Tabernacles

Passage: Leviticus 23:33-44

For eight of the first nine years of my married life I was a student. My wife and I lived on part-time salaries and paid tuition bills. Our reality was one of austerity.
Lean times and hard times teach us lessons. Lessons about how to survive; lessons about how to trust; lessons about how to find abundant joy in the absence of abundance. When times of abundance return, it pays to hold on to reminders. Reminders of the lean times and the lessons learned therein.

The defining era in the life of God’s people is their journey from Egypt to the Promised Land. A lean time to end all lean times. During this journey the Israelites travel without extra provisions in a dry and inhospitable wilderness. The stuff of sustenance is scarce. They are fed bread that literally falls from heaven; water that is squeezed from stones by the hand of God. The relief of emerging into a land of lush greenery, of lakes and streams, is unfathomable.

And yet who can fathom the wonder of seeing one’s daily bread appear on the ground every morning; water burst forth from the rock at just the moment when it seems all is lost? The very presence of God rendered in fire and cloud? What would you give up to experience these miracles?

God gives his people the gift of the wilderness. And then, lest they forget, God gives them an annual reminder. A festival. For one week every year God’s people return to the tents that sheltered them all those cold nights in the desert. For that week they sleep on the hard ground. They offer up to God the bounty of their land: grain and livestock, fruit and foliage. For that week they remember their precious journey out of slavery into freedom. Out of hunger and into satiety. In the Festival of Tabernacles – tents – they once again celebrate the sustaining generosity and abundance not of their new land, but of the God who brought them there. The God who protects and provides for his people in every time and every place, throughout every moment of their journeys.

Heaven on Earth

Passage: Exodus 39:32-43

The Israelites are in the middle of a long trek from Egypt to the Promised Land. Their surroundings are spare and bleak – it’s the wilderness. In this setting God gives his people explicit directions for the construction of a “meeting place”; a space that serves the exclusive purpose of communion with God. God accounts for every last detail – down to the fringes of the garments worn by his attendants. God goes to great lengths to describe each furnishing; gives strict instructions about who may and who may not serve in this meeting place. The bulk of four full chapters of Exodus are devoted to God’s plans for the Tabernacle.

Most contemporary readers either skip these chapters, skim them quickly, or read them only to scratch their heads when they’ve finished reading. Why the detail? What does it matter how they built the Tabernacle? Doesn’t it suffice to say “it was pretty fancy”, and move on?

We easily miss the point of these passages. God’s intended purpose for the Tabernacle is to provide an approximation of heaven on earth. Worshipers who enter the Tabernacle have the experience of stepping into a different world. Think about the attention to detail that goes into the creation of a place like Disney World. Everything from the brick in the walkways to the costumes of the attendants to the music on the PA system to the food in the restaurants is designed to transport the visitor. Everything from paint selection to personnel selection serves this purpose. When you step through the front gates, you’re stepping into a different world.

The one thing God communicates to his people repeatedly is that they belong to a different world. The inconceivable contrast between the wilderness and the interior of the tabernacle points to the inconceivable contrast between heaven and earth. God says, “This is where you belong; this is the way it was meant to be. Hold out for better.”

God goes on to tell his people to mirror the contrast between outside world and Tabernacle/Temple in their behavior in the world. In the same way that the interior of the Tabernacle symbolizes the perfection of heaven, the life of God’s people reflects something of the goodness of heaven. This goodness is expressed in generosity; compassion for the weak and marginalized; care for the poor; affirmation of every member of society. The society of the Israelites stands in stark contrast to that of their neighbors. It is God’s intent that when the nations of the world look at the Israelites, they catch a glimpse of heaven on earth.
This is God’s intention for the church, too. The authors of the New Testament remind the church repeatedly that they have taken over the role of the temple. By their conduct, their service, and their worship, Christians everywhere give the world a picture of heaven. In 1 Corinthians 6 Paul says,
Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God?
In 1 Peter 2, Peter tells the church,
But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.

Jesus Christ calls his followers to model the new way of the Kingdom of God. This new way stands in stark contrast to the way of a world preoccupied with self-protection, financial success, physical beauty, and military strength. The new way is characterized by self-sacrifice, compassion, mercy, and generosity. The job of the church is not to stamp out and condemn sin; our job is to model, here and now, life in the Kingdom of God. Heaven on earth. This is what people experience when they meet us and spend time with us. This is what we offer when we welcome people into the fellowship of our homes and our places of worship. As a "city on a hill", we are a beacon of light that attracts any who are tired of the darkness of a world bound in sin. We belong to a different Kingdom. We represent God's offer of transport from the bleakness of the wilderness to the beauty of heaven.

Speaking of (dis)Comfort

In Love Wins, Rob Bell describes the near-death experience a congregant once recounted to him. The man was working to repair a roof inside a massive industrial building. The cherry picker the man was standing on tipped, pinning him to the wall, simultaneously preventing him from a deadly fall while also crushing him. As he lost consciousness, the man had the experience of being bathed in a warm light. The stuff of your typical near-death experience. The exception is this: instead of being comforted by the light, his instinctive response was to say repeatedly, “I’m so sorry; I’m so sorry; I’m so sorry…”

In chapter five of Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis reiterates that one of our greatest clues that the universe is created and governed by a personal being is our awareness first that there is an objective right way to live, and second that we don’t follow it. Lewis then argues that as we grow in our awareness of this personal being we become increasingly uneasy. The divide between how we ought to live and how we actually live becomes increasingly significant. Our initial response to this being isn’t comfort; it’s discomfort. There are wrongs for which we are accountable and for which we can’t compensate. As such, says Lewis,

"Of course, I quite agree that the Christian religion is, in the long run, a thing of unspeakable comfort. But it does not begin in comfort; it begins in the dismay I have been describing, and it is no use at all trying to go on to that comfort without first going through that dismay. In religion, as in war and everything else, comfort is the one thing you cannot get by looking for it. If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end: if you look for comfort you will not get either comfort or truth— only soft soap and wishful thinking to begin with and, in the end, despair."

The Christian faith offers something that is, in the end, the only possible comfort. But to get there, one has to be made uncomfortable enough to go looking for the person at the heart of the Christian faith. This is, in turn, the very argument that introduces the Heidelberg Catechism. Many within our church tradition know the answer to the Catechism’s first question:

What is your only comfort in life and in death?
That I belong, body and soul, in life and in death, to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ.

The authors Catechism follow this up immediately with: “The first thing I need to know in order to live and die in the joy of this comfort is…how great my sin and misery are!”

To Lewis’ point, if you go to Christianity looking for comfort, you’re going to be disappointed. That is unless the comfort you’re looking for is relief from the discomfort of recognizing the fundamental incongruity of your being. There is a way you should be – in your relationships; in your business dealings; in your attitudes; in your treatment of self and others. And you have not been that way. Lewis says, “Christianity tells people to repent and promises them forgiveness. It therefore has nothing (as far as I know) to say to people who do not know they have done anything to repent of and who do not feel that they need any forgiveness.” Jesus puts it this way: “The healthy do not need a doctor; the sick do. I haven’t come for the ‘righteous’; I’m here for sinners.” Not for the comfortable, but for the uncomfortable. The proper first response to the Person who governs the universe? I'm sorry...

Highly Regarded

Passage: Exodus 11:1-9

Exodus 7-12 covers the story of the Ten Plagues. The gist of the story is this: the children of Israel are toiling as slaves in Egypt. God sees their plight, and determines to rescue them. God appoints Moses to be his spokesperson, and sends him to convince the king of Egypt (Pharaoh) to let his free labor force go. Pharaoh’s not keen on the idea, but Moses becomes more convincing when God unleashes devastating plagues (water turned to blood, hailstones the size of baseballs, Amityville-style swarms of locusts, flies, and gnats. You get the picture). After each plague Moses returns to Pharaoh and says, “Okay, God’s offering one more chance. Let my people go.” Each time Pharaoh refuses.

Right before the final plague, we’re told this:
Now the LORD had said to Moses, “I will bring one more plague on Pharaoh and on Egypt. After that, he will let you go from here, and when he does, he will drive you out completely. Tell the people that men and women alike are to ask their neighbors for articles of silver and gold.”
The author then adds this footnote:
(The LORD made the Egyptians favorably disposed toward the people, and Moses himself was highly regarded in Egypt by Pharaoh’s officials and by the people.)

Wait. What? Moses and the Israelites, whose presents has meant nothing but tribulation and misery – this Moses and the Israelites are highly regarded by the Egyptians? What’s that about?
By this point in the story, it’s obvious that the only reason God hasn’t eased up on Egypt is Pharaoh’s “hard-heartedness.” All Pharaoh has to do is dismiss the Israelites. God has told him nine times. Nine times Pharaoh has refused, and nine times God has rained calamity upon his nation. This is obvious to us, the readers; it’s obvious to Moses and the Israelites; apparently it’s obvious to Pharaoh’s own people. What’s also obvious to the Egyptians is that the LORD is the one true God, and Moses is the LORD’s representative. This is why they are favorably disposed to the Israelites; why, when the Israelites ask their neighbors for silver and gold, they’re showered with it. Because the Egyptians see it clearly, and hope that their favorable disposition might cause God to respond favorably toward them.

Throughout the Old Testament, we see God evoking two responses in people. Either they revolt against God’s power and authority, digging in their heels and resisting God with all their might. Or they rightly recognize God as the ultimate power, and bow the knee. All who resist break themselves to pieces against the inexorable onslaught of God’s Kingdom. Those who bow the knee experience God's grace. The Egyptians regard Moses and the Israelites favorably because they have recognized the hand of the one true God.

But then we have to assume that there is also something about the way Moses and the Israelites carry themselves that wins the hearts of their neighbors. Had they sneered in the face of the Egyptians’ suffering, or lorded it over them, it’s hard to imagine the Egyptians being "favorably disposed". Had God’s people instead conducted themselves with humility and even understanding or compassion, the positive response of their neighbors would make more sense.
When displays of God’s power become evident in our world, how do God’s people respond? Do we turn to the victims of economic crisis, natural disaster, war, and terrorist attacks and say, “That’s what God does to sinners?” Or do we conduct ourselves with humility and compassion? Are we “highly regarded” by our neighbors? What could we do to change that?

Basic Instinct

C.S. Lewis follows up the first chapter of Mere Christianity by addressing potential objections. In particular, those who might say that the innate moral sensibility Lewis talks about in chapter one is in fact simply the “herd instinct.” In other words, what people identify as the moral impulse is just another instinct honed over generations to increase the chances of human survival. By way of a defense, Lewis cites instances in which a person has to choose between two conflicting instincts:

Supposing you hear a cry for help from a man in danger. You will probably feel two desires—one a desire to give help (due to your herd instinct), the other a desire to keep out of danger (due to the instinct for self-preservation). But you will find inside you, in addition to these two impulses, a third thing which tells you that you ought to follow the impulse to help, and suppress the impulse to run away. Now this thing that judges between two instincts, that decides which should be encouraged, cannot itself be either of them. You might as well say that the sheet of music which tells you, at a given moment, to play one note on the piano and not another, is itself one of the notes on the keyboard. The Moral Law tells us the tune we have to play: our instincts are merely the keys.

Lewis goes on to argue that at any given time a person may be under the influence of multiple conflicting instincts. That no one of these instincts is “good” or “bad” in itself. But that each is appropriate under certain circumstances. The mechanism, in turn, by which people choose one instinct over another cannot, itself, be another instinct.
It’s this mechanism that sets humans apart from other creatures as unique. Lewis observes that this mechanism often leads people to respond, when two instincts are in conflict, to the weaker instinct. As such this mechanism points to a set of governing principles for human behavior that is beyond simple survival.

In addition to maintaining the trajectory of his initial argument, Lewis establishes two other important points in this chapter. First, he affirms each human appetite and impulse. Whereas each has the potential to express itself at an inconvenient time or in an inappropriate way; none is, in itself, corrupt or “sinful” (to use religious terminology). Second, Lewis identifies the folly in allowing any one instinct to take absolute precedence. He puts it this way:

There are also occasions on which a mother's love for her own children or a man's love for his own country have to be suppressed or they will lead to unfairness towards other people's children or countries. Strictly speaking, there are no such things as good and bad impulses. Think once again of a piano. It has not got two kinds of notes on it, the "right" notes and the "wrong" ones. Every single note is right at one time and wrong at another. The Moral Law is not any one instinct or any set of instincts: it is something which makes a kind of tune (the tune we call goodness or right conduct) by directing the instincts.

By the way, this point is of great practical consequence. The most dangerous thing you can do is to take any one impulse of your own nature and set it up as the thing you ought to follow at all costs. There is not one of them which will not make us into devils if we set it up as an absolute guide. You might think love of humanity in general was safe, but it is not. If you leave out justice you will find yourself breaking agreements and faking evidence in trials "for the sake of humanity," and become in the end a cruel and treacherous man.

Referring again to Romans 1, Paul identifies this tendency in those who overindulge their physical appetites. He asserts that the way God punishes people is by “giving them over” to become slaves to these appetites. When one single ambition, desire, or pleasure becomes a person’s driving force, it proves to be an unforgiving and unrelenting master. We are not creatures of instinct. We’ve been given the unique capacity to judge between, and even keep in check, our needs and appetites. An almost godlike capacity to choose. Where could that have come from?

Right and Wrong

In the first chapter of Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis launches into a discourse on right and wrong. The first building block in his treatise on the Christian faith is the argument that an objective morality is interwoven throughout the fabric of the world. Lewis points out that the very people who argue that there is no objective morality are often the first to cry “foul” when someone treats them unfairly. Lewis goes on to assert that there are certain tenets of decent conduct that are almost universal – that are replicated across cultures and throughout history. He concludes,

These, then, are the two points I wanted to make. First, that human beings, all over the earth, have this curious idea that they ought to behave in a certain way, and cannot really get rid of it. Secondly, that they do not in fact behave in that way. They know the Law of Nature; they break it. These two facts are the foundation of all clear thinking about ourselves and the universe we live in.

It’s worth noting that as he sets the stage for the Gospel of Jesus Christ in the Book of Romans, the Apostle Paul makes almost the same argument. He says,

The wrath of God is being revealed from heaven against all the godlessness and wickedness of people, who suppress the truth by their wickedness, since what may be known about God is plain to them, because God has made it plain to them. For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse. For although they knew God, they neither glorified him as God nor gave thanks to him, but their thinking became futile and their foolish hearts were darkened.
(Romans 1:18-21)

Do we have an innate sense of what’s right and what’s wrong? If so, what happens to it over the course of our lives? What factors either deaden or quicken this sense? And why, if we know the right, do we choose the wrong? These are questions Lewis probes in the next few chapters.

Good Christians

In the preface to Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis talks about the way terms like “Christian” lose meaning over time. Lewis argues that "Christian" has become an adjective used to indicate a person’s moral quality. His observation rings true today – in our culture, “Christian” connotes goodness. To call someone a “Christian” is to say that he or she is a good, or moral, person. To suggest a person isn’t a Christian is perceived as a critique of his or her character. Accordingly, “Christian” is a designation that has been attached to different issues, parties, and candidates as a way of making political agendas palatable to certain segments of our culture.
Lewis points out that these usages strip the term “Christian” of its true meaning. He says,

People ask: "Who are you, to lay down who is, and who is not a Christian?" or "May not many a man who cannot believe these doctrines be far more truly a Christian, far closer to the spirit of Christ, than some who do?" Now this objection is in one sense very right, very charitable, very spiritual, very sensitive. It has every amiable quality except that of being useful.

In this introduction to his treatise on the basics of the Christian faith – or “mere Christianity” in his words – Lewis advocates for a return to the term’s original meaning. An understanding of “Christian” that has less to do with an internal set of beliefs or values, and more to do with a faith that translates into an embodied way of life. Lewis concludes,

We must therefore stick to the original, obvious meaning. The name Christians was first given at Antioch (Acts xi. 26) to "the disciples," to those who accepted the teaching of the apostles. There is no question of its being restricted to those who profited by that teaching as much as they should have. There is no question of its being extended to those who in some refined, spiritual, inward fashion were "far closer to the spirit of Christ" than the less satisfactory of the disciples. The point is not a theological, or moral one. It is only a question of using words so that we can all understand what is being said. When a man who accepts the Christian doctrine lives unworthily of it, it is much clearer to say he is a bad Christian than to say he is not a Christian.

The question of whether or not a person is a Christian is one that has to be answered, first and foremost, by the individual. Do you know who Jesus is? Do you know what he taught? Have you counted the costs of following him? And do you still want to follow? These are the questions that CS Lewis explores in ensuing chapters. And these are the questions we have to answer before we can legitimately claim the designation.