heart would have been irrevocably twisted into Sauron’s image.

Galadriel’s desire was natural. She and others like her were embroiled in a war against apparently impossible odds. Fear, pain, sorrow, and death covered the world as completely as the clouds of smoke and ash belched into the sky by the enemy’s forges. Any with the courage to stand against evil found themselves beleaguered from every side.

In similar fashion, followers of Christ in the first century A.D. faced the greatest hardship they could have imagined. Choosing a life that reflected God’s character brought opposition at every turn. Confused rumors led to accusations of treason. Rejection of religious traditions drove wedges in formerly peaceful relationships, even between parents and children, husbands and wives. Refusal to follow societal customs and disapproval of pagan practices often meant businesses failed, jobs were lost, families were hungry. Punishments for standing out were often harsh, as citizenship was a privilege granted to few and without citizenship few human rights were respected.

Under such circumstances, it would have been hard to resist the urge to compromise. After all, they truly wanted to change the world into God’s image. Why not punish those who rejected Him as harshly as they had been? Why not force God’s ideals on the world instead? Why not use the tools of idolatry and materialism to become accepted back into society and make life, and teaching, easier?

The problem was that being different, living that harder life, was God’s image. Everything done to them, all the power leveraged against them, was the power and mindset of evil. Satan whispered through society just as surely as Sauron used the ring in the story. Using his tools might have felt easier, but the price would have been the destruction of everything they sought to build, would have been the loss of their very identity. Sauron could not produce anything good or beautiful because he himself was terrible. Satan cannot build anything worthwhile because he himself has rejected the source of all worth. “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.” (James 1:17)

Galadriel resisted the ring’s call, saying that instead of embracing power she would diminish. God’s people who resisted society’s pressure for an easy life and earthly influence apparently experienced a similar sensation of collapse as more and more landed in prison or were executed, and those who remained became outcasts. In reality, Galadriel’s act of humility regained her true greatness, the glory that had been lost in banishment from the presence of the gods. Her banishment was ended, and she returned home to the throne that should have been hers all along. God’s people who surrender control and remain content with the battle in which they are placed will also receive a greater glory than any they could seek here on earth.

James 1:11–12 (CSB): Blessed is the one who endures trials, because when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him.

But I’m Not Trying To!

https://www.pexels.com/photo/empty-room-with-closed-window-curtains-803908/

Whenever my kids require discipline for something, their favorite excuse is “but I wasn’t trying to!” “Don’t be mean to your brother!” “I wasn’t trying to!” “You only half-cleaned the dishes; all these are still dirty.” “I wasn’t trying to!” Somehow, in their minds, lack of effort in one direction equals actual effort in the opposite direction.

Luke records a parable Jesus told about a man who had been possessed by a demon. The demon was cast out, but after wandering for a while decided to return. He found the space he had occupied within the man empty, bare. It was so wide open and inviting that the demon found seven other demons to join him in possessing the man once again, so that the man was much worse off than before.

My kids and the man in the story have the same approach to life. I’m sure if someone had said something to the man about letting demons invade his soul he would have said, “But I’m not trying to!” Sure, his mind wasn’t full of evil, but he had made no effort to fill it with anything once it had been cleaned.

How often do we behave this way about spiritual things? We feel satisfied with ourselves because we “aren’t trying to disobey;” maybe we even boast about it a little bit like the Pharisee praying in the public place. The truth is that “not trying to” requires no effort. It’s easy because it literally involves doing nothing. Unfortunately, nothing produces nothing, leaving a gaping space in our souls empty and unguarded.

My kids have to learn the hard way that “I wasn’t trying to” needs to become “I’m trying to do better.” As children they are focused on what feels good in the moment; they haven’t learned the consequences of nothing, and they haven’t experienced the fulfillment that comes from effort. Those experiences will come in time. For now they have someone to remind them, to guide them through the consequences, to show them how to be productive. As adults we have no excuse. No one else is responsible for our choices. No one else will do our work for us. No one is looking over our shoulder to make sure we take the next step. It’s up to us whether we are empty houses of “not trying to” or filled with the work of God.

Romans 2:4–8 (CSB): Or do you despise the riches of his kindness, restraint, and patience, not recognizing that God’s kindness is intended to lead you to repentance? Because of your hardened and unrepentant heart you are storing up wrath for yourself in the day of wrath, when God’s righteous judgment is revealed. He will repay each one according to his works: eternal life to those who by persistence in doing good seek glory, honor, and immortality; but wrath and anger to those who are self-seeking and disobey the truth while obeying unrighteousness.

The Darkest Valley

https://c0.wallpaperflare.com/preview/457/61/72/cloud-mist-mountain-fog.jpg

When Moses was called to release God’s people from Egyptian servitude, he feared to obey, and the first results of his efforts seemed to justify his fear. Pharaoh was so incensed by the challenge to his perceived authority that he responded with harsh punishment. Beatings, killings, and impossible expectations made the Israelites utterly wretched. Moses, who himself remained untouched, was forced to watch these consequences of standing for God, feel the pain his people endured. In addition, he became a pariah to those God sent him to rescue; the familiarity of slave life, of being treated as inferior or as beasts of burden, was more palatable than the cost of freedom.

What would have happened if Moses had told God His freedom was too hard? Had returned to shepherding in the wilderness and left the Israelites to their familiar drudgery?

Because Moses faithfully walked through the shadow of suffering with his people, eventually even Pharaoh suffered enough from his behavior that he granted freedom, at least temporarily. Like all egomaniacs, however, as those who had been under his thumb stood on the brink of escape, he reached out to trap them again. Once again, Moses had to watch the darkness of evil falling around the people he loved, and endure their panicked blame. It seemed that every action taken in the direction God sent put them all in a deeper valley of hopelessness.

What would have happened if Moses had told the people to give themselves up? If he had decided the assignment was impossible and that life in slavery was better than promises that came with fear?

When Pharaoh’s army had been drowned and the Sea had been crossed, Moses faced the task of leading a nation through cultivated lands populated by military powers who would not share, through wild lands where no food could be found, and through deserts that parched throats without relief. Over and over he watched his charges face death on the path God had chosen for them, wept for their suffering, and endured accusations from people who found dehumanization and subjugation more palatable than scrabbling for their own necessities in freedom.

What would have happened if Moses had bowed in defeat in the desert? If he had decided the hunger and thirat and recriminations were too much to bear and left the Israelites to throw themselves on the mercy of their enemies?

“Even when I go through the darkest valley, I fear no danger, for you are with me;… you prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies…” Psalm 23:4,5

What would happen if, when threatened for following the path God set, we kept walking? What would happen if, when punished for speaking God’s challenge to evil, we kept talking? What would happen if, when hardship and death loomed because we stepped out in faith, we trusted Him to give us life? What would happen if, when in our darkest valleys, we chose to look at the Son?