Acts 5 and Leviticus 10: A Menorah

In Acts 5, we touch on a dramatic story. To grasp it fully, let us begin by reading the end of the previous chapter...

     Now the whole group of those who believed was one in heart and mind. No one would say anything he owned was his own, but they had everything in common. With great power the emissaries were giving witness to the resurrection of the Lord Yeshua, and abundant favor was upon them all. No one among them was needy, for all who were owners of lands or houses would sell them and bring the proceeds and set them at the feet of the emissaries. And the proceeds were distributed according to the need each one had.

     Now Joseph, also called Barnabas by the emissaries (which is translated Son of Encouragement), was a Levite and native of Cyprus. He sold a field that he owned and brought the money and laid it at the feet of the emissaries. 

Acts 5...

     On the other hand, a man named Ananias together with his wife, Sapphira, sold a property. He kept back some of the proceeds, with his wife’s full knowledge, and brought part of it and set it at the feet of the emissaries. But Peter said, “Ananias, why has satan filled your heart to lie to the Holy Spirit and keep back part of the proceeds of the land? While it remained unsold, it was your own, wasn’t it? And after it was sold, wasn’t it at your disposal? How did this deed get into your heart? You haven’t lied to men but to God.” As soon as he heard these words, Ananias fell down and died. Great fear came upon all who heard about it. The young men got up and wrapped him in a shroud, then carried him out and buried him.

     After an interval of about three hours, his wife came in, not knowing what had happened. Peter responded to her, “Tell me if you sold the land for this much.” She said, “Yes, for that much.” Then Peter said to her, “How did you agree to test the Spirit of the Lord? Look, the feet of those who buried your husband are at the door—they will carry you out, too!” Immediately she fell down at his feet and died. When the young men came back in, they found her dead and carried her out and buried her beside her husband. And great fear came over the whole community and all who heard these things. (Acts 4:32-37; 5:1-11 TLV)

As one commentary explains, “So knit together were the hearts of the people that they held all their possessions loosely and willingly shared them with one another, not because they were coerced but because they loved one another. Those who sold land and houses gave of their profits to the apostles, who distributed the gifts to those in need. Two members of this group were Ananias and his wife, Sapphira; they also had sold a field. Part of the profit from their sale was kept back by the couple, and Ananias only laid a part of the money at the apostles’ feet. However, Ananias made a pretense of having given all the proceeds. This show may have fooled some, but not Peter, who was filled with the power of the Spirit. Peter knew instantly that Ananias was lying and exposed his hypocrisy then and there. Ananias fell down and died. When Sapphira showed up, she, too, lied to Peter and to God, saying that they had donated the entire proceeds of the sale of the land to the church. When her lie had been exposed, she also fell down and died at Peter’s feet.

“It can be easy today to gloss over the holiness of God. The sudden deaths of Ananias and Sapphira served to purify and warn the church against future pretense” (Source).

With a firm grip on this story, let’s reach for another story. The story we’ll reach for is set in Leviticus 10. 

There we pick it up: 

     Now Aaron’s sons Nadab and Abihu each took his own censer, put fire in it, laid incense over it, and offered unauthorized fire before Adonai—which He had not commanded them. So fire came out from the presence of Adonai and consumed them. So they died before Adonai. Then Moses said to Aaron, “This is what Adonai spoke of, saying:

      To those who are near Me 

      I will show myself holy.

      Upon the faces of all the people

      I will be glorified.”

      Then Aaron kept silent.

    Then Moses called Mishael and Elzaphan, the sons of Aaron’s uncle Uzziel, and said to them, “Come near, carry your relatives away from the front of the Sanctuary to outside of the camp.” So they drew near and carried them, still in their tunics, outside of the camp, as Moses had said.

Holding these stories side by side, a menorah pattern is formed where one story shines light on the other story. We can see how the two sides have balancing branches connected in symmetry:

Reading Leviticus 10, we must note that Nadab and Abihu must have been very respected individuals within their community. After all, they were the sons of the High Priest. They had dined with God alongside the 70 elders (Exodus 24:9). They had free access into the Tabernacle. They were no small characters, both well on their way to impressive legacies. Nevertheless, when Nadab and Abihu came to offer unauthorized fire––“strange fire”––they were struck down immediately.

Now this is worth some thought. Why exactly were they struck down? One thought is that they simply entered the Holy of Holies without authorization. This reasoning is sound because we read in Leviticus 16, “Then Adonai spoke to Moses after the death of the two sons of Aaron, when they approached the presence of Adonai and died. Adonai said to Moses, “Tell Aaron your brother not to come at just any time into the Holiest Place behind the curtain . . . so that he would not die.” There is another line of thought, though, that asserts Nadab and Abihu were intoxicated when they went into the Tabernacle. This thought also seems valid because right after the event, we read, “Adonai spoke to Aaron saying: ‘Do not drink wine or fermented drink, neither you nor your sons with you, when you go into the Tent of Meeting, so that you do not die’” (Leviticus 10:8-9). It may have been that Nadab and Abihu were drinking, got to talking, thought they had a good idea, decided to bring a spur-of-the-moment incense offering to God, and, well, crossed the line that ended their lives. While both of these readings make sense, I think another reason rings through either way. If I may elaborate...

Envision two mounds of incense on a table in front of you. Both look exactly the same. Both weigh exactly the same. Both come from the same container, and both share the same ingredients. When the mounds of incense are lit on fire, both smell exactly the same. Their fragrance is identical in every way. And yet, when brought before God as an incense offering, one is a sweet smelling aroma in God’s nostrils but the other He finds nauseating. How can this be? What is the difference?

Motive. The motive of the person bringing the offering makes all the difference. If the motive is wrong, the fire of the incense is strange, unauthorized, and unacceptable. But if the motive is pure and done in subservience to God’s Word, then the incense offering is a beautiful gift. This speaks to a principle, which is: intent precedes content, especially in God’s eyes. In the case of Nadab and Abihu, the motive was inappropriate, so their offering was struck down. And because the offering and the offerer are one and the same, the offerers were struck down as well. 

What is incredible is that God has a depth of discernment such that He can discern a difference between two fires. For the common man, fire is fire is fire; fire is all the same. But in God eyes, there is fire and then there is strange fire. He can discern the very essence of the thing. If we look over at Acts 5, it is Peter who exhibits such a depth of discernment. How so? Because Peter has been filled with the Holy Spirit! With God in him, Peter now has the ability to see into the very essence of a thing. He senses the motive behind Ananias and Sapphira’s offering. He smells strange money, as it were. So the offering is struck down along with Ananias and Sapphira themselves. (Because again, the offering and the offerer are one and the same. Notice the two of them fall dead next to their offering at Peter’s feet, hinting at the connection between offering and offerer.)

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch adds another insight. Commenting on Leviticus 10, he writes, “The fact is that when the entire nation was privileged to witness a revelation of God’s closeness, Nadab and Abihu felt the need to make a separate offering of their own. This shows that they were not moved by the true spirit of priesthood. For in Judaism the priests are completely identified with the nation. They have no standing in their own right. The whole essence of the priest is that they stand in the midst of the people, and this accounts for their standing before God. Thus, in their very “drawing near,” Nadab and Abihu were at fault” (Hirsch Chumash, Vayikra, pg. 292).

In Acts 5, we see a community who was privileged to witness a revelation of God’s closeness (at Pentecost). It is noteworthy that Acts 4 specifically mentions a Levite who had brought an offering to the feet of the emissaries which was accepted. The Levite had the means to help others, the desire to serve others, and he did so: he sold his field and gave the money. This is a perfect picture of what a priest does for his community. A priest comes forward and offers himself (in the form of whatever he has) to the community. It’s a position of leadership by service. This Levite in Acts 4 is the ideal representation of what it means to be a priest in God’s community. But then there’s Ananias and Sapphira. These two wanted to be seen as “priests,” as leaders who have surrendered their identity to the community, but then again, they wanted to separate a little bit for themselves. They sought a standing in their own right. Ananias and Sapphira were not moved by the true spirit of giving. By withholding some of the money and then lying about it, they are like Nadab and Abihu who transgressed the code of community. And so, although they were anxious to play the role of priest, their motive violated the very essence of what it means to be a priest.

Since we can’t have a menorah without fire to light it, let’s conclude with one more remark. It says in Leviticus 10 that the fire of God consumed Nadab and Abihu. Well what came upon Peter and the disciples when the Holy Spirit entered into them on Pentecost? Fire. “Tongues like fire spreading out appeared to them and settled on each of them. They were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues as the Spirit enabled them to speak out” (Acts 2:3-4). Notice that Ananias and Sapphira fall dead immediately after Peter speaks to them. The text even calls attention to this as it says, “As soon as Ananias heard these words...” The words were an expression of the Holy Spirit, the One who had empowered Peter’s speech. So again, it is the fire of God that consumes Ananias and Sapphira just as it did Nadab and Abihu. 

To the community of believers, God is saying in no uncertain terms: 

     “To those who are near Me 

     I will show myself holy.

     Upon the faces of all the people

     I will be glorified.”

Genesis 15: The Blood Covenant

Genesis 15 is among the most important chapters in the Bible. I would go so far as to say the whole Bible can be understood in the context of this chapter. This is the chapter where God and Abram come together to make a blood covenant. Now it may seem odd that something so foreign to us as a blood covenant could play such an important role in our most sacred book, but we must get past the foreignness and perceive the subject more deeply. 

Living a nomadic life in Abram’s time, you were largely on your own. Back then there was no life insurance you could purchase, no 911 you could dial, no means of security in the modern sense. Those mechanisms weren’t in place for a nomad living 4000 years ago. So if you (a husband and father) died unexpectedly, what was to happen to your wives, your young children, your flocks and your herds? How would you insure their protection if something happened to you? 

This is where blood covenants came into play. Historically speaking, blood covenants were practiced in Israel, Saudi Arabia, Egypt, even among the Indians in North America. Blood covenants are still practiced in some regions of the Middle East. Here, for example, you can read the account of a intelligent native Syrian who saw one consummated in a village at the base of the mountains of Lebanon.

What is a blood covenant? Essentially, if two men develop a meaningful friendship, Person A (call him William) might want to enter into a blood covenant with Person B (call him Johnson). If Johnson agrees, the two men enter into such a pact. The pact becomes a lifelong binding contract, one of insurance and protection for both parties. Upon the death of William, Johnson promises to take care of William’s wives, children, and property. Upon the death of Johnson, William pledges to do the same for Johnson’s family and property. The covenant works on this basis: If I die, YOU will take care of what is mine. If I am murdered, you will track down my killer and take vengeance in my name. And if something happens to you, I will do the same in return.

When you study Semitic blood covenants, the details may differ depending on the account. Some components of the ritual may be invoked while other components are left out. Sometimes all of the components will be included. The people of that time understood what was taking place without having to involve every detail. For our purposes, let’s highlight every feature found in a Semitic blood covenant, the kind Abraham and his contemporaries knew well. 

Witnesses 

The covenant was done in the presence of witnesses. The two covenant makers would call together their families, neighbors, and friends to witness the transaction. This meant preparations had to be made ahead of time.

Two Copies Made and Worn                                                                                               

Two identical copies of the covenant were written and read aloud. Both copies were signed in blood by each party. The copies were then sealed and put into packets or amulets. Going forward, the amulets would be worn around the neck or the arm of each party. 

Halving the Animal(s)

The men would take an animal(s)––usually something large like an ox––and they would cut it down the middle, from head to toe. They would then take the two halves of the animal and lay those pieces on the ground opposite each other. The two men would walk shoulder to shoulder between the two halves. This showed they were united by one blood. 

A Cut Made to Exchange Blood                                 

The men would each make a cut in the right forearm, hand, or wrist. They might put their forearms together, joining the cuts and allowing their blood to flow together. The wound would be maintained to create a heavy scar, a permanent mark to indicate a blood covenant relationship. This afforded some protection because if a stranger had malicious intent, the stranger would see the scar and wonder, Who’s got his back? Who’s this guy in covenant with? The thought is, If I rob or kill this guy, he has a goel––a “kinsman redeemer”––who will come after me?

Exchange of Names                                                                                                  

The two men would exchange names. They would take part of one man’s name and give it to the other. So if William and Johnson enter into a blood covenant, William might be known afterward as Williamson. Whatever the combination, the two names would be merged somehow.

Exchange of Property

Property would be exchanged. Often some armor or a sword would be traded. If the men owned land, they would exchange some of their land. If the men were nomadic, they would exchange a portion of their flocks. 

Exchange of Sons 

If each party had a young son, occasionally the men would go so far as to exchange their sons, such that William would raise Johnson’s son as his own, and Johnson would raise William’s son as his own. This practice promised to bring their families together long term. 

The Covenant Meal

The men, their families, and the witnesses would eat a covenant meal in celebration of the promises made.

                                                                                                      

These are the features of an ancient Semitic blood covenant. Taken together, they provide some historical and cultural context with which to understand the events in Genesis 15. What transpires in that chapter is no less than earth-shaking. Think about it––the God of the universe enters into a blood covenant with a mere mortal! 

It should blow your mind as much as it did Abram’s. Abram wouldn’t dream of such a thing in a million years! That God would establish a blood covenant with him––something so audacious would never cross his mind. How is that even possible? Because remember, the basis of a blood covenant is: If I die, you will take care of my family, but if you die, I will take care of yours. The thing is, God is eternal! He will never die. So a covenant like this one would seem very one-sided. Abram has everything to gain; God has nothing to gain. Again, Abram wouldn’t think to suggest such a thing.          

But incredibly, God does. He initiates it! He is the one who approaches Abram! 

Just imagine what goes through Abram’s mind when God says, “Take some animals, cut them in half, and lay the pieces out opposite each other.” I picture Abram doing a double-take at the sky. “Hold up––say what?!” Abram is taken back. But he does as he is asked: he takes the animals, cuts them in half, and lays them out. What happens next? God meets His friend there as promised.

“It came about when the sun had set, that it was very dark, and behold, there appeared a smoking oven and a flaming torch which passed between these pieces.” At the moment this happens, Abram is caught in a tardemah––a deep sleep––and he sees God in the form of a smoking oven and a flaming torch pass between the pieces. Abram doesn’t pass between the pieces; only God does. 

Why does only God pass between the pieces? 

God seems to be saying, “Abram, I’m not going to die, so this covenant will be eternal. However you are going to die, so there’s no way you can honor the terms as I will. There’s no way you can walk shoulder to shoulder with Me. Therefore I alone will pass between these pieces. I make this pledge to you: as long as I am alive, I will take care of your children––forever, and ever, and ever.”

Why does God assume the form of a smoking oven and a flaming torch? Well what is it that these have in common? Fire. Our God is a consuming fire. But going a step further, the purpose of a torch is to give light. The purpose of a smoking oven is to give heat. God is showing us two aspects of Himself, two qualities of the covenant. Abram’s descendants––those natural born and those grafted in––will know the defining light of God’s Glory, and they will experience the refining heat of His Holiness. There’s no escaping it; it’s the nature of the One we are in covenant relationship with. 

We are told, “On that day the Lord karath a covenant with Abram.” God cut a covenant with Abram, and it is here, in a way, that the Bible starts. What we find over the course of history are the components of a Semitic blood covenant:

            

Witnesses:

According to two witnesses a matter shall stand (Deuteronomy 19:15). So where are the witnesses of this covenant? Who will testify to what God swore to Abram? Deuteronomy 30:19 tells us. God calls heaven and earth to act as witnesses. They beheld the blood covenant, so they will testify.

Two copies are made and worn: 

God commands Abram’s descendants to “set these words of Mine in your heart and in your soul. You are to bind them as a sign on your hand, and as frontlets between your eyes” (Deuteronomy 11:18). God commands His leaders to “write for [themselves] a copy of this law on a scroll in the presence of the priests” (Deuteronomy 17:18). What are they writing? What are they wearing? Their own copy of the covenant, so to speak.  

Halving the Animal(s)

Abram brings three choice-animals in the prime of their life (a cow, a goat, and a ram). He cuts them in half and lays their pieces opposite each other. Abram also brings two birds, but the birds are not cut. Genesis 15:11 adds this detail: “Then birds of prey came down upon the carcasses, but Abram drove them away.” These unkosher birds of prey represent the enemy (Matthew 13:19) trying to disrupt and defile the process, trying to pick away at what is sacred. Abram drives the enemy away.

A Cut is Made / An Exchange of Blood:

When God calls Abram to be circumcised, no doubt Abram relates it to the blood covenant. The cut is not what surprises him. The location of the cut is what surprises him. It is not in a public place (like the forearm), but in a private, intimate place. [Why circumcision?] Such is the nature of this covenant; its evidence is found in a private, intimate place. “The LORD your God will circumcise your hearts and the hearts of your descendants, so that you may love him with all your heart and with all your soul, and live” (Deuteronomy 30:6). The male organ is certainly private and intimate, but there is nothing more private and intimate than your heart. 

The Exchange of Names:

The covenant changes everything. Abram becomes Abraham, and Sarai becomes Sarah. Now we know that God’s personal name (as revealed to Moses at the burning bush) consists of four Hebrew letters: yod, hei, vav, hei. The letter hei is used twice; it makes the “H” sound. In keeping with the covenant, God adds the letter hei to Abram’s name, making it AbraHam, and the letter hei to Sarai’s name, making it SaraH. In other words, God gives them half His own Name! 

Here’s what it looks like in Hebrew (reading from right to left):

The Exchange of Property:

God says in Genesis 15:18, “To your descendants I give this land, from the Wadi of Egypt to the great river, the Euphrates...” It is here, as part of the covenant, that God gives Abraham some of His land. He also gives Abraham’s family a sword, and some armor. 

The Exchange of Sons:

When God tells Abraham to alah Isaac as an olah, Abraham understands it in terms of a Semitic blood covenant. Since these covenants could involve an exchange of sons, Abraham assumes this is what God is referring to. So he complies. But we know the story: a substitute dies in Isaac’s place. 

A quick side note: God asks for Abraham’s only son. But doesn’t he have two sons––Isaac and Ishmael? Actually, no. Abraham has only one son: Isaac. Abram had had Ishmael, but Abraham has had Isaac. The distinction is important. It speaks to the truth that, when Abram entered into the blood covenant, the covenant changed his very essence. He became a new man altogether (another reason why God changed his name, to reflect a change in his person like Jesus did for Peter). So when God asks Abraham for his only son, there is only one son that Abraham has, and that is Isaac.   

We return to the subject at hand. As we know, God surrenders His only Son to Abraham’s family, and God’s Son is brought up on Abraham’s land. God’s Son says in John 8:56, “Your father Abraham rejoiced to see My day; he saw it and was glad.” This means Abraham foresaw the day God would give His Son to Abraham’s family. I think the foresight derived from Abraham’s understanding of the blood covenant. When God asked to be given Isaac, Abraham knew then that that component of the blood covenant would be involved, and that God would someday give His Son to Abraham according to the terms of exchange.

The Covenant Meal

In Genesis 15, we see the blood covenant being made between God and Abraham. But where do we find the covenant meal? We read about it in Isaiah 25:6-8:

On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples

a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wine,

of rich food full of marrow, of aged wine well refined.

And he will swallow up on this mountain

the covering that is cast over all peoples,

the veil that is spread over all nations.

He will swallow up death forever;

and the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces,

and the reproach of his people he will take away from all the earth,

for the Lord has spoken.

It is here that we find Abraham’s family, friends, and neighbors gathering together to partake in the meal of a lifetime, a celebration of the promises made. Isaiah goes on to write in the very next verse: “It will be said in that day: ‘Behold, this is our God, We waited for Him—He will save us. This is Adonai—we waited for Him. We will rejoice and be glad in His salvation.” It’s like Jesus said, “Abraham rejoiced to see My day; he saw it and was glad.” What a covenant meal this will be! When we all sit down to rejoice and be glad in God’s Yeshua! The Yeshua given to us in accordance to the blood covenant God made with Abraham some 4000 years ago.  

Adonai, You are my God, I will exalt You,

I will praise Your Name,

for You have done wonderful things,

plans of old with steadfast faithfulness.
(Isaiah 25:1)

Abram, Sarai, Hagar...and Addiction?

The Psalmist says, “One thing God has spoken, two things I have heard” (Psalm 62:11). This verse comes to mind as I read the story of Abram, Sarai, and Hagar. Their story is the historical account of real people who overcame real struggle. But at a different frequency, I hear a powerful lesson about addiction. It is as if two stories are being told at the same time. If we may pick it up in Genesis 16... 

We read, “Now Sarai, Abram’s wife, had not borne him children. But she had an Egyptian slave-girl—her name was Hagar. So Sarai said to Abram, ‘Look now, Adonai has prevented me from having children. Go, please, to my slave-girl. Perhaps I’ll get a son by her.’ Abram listened to Sarai’s voice” (Genesis 16:1-2 TLV).

Notice God’s Word doesn’t say, “Abram listened to Sarai.” Instead it says, “Abram listened to Sarai’s voice.” This is one of our first hints that Sarai (at this point in the story) is analogous to the voice of addiction. Here she represents that voice you hear in your head which promises control over your circumstances, a sort of shortcut to happiness if only you manipulate the situation a little. She’s that voice which starts a ball to rolling, a ball that becomes very difficult to stop. In the story, Sarai wants children. To her, children represent happiness and security. But she says, “Behold, God has prevented me from having children.” I hear in this statement qualities of hopelessness and ungratefulness. These two feelings together are a deadly combination, as they can incubate a new addiction in your life. The hopelessness causes frustration and reckless impatience. The ungratefulness makes you feel like you’re missing out on something. So Sarai speaks up; she has a solution to the problem...

Hagar. Hagar represents the addiction in your life (whatever your addiction may be, if you have one). Hagar is a means through which happiness and security are “easily and readily” obtained. And of course, when it comes to any addiction, the ends justify the means. At least, at first.

So Sarai’s voice draws Abram’s attention to Hagar. Sarai says to him, “Please, go into my slave-girl [Hagar].  Perhaps I’ll get a son by her.” Here we find several insights into addition. For one, Hagar is available. The voice of addiction looks to what is available in order to get what it wants. Secondly, Hagar is from Egypt. In the Torah, Egypt is a picture of this world; it’s a place of slavery. Hagar is a product of this place. She represents what the world can provide you. Although she is called the slave-girl in this particular translation, I prefer to call her the bond-woman because I like that it carries a double meaning. You see, Abram is about to bind himself to the bond-woman. He will tie himself to her, and over time, he will find it difficult to break his bond with her. Even when their relationship becomes destructive to his family and to his future, still he will struggle to cut his ties to Hagar. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Notice a third insight here: Sarai calls Hagar her slave-girl. In other words, Sarai is certain she has control over Hagar. And in this way the voice of addiction will speak to you. When it recommends something, the voice of addiction speaks as though the matter is totally under control. The voice reasons to you, saying, “Here’s this thing. Take it. Have it. Why not? It’s under control, and you deserve it.” Note, not once does Sarai mention a single negative consequence. She sells a purely positive outcome––a win-win situation. So Abram listens to the voice of Sarai, and he binds himself to the bond-woman from Egypt.  

What happens next? Hagar becomes pregnant with Abram’s child, and we learn that Hagar begins to belittle Sarai (Genesis 16:4). Here’s the dilemma that’s arisen: Hagar now has something with Abram that Sarai doesn’t have a share in. Abram and Hagar have a world together outside of Sarai. And this hurts her; it angers her. What’s developed is a kind of situation that addiction creates within your marriage. You begin to cherish a relationship outside of your spouse. Your addiction gives you something that your spouse cannot seem to provide. And so your spouse begins to feel more and more like an outsider. More and more like the third wheel to you and your addiction. Understandably, jealousy and resentment surface, and the integrity of your marriage suffers. If your marriage is important to you, clearly you must surrender the addiction. But then, why is it so hard to give up?

Let’s consider what it means to be bound to something. It’s interesting to hear how addicts talk about their particular addiction in a support-group setting. They speak of it as “a best friend.” After all, this addiction has helped them through thick and thin. They’ve turned to it every time they needed help, and this thing was there for them, ready to help. It didn’t judge them. It accepted them with open arms, and it supplied the pick-me-up they needed. So then later, when addicts eventually labor to give up the addiction, they feel as though they are losing a best friend. Meanwhile, the folks around them may say, “give it up!” or “just quit already!” But you see, those people are not bound to this thing like the addict is. To those people it’s just a substance or an unnecessary behavior. But to the addict, it’s a best friend with whom they’ve shared many private moments. It goes that in any close relationship, one’s own identity becomes intwined with the other party. It’s unclear where one ends and the other begins. The relationship becomes part of one’s self-construction, and to lose that connection is to lose an understanding of oneself. In the context of addiction, a person doesn’t know where the person ends and the addict begins. The addiction helps them understand who they are. 

Hagar helped Abram understand who he was! He was made to be a father, and Hagar was the first to help him access that part of himself. And yet, the plan goes wrong. Abram’s wife sees that the fruits of that relationship are damaging the family. She comes to him and pleads, “Give her up!” “Put her out!” “She’s got to go!” Now this is easy for her to say because she is not bound to the bond-woman! She has no real attachment to Hagar! But Sarai is naive to think Abram could spend that kind of time with the bond-woman and not become deeply bound to her. The truth is with anything you allow to continue in your life for a period of time, there is a bond that develops between you and it, and the deeper the bond, the more difficult it is to break. To Sarai, Hagar is no more than an Egyptian slave. But Sarai hasn’t heard Hagar lay up at night and talk about her childhood, about her dreams and fears. Sarai hasn’t wiped Hagar’s forehead when she was nauseated in the morning, nor has she fallen asleep in Hagar’s arms. But Abram has. And every day Abram spends with the bond-woman, he is more and more bound to her. 

Here’s the funny thing about being bound to something: you don’t realize how tied up you are until you get ready to push away. You don’t know how addicted you’ve become until you try to quit. So here God challenges Abram. God says to him, your wife is right. Harken to the voice of your wife. Give up Hagar.

What?! Abram is hearing this and thinking, But my wife is the reason I’m in this predicament! If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have this problem! ...And now you want me to listen to her?

Abram finds himself in a situation where he’s so bound to Hagar that every time his wife brings up the situation, he gets mad. As far as he’s concerned, his wife doesn’t understand. You see, he and Sarai used to have a problem: they couldn’t have a child together. But now the problem is over because, by this time, Isaac has been born. So the initial problem between Sarai and Abram has been resolved. And yet Abram is still bound to the thing that he resorted to when the chips were down and things didn’t make sense. Does this sound familiar to you? 

It happens that difficult situations can create attachments, and sometimes those attachments out-survive the situation. The attachment was intended to help you through a season, but now the season is over and the attachment remains. This is addiction, pure and simple. And it’s what Abram is going through. But Sarai, his wife, has had enough. It is time for Abram to choose. 

My knowledge of addiction comes from firsthand experience. Addiction is about control. An addict has control issues. The addiction is a source of control. Ironically, in this very area, an addict has the least amount of control. Looking back at my own life, I’ve tied myself to an addiction––the underlying purpose being to control my feelings, to “handle” my circumstances. At first I did it to get high, but then I did it to avoid the low. In my pursuit of control, I increasingly lost control. I wounded myself and my family. Eventually my wife said enough is enough. I had to choose.

I am reminded of Jesus when He said, “Those who cling to their life will lose it, but those who let it go for My sake will gain it.” I feel like He’s looking square in the eyes of an addict as He says this. Again, addicts cling to their addiction as a source of control, but by that very act, they lose control. It’s not until they let it go and faithfully put their satisfaction in God that self-control is actually gained. Having lived through this struggle, I will say: putting out the addiction was no easier for me than it was for Abram to banish Hagar and Ishmael from his home. That action is not easy. Indeed, it feels like the loss of a best friend. 

But it’s for the best. Abram did it; he overcame the attachment. There for a while, he had Ishmael and Isaac growing up together in the same household. He had his mistake and his miracle maturing side by side. He couldn’t give up either one. He loved them both and he did everything he could to make it work. But then his mistake began to mock his miracle. At that point, it had to stop. It could go on no longer. So Abram put an end to it. 

When the fruits of your addiction begin to mock your fruit with the Lord, you’ve made a wrong turn somewhere. You have to go back to the beginning and do as Abram did. Send your addiction away. Listen to your spouse and drive it out! It may seem like a best friend, and it may seem displeasing to cut ties, but the attachment was never meant to be part of your household. You were called to leave Egypt, not to bring Egypt with you. Again, don’t let your mistake mock your walk with the Lord. Give it up because God has something great in store for you. 

One last thing. God could have stepped in and eliminated Hagar from Abram’s life. God could have made Hagar disappear with the snap of His fingers. But guess what? He didn’t. Instead, He waited for Abram to do it for himself! 

The Woman at the Well

Jesus and His disciples are making their way from Judea to Galilee, a 70 mile journey. Along the way, they come to a Samaritan town called Shechem (also known as Sychar, or modern day Nablus). Weary from His travels, Jesus sits down beside an old well while His disciples continue on into town to buy food. Jesus is resting His head when a lone woman approaches to draw water. Alone they engage in conversation. John (the writer documenting their interaction) is not there to witness what is said, so only later does John learn what transpired at the well that day. 

The well has a history of its own. It was put down by Jacob himself likely when he “camped right in front of the city” (Genesis 33:18), hence it is called “Jacob’s Well.” It sits at the foot of Mount Gerizim, yet another important landmark. Atop this mountain, the Samaritans had once constructed a temple for worship (sometime between 400-500 BC). By the time Jesus speaks to the woman at the well, the Samaritan temple no longer exists, it having been destroyed by the Jews more than a hundred years earlier. But Mount Gerizim remains the backdrop with Shechem off in the near distance. (Pictured below is Jacob’s Well with Mount Gerizim behind it.)

The town of Shechem is an important character in the story, because it has a part in the conversation between Jesus and the woman. Shechem is a place where innocence is lost. To see this, we have to trace the well back to its beginning. The displaced mud dug out from the ground is still fresh when we encounter an event that we wish we could forget. We read about it in Genesis 33-34. The story surrounds Dinah, Jacob’s daughter. Dinah goes into Shechem by herself, and there she is raped. She is defiled in Shechem by no less than Shechem himself (the prince from whom the town gets its namesake). Shechem seizes her, lays with her, and humiliates her. He keeps her captive in his house until her brothers come and rescue her (34:26). But they cannot undo the damage: her innocence has been stripped away. Actually, her brothers worsen the damage: Simeon and Levi act violently in their zealousness to rescue her, a moment that will come back to haunt them. Later, when Jacob is handing down the blessing of the firstborn, the scepter passes over Simeon and Levi because of their actions at Shechem (49:5-7). So we see that not only is innocence lost at Shechem, inheritance is also lost. Great shame befalls the entire family in this place, shame that will have lasting affects.

The woman at the well is no stranger to shame. Ideally water is drawn in the morning or in the evening when the heat of the day has subsided. But this woman is drawing water from the well by herself in the heat of the day. It is because, in her small town, she is known for her less-than-ideal reputation! Her neighbors are well aware of her past. They know she’s been around. She’s had five husbands, and now she lives with a man who is not her husband. She is a woman without innocence, without inheritance, without nobility or respect. The water jar she carries to the well every day might as well hold the dishonor that she’s become so acquainted with. Not only is she an outcast among her people, her people are outcasts among the surrounding nation. As she mentions, Jews have no dealings with Samaritans like her. So the woman is utterly hopeless: she is an outcast among the outcasts, a true outsider. (It is fitting this story at the well takes place outside.) As Jesus looks into her parched heart, He senses her thirst to come inside again. 

We flashback to when things first went wrong. We visit a time when Adam and Eve are naked, yet they feel no shame (Genesis 2:25). But then the woman eats the forbidden fruit. She passes it to the man and he follows along. Consequently, they lose their innocence, their eyes are opened, and they realize they are naked. Confronted by a new sensation (shame), they make themselves loincloths. God wants more for them, so He clothes them with “coats of skin” (kat’not or). Here we make an important distinction between a loincloth and a garment. A loincloth merely covers what is shameful to expose, but clothes fulfill a more noble purpose. Clothes serve to reveal the person inside. Consider a classic example: the holy veil, the garment that God rips in two when His Son dies (akin to Jacob in Genesis 37:34). Upon the veil are embroidered cherubim. Behind the veil (on the Ark of the Covenant) are cherubim. So the veil conceals what is behind it, yet it reveals what is behind it. This is the function of a garment. It conceals the person, but it reveals the personality, the value and character within. Bookmark this thought as we make another observation.

The Torah says that when man’s eyes are opened, they realize they are naked. How can we explain such a sudden realization? How can their nakedness go unrealized until this moment? The secret may lie in the opening chapter of Genesis. We see there something of interest: there is light on Day 1, yet the sun isn’t created until Day 4. The light of Day 1 predates the sun itself. Light before the sun? How can this be? Simply put, there are different kinds of light! The light of Day 1 is spiritual in nature. The light of Day 4 is physical in nature. Before the fall, in the perfection of the Garden, the eyes of man could perceive spiritual light as plainly as he could see physical light. In fact, there’s an idea in Judaism that the former light emanated from Adam and Eve themselves. If you looked at man in his original state, through his radiance you might be able to make out the wispy outline of a body. (I am reminded of Jesus at His transfiguration, or Moses after coming down from God’s Presence at Sinai, the skin of his face shining.) Today it is exactly the opposite: today you see only the body, and maybe, just maybe, you catch a glimpse of light exuding from the face of a joyful person. But in Eden, the light was primary, brilliant and beautiful. It acted as a garment, covering their nakedness but expressing the holiness within. This isn’t such a radical idea since Adam and Eve were created in God’s image and likeness, and we’re told in Psalm 104:2 that “The LORD wraps Himself with light as with a garment.”

Coincidentally, the Hebrew word for “light” and the Hebrew word for “skin” are homophones. They are pronounced exactly the same way, similar to the words “role” and “roll” in English, or “rays” and “raise.” In Hebrew, light is אור (pronounced or) and skin is עור (also pronounced or). To play on this, it’s like when Adam and Eve’s eyes are opened by the forbidden fruit, their eyes are simultaneously shut to the spiritual light they once perceived. When the holy or disappears, the fleshly or abruptly comes into view. In an instant, they realize they are naked. How humiliating! How diminished! 

Standing there in their loincloths, we can only assume that Adam and Eve watch on as God tailors them a garment made of animal skin. It is here, in this moment, that they witness something they will never forget: the first physical death ever to occur, that of an innocent animal. It’s a sacrificial death dealt for man’s sake, performed by God’s hand as He prepares humanity for a life beyond Eden. It tells a profound truth: that there is one death even in the Garden. 

Wearing their animal garments, Adam and Eve exit the premises. A sword comes down behind them, a sword that guards the way to the Tree of Life. It’s official: their actions have separated them from their inheritance, from the Garden that God wanted to pass down to them. Innocence lost, inheritance lost, they make their way into an alien world. As the years go on, there is no doubt that Eve, especially, feels extraordinary guilt for causing this chain of events to take place. Her husband tries to console her, insisting “Hey I ate it too! It’s not your fault!” Although appreciated, Adam’s words are not enough to relieve the burden that bears down on Eve. She carries it with her for the rest of her life like she carries that garment wherever they travel. Decades later, she can’t bring herself to wear it anymore because it reminds her of what she did, yet she can’t throw it away because God Himself made it for her. It is special, and yet it comes to represent the guilt she struggles to get away from. So what does she do? She keeps it folded up, hidden away in a place that only Adam knows about. 

The woman at the well is a continuation of this story. She is Eve in a sense. Jesus sees Eve in her wounded disposition. He calls her “Woman” because He is speaking to the woman. At some level, it is here that God finally gets to do what He has been waiting thousands of years to do. He finally gets to sit down with Eve––the woman––and speak to her privately, one on one. Beneath the spoken words, He tells her, You have not lost your place with Me. You have not lost your inheritance. You can still worship Me, access Me, commune with Me––not in the Garden, but in spirit and truth. Forget the mountains; forget the temples. It’s not a place you need. It’s a Person. It’s Me, the One who has come outside to sit beside you. Look at Me! I’m tired and thirsty, but I’m out here, out here with you! I love you, and I brought you something. I think you’ll recognize it. It’s a gift from the Garden...

The gift He gives her is living water! Jesus speaks of it not as a well but as a fountain. He says, “If you knew the gift of God ... He would have given you living water ... water that will become a fountain of water within [you], springing up to eternal life!” 

Observe the water system in the Garden of Eden. It is unlike today’s water cycle which operates as follows: it rains, the rain collects to form rivers, rivers empty out into oceans. But in the Garden, water does not come down as rain (Genesis 2:5). And yet, Genesis 2:10 says that a river flows out of Eden. It says nothing about a river flowing into Eden; it says only that a river flows out of Eden! Pray tell, if there is no rain, what is the river’s source? What feeds the river? The mist? Mist supplies each plant with exactly the amount of water it needs––no more, no less––a feature that’s indicative of the perfection of the Garden. So again, we ask, where does the river come from? Although the precise truth remains a mystery, I would contend that the river comes from a natural spring located somewhere inside the Garden. Spring water, welling up to the surface, forms the river that flows forth from Eden, a river with so much excess water that it divides into four separate rivers (Genesis 2:10-14). Yes, as far as I am concerned, Eden’s river is fed by a fountain within itself! 

From the beginning in Genesis, we jump to the end. In Revelation 21 the New Jerusalem is revealed, dignified as a bride adorned for her husband. God wipes away the tears and the pain. The curse is no more. The shame is overcome. The rescue is complete. And the One seated on the Throne is surrounded by a multitude wearing white robes, robes that conceal but reveal what is within: purity, royalty, richness, forgiveness. Together the multitude embodies Isaiah 61:10: “I will greatly rejoice in the LORD; my soul shall exalt in my God, for He has clothed me with the garments of Yeshua (salvation); He has covered me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom dresses himself like a priest with a beautiful headdress, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels!” These robes are made white by the blood of an innocent One––the Lamb. This time the sacrificial death prepares man not for an exit but for an entrance, an entrance into the City of God with its Tree of Life (Revelation 22:14). The One on the Throne declares, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will freely give from the spring of the water of life. The one who overcomes shall inherit these things...” 

Living water from a spring! Freely given––a gift from God! An inheritance to those who overcome! It’s every element Jesus shares with the woman at the well. It’s a return to the Garden of Eden. As it is said in the Bible’s closing chapter, “The angel showed me a river of the water of life––bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb...” (Revelation 22:1-2a). I suspect this river is an outpouring of the spring of life that wells up beneath God’s Throne. The water of life nourishes the Tree of Life, a tree that is planted by the waters (Psalm 1:3 / Proverbs 11:30). This final scene in Revelation portrays the Garden’s remarkable cultivation. It seems that Eden has been seeded with so many mansions that it’s blossomed into a city! Cast in the light of creation’s first day (Revelation 21:23), the city will glow with its streets of transparent gold, its foundations of jasper and onyx, its gates of pearl and water as bright as crystal. Can you imagine it?

We cut back to the well: it’s midday and we’re on the dusty outskirts of Shechem. You can hear the wind rolling off Mount Gerizim in the background. There’s a lonely woman drawing water quietly when Jesus splits the silence. She turns her head in surprise. He smiles, and she notices that He looks at her as if He has known her for a long time. She cannot explain it. She does not know what He sees in her. 

In her He sees Eve, alone in a tent looking down at an old garment. He sees Dinah, a prisoner at Shechem, ashamed and separated from her father. He sees His own Bride, burdened and isolated, thirsty for living water. He wants her to take in the life of the Garden––if only she will ask Him for a drink. She has to exchange what she has for what He has. And she does, as she comes to realize who He is and what He knows, where He’s from and what He promises. Whereas Dinah was saved physically, this woman is saved spiritually. Whereas Dinah was returned to Jacob in shame, this woman is restored to Israel in faith. The man she meets at the well is her Messiah. He knows everything there is to know about her, and yet still He wants to be with her. His words are light, and His light is tailored to her soul. Soon she doesn’t want Him to stop talking to her. 

When the disciples return with food, they are amazed to see how Jesus is speaking with this Samaritan stranger. The two of them talk as though they are old friends reconnecting after some distance. The disciples don’t interrupt. They don’t ask her anything; they don’t ask Him anything. When she finally stands and looks at them, she doesn’t cower away from these Jewish men, because she is one of them now––a disciple of Christ, and in Christ, there is neither man nor woman, Jew nor Samaritan. There are only those set to inherit the kingdom of God. Leaving her bucket at His feet, she goes on to invite all of Shechem to come and meet the man they will soon call Savior. She speaks of the very thing she used to avoid––her past––and she holds it up without reluctance. “Come!” she says to the town, “and meet a man who told me everything I’ve ever done.” A number of men in the village exchange glances, thinking, “Everything she’s ever done?” She feels a stab of shame, but then she overcomes it. She overcomes it because she has changed. The change is so drastic that the townspeople hardly recognize the woman. What has changed? Her garment! God has given her a new coat of or––or of a different kind. When they look at her now, they see light. They see the spirit and truth of the Garden. They sense living water welling up out of her, and they are captivated. When I picture it, I picture Eve herself bounding into the village wearing a brand new, creaseless coat of or. Hemmed in by light, she is dazzling. She is holding up something for everyone to see. It’s the garment that she used to hide. She is pointing to it now, laughing. It looks different in the light. 

Indeed, the woman at the well is part of a much larger storyline. She is part of the New Jerusalem, a bride dignified and adorned. It is there, under the shade of a mighty tree beside bright waters, that I anticipate meeting her someday. Like John, I will ask her to tell me the story of her encounter with Jesus on the day He changed her life, on the afternoon she and Shechem drank from Eden.

Is This Some Kind of Joke?

Genesis 22: The Binding of Isaac

God said, “Take now your son, your only son, whom you love, Isaac, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains of which I will tell you.” (Genesis 22:2)

This is one of the most confounding statements in the entire Bible. How can it be that God tells Abraham to sacrifice his son? Isn’t that human sacrifice? Is God actually asking for something that contradicts His nature? Is this some kind of cruel joke?? 

Consider the absurdity. Imagine God tells you, “I want you to steal that iPhone from Walmart.” Then just as you’re about to leave the store with the iPhone in your pocket, He says “Okay stop.” Or imagine God tells you, “I want you to commit adultery.” Then just as you’re about to cheat on your spouse, God says, “Okay stop.” These examples demonstrate the absurdity because God wouldn’t send you on an errand that contradicts His nature. And yet, to ask for a human sacrifice contradicts His nature because He is very much opposed to the sin of human sacrifice. Moreover, what a cruel thing to do! To call for something and then, at the last moment, step in and retract it. To put this lightly: what in the world is going on here?

Well please note, our translations accurately translate the Hebrew in Genesis 22:2. But here’s the thing: the Hebrew itself reveals another level. As it’s been said, reading a translation of the Bible is like kissing a woman through a veil: it’s very close, but more intimacy is still waiting for you. And indeed, the original language gives away a more intimate truth. The truth is, in Genesis 22:2, God does not say what our translations say.

To understand just exactly what God did say, we first need to look at two other Hebrew words God could have used...                                                                                                            

First, the Hebrew word “zebach” is the word meaning to slaughter for sacrifice. This is where we get the word “shochet,” one who ritually slaughters animals. God did not tell Abraham to go and zabach Isaac. He did not say slaughter your son for sacrifice.

Second, the word “korban” is the word for a burnt offering. God did not tell Abraham to make Isaac a korban. Korban is likely where we get our English word “carbon,” because after making a burnt offering (a korban), all you have left is carbon. God did not tell Abraham to go and make his son a korban. 

So what does God tell Abraham to do to Isaac? He says to Abraham, “Take then your son, your only son, whom you love, Isaac, and go to the land of Moriah, and alah him there for an olah upon one of the mountains of which I will tell you.”

“...alah him there...” Alah in Hebrew means “to go up,” “to ascend,” “to cause to ascend.” 

“...for an olah...” Olah in Hebrew means “that which ascends,” or “that which goes up.”  

Now it’s tricky because a burnt offering is called an olah, like when Noah got off the ark and made an olah to God of every clean animal and bird on the altar he erected. But understand, the focus of a burnt offering is the going-up-ness of it, and it’s only by fire that something is made to go up. Olah is like the noun version of the verb alah. It’s a going-up! It’s that which ascends! So for instance, to make aliyah is to go up to Jerusalem for a pilgrimage feast, or in synagogue you aliyah to the bimah to read from the Torah. Someone who makes aliyah is called an oleh (m. singular) or an olah (f. singular) because they go up. You can see the words are connected at their root.

Now when God tells Abraham to cause to ascend his son Isaac as a going-up, what does this mean in the ears of Abraham? Of course, it means to offer Isaac as a burnt offering like he would an animal! That’s how a man on earth causes a going-up to ascend to God above. Abraham understands the language well, or at least he thinks he does. However, he doesn’t take into account there’s a deeper truth hidden in the language that God has yet to reveal! And it’s a profound truth too, something you and I may take for granted having the Old and New Testament already laid down for us. 

That truth is this: that a person can alah to God as an olah WITHOUT physically dying on the altar. By way of a substitute, the person can die and yet live on as a living sacrifice––as a person who has ascended to God but continues on in the world below. What a radical concept! Isaac in fact died on the altar that day, yet he climbed off the altar that day. He went on living as an olah. 

How can this be? A substitute died in his place.

May we appreciate the beauty and wisdom of God’s language to Abraham. He doesn’t tell Abraham to slaughter his son for sacrifice, or to burn his son. It’s more like He says, Abraham, I want you to bring him up to Me. I want him to go up, to become that which ascends. God then leaves it at that. He adds no more.

Again, God does not want Isaac to die physically. That is never the real request! Such a request would contradict His nature. But here is something you and I can relate to: Abraham interprets God’s Word through the filter of his own paradigm. And in Abraham’s paradigm, to make Isaac “go up” means to kill him on the altar and then set him ablaze. So Abraham prepares to do just that. He prepares to make his son go up by fire. He doesn’t know otherwise.

But he misunderstands the request. 

...And God lets him misunderstand.

What?! Have I lost my hinges? What am I saying? That God would let a man act in light of a misunderstanding? Certainly God would care enough to clarify! Certainly God would not let matters of life and death transpire based on a misinterpretation! ...Right?

“And Jesus answered them, saying ‘Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days’” (John 2:19).

This is the misunderstanding that instigates the Son’s death (Matthew 26:61). His Jewish contemporaries failed to realize what Jesus was talking about. They heard it in the context of their own understanding. But Jesus was not referring to the Temple in Jerusalem. He was referring to Himself! Yet not once did Jesus correct them; not once did God clarify what He meant. He let them misunderstand.

The misunderstanding was critical to the end game.

The misunderstanding led to a break through to deeper understanding.

This is worth some thought. When Abraham went to act on a misunderstanding––a misunderstanding created by the limits of paradigm, a misunderstanding that would’ve resulted in the death of Abraham’s son––God graciously held back the knife. God introduced to the world the concept of a living sacrifice. He brought forth a substitute to die in place of. Then later, when Abraham’s descendants went to act on a misunderstanding––a misunderstanding created by the limits of paradigm, a misunderstanding that would result in the death of His Son––God let it happen. Death was not withheld.  
                                                                                                     

...But why?

Because the misunderstanding led to a break through to deeper understanding. You and I can now live on as living sacrifices, as His Son became the substitute who died in our place. Had it not been for the misunderstanding, none of this would have been realized.

Remember that verse, Genesis 22:2? “God said, ‘Take now your son, your only son, whom you love, Isaac, and go to the land of Moriah, and alah him there as an olah on one of the mountains of which I will tell you.” That word translated as “son” is the word ben in Hebrew, a word that can also be translated as people (of a nation). So in a sense, God says to Abraham, “Take now your people, your only nation, whom you love...and offer there an olah.” You see, within Isaac, all of Israel was represented. All of Israel was bound on that altar. And then all of Israel climbed off that altar, when the substitute God provided died in place of his ben, his “people,” a people who alah to God as those who go up yet remain fully alive down here on earth. 

May we, the sons and daughters of Abraham––grafted in or natural born––praise Him, the Father and the Son, the Substitute, the In Place Of!

Genesis 1: Round 2

I call this Genesis 1 Round 2 because we encounter the process of Genesis 1 reemerge in Exodus at the Red Sea Crossing. To set the stage, Genesis 1 begins with the ruach of God hovering over the waters in the darkness. (Ruach is translated as Spirit, but it also means wind.) In the story of the Red Sea Crossing, we read that the Lord drove the sea back by a strong east wind all night. So again, we see the ruach moving over the waters in the darkness. Now in Genesis, here is the progression: 

Day 1: separation of light from darkness

Day 2: waters are separated with sky in between

Day 3: appearance of dry land from water

Day 4: governing bodies introduced (sun, moon, stars)

Day 5: life below and life above; the tanniym are mentioned specifically 

Day 6: mankind is created

Day 7: Sabbath  

These stages map the process by which God brings about a new creation. It is appropriate that we find these stages in the story of the Red Sea Crossing, since that event marks the beginning of the Jewish nation as a free people. The first three stages are hinted at as follows:

In Exodus 14:19-20, the Angel of God moves between the Israelites and the Egyptians. We see here a separation of light and darkness (literally and metaphorically).  

In Exodus 14:21, we see the waters are divided with sky in between.  

In Exodus 14:21-22, we see the sea giving way to dry land. 

The fourth stage of creation introduces governing bodies (ie. the sun, moon, and stars which govern the earth and its movement; they orient the earth to know its position; they rule over it in certain aspects). We find this theme occurring in the Exodus account as well, and right on schedule. In Exodus 14:31, we read: “When Israel saw the great work that Adonai did over the Egyptians, the people feared Adonai, and they believed in Adonai and in His servant Moses.” It’s like at this moment Moses is officially recognized as a governing body. We’re told that “Moses led Israel onward from the Sea of Reeds” (Ex. 15:22). Contrast this to earlier, when “God led the people to the Sea of Reeds” (Ex. 13:18). Clearly, something happens at the Sea of Reeds: Moses officially becomes a governing body. This is reminiscent of the story of creation: at first the light of God is the only light that exists, but then on Day 4, a physical vessel––the sun––takes on that role. Now here in Exodus, at first God leads the people to the Sea of Reeds, but then a physical vessel––Moses––leads them onward. The very next chapter, Exodus 15, begins: “Then Moses and the sons of Israel sang this song to Adonai...” If the parallel holds, Moses (and Miriam for that matter) come into play as governing bodies, paralleling that of the sun and moon on Day 4. 

On Day 5 of creation, we see activity below (in the sea) and activity above (in the air).  The refrain that begins and ends the song of the Sea is, “I will sing to Adonai, for He is highly exalted!  (above)  The horse and its rider He has thrown into the sea.”  (below)  Day 5 of creation specifically mentions a type of creature called the tanniym.  Some translations translate tanniym as “great whales” or “great sea creatures.”  Elsewhere in the Bible, it is translated as “dragons” or “monsters” or “serpents.”  But significantly, the very next place the tanniym are mentioned is in Exodus 7, in the showdown between Moses and Pharaoh.  Aaron throws his staff down and it becomes a tanniym.  Pharaoh then commands his magicians to throw down their staffs, and they too become tanniym!  And we all know what happens next: Aaron’s staff swallows up their staffs.  The point is, the tanniym point to a battle between good and evil, a showdown in which good wins and evil loses.  When we read through the Song of the Sea, this is exactly what we find!  Good against evil, and the Lord triumphs over His adversaries.   

After the Song of the Sea, we read about the bitter waters of Marah being made sweet. For a moment, though, skip this and jump over to the very next chapter, Exodus 16. Exodus 16 is the chapter about Sabbath! So sandwiched between the Song of the Sea and Sabbath, what do we find? A short description of a unique event, when the bitter waters of Marah were made sweet. If we’re lining this up with the process described in Genesis 1, the bitter waters of Marah would connect to the sixth stage of creation.  The bitter waters of Marah would serve as a kind of commentary on Day 6. 

In this portion of the story, the Israelites journey for three days before they come upon an oasis in the desert. This oasis is good, but there’s an issue. In its current state, the waters can’t be enjoyed completely. God responds by doing something which seems odd: He shows Moses a tree. Moses then puts this tree into the water. Once the tree is introduced to the water, the experience of the water becomes sweet. The people can then savor the water and enjoy it completely.  

Man is symbolized by a tree. The Garden of Eden is symbolized by Marah; after all, the Garden of Eden was an oasis of nourishment and life in a vast area of dry land (dry land being made three days before Day 6). Following the parallel: when God places man in the Garden, the Garden becomes “sweet” to Him. As if to say, the Garden without man was missing something. Its chemistry needed something more from above. So God made man and put him in the Garden (Genesis 2:8). Once man was introduced to the mix, the oasis was made complete. God could enjoy it fully. What God then tells them in Exodus 15:26 parallels what God tells man on Day 6 (found in Genesis 2:16-17). 

We then read: “Then they came to Elim, where there were twelve springs of water and seventy palm trees. So they camped there by the waters.” I like to think this is a picture of what humanity “came to.” As in, the 12 tribes of Israel / the 12 disciples of Jesus flowing outward and feeding the 70 nations. It’s like a wide lens view of the creation of man on Day 6. 

Then of course you flip the page and encounter the chapter where God teaches the Israelites about Sabbath. Amazing! Definitely something to think about. 

The Tree of Life

Genesis 3 is the fall of man. You know the story well: the serpent enters the Garden and launches his attack on Adam and Eve. The scene unfolds in the middle of the Garden in the shade of the Tree of Knowledge. After the serpent uses his lips to deceive them, Adam and Eve take and eat the forbidden fruit. Later, when they hear God approaching, they hide from Him. God’s first words to sinful man are, “Where are you?” God then confronts them about what they did. Adam and Eve still hide, in that Adam points his finger at Eve, and Eve points her finger at the serpent. But their excuses cannot change the outcome: they are evicted from the Garden. God stations two cherubim on the east perimeter; the cherubim have a sword, and they are commissioned to guard the way to the Tree of Life.

Keep these details in mind as we jump forward many pages in the Bible.

Landing at the end of Exodus, we find that God wants to dwell among His people as He did in the Garden. He commands Moses to build a tabernacle. The tabernacle is a mobile home, so to speak. As the Israelites journey through the wilderness, the tabernacle is disassembled, transported, then reassembled at the next stop. When reassembled, the Levites are careful to orient the Tabernacle in the same direction every time: the Holy of Holies always toward the west, and the entrance/exit always toward the east. This is no small issue, because approaching the Holy of Holies is tantamount to returning to the Garden of Eden.

Imagine yourself approaching the Holy of Holies. Moving westward, you would eventually come up to the veil which divides the Holy Place from the Holy of Holies. Embroidered on the veil are cherubim (Exodus 36:35). You can venture no further than these cherubim. The cherubim mark a boundary line that you cannot cross. But you know that behind these cherubim, God’s immediate presence rests on the ark of the covenant, a continuum of Day 7 in the Garden of Eden. Now the ark of the covenant has two poles attached to it. In Hebrew, the poles are not called poles, though. The Torah calls them atzey––“trees” (Exodus 25:13). In other words, behind the cherubim are two trees. The trees are in the middle of the Holy of Holies like the two trees were in the middle of the Garden of Eden.

Again, you are not allowed to enter this space. The embroidered cherubim which tower over you block your passage. The same goes for everyone else as well. No one is allowed to enter. That is, but for one exception: the High Priest alone, on one day a year (Yom Kippur). On this chosen day, this chosen man may enter, but when he does, he does so with great fear and trepidation. Every motivation must be pure, every action perfect. There is no room for error; his very life depends on it. Therefore he stays up all night beforehand to ready himself, check himself, make sure he doesn’t misstep or forget one detail in a long sequence of duties. He feels the weight of the moment: God is here allowing him and only him to venture around the cherubim and enter into the perfection of the Garden of Eden. If his actions or motivations are less than perfect, the sheer holiness of God will consume his life (as happened to two very respected individuals in Leviticus 10). But if the High Priest does exactly as God commands, he is able to enter the Garden, atone for his people, then escape with his life.

In these short, tense moments on Yom Kippur, a very fallen humanity comes as close as it can get to the immediate presence of a perfectly holy God. But amazingly, the story isn’t over yet. God’s rescue mission is about to be realized.

We jump forward to the New Testament. I would like to point out that the word “garden” (kepos in Greek, with various conjugations) is used only 6 times in all 27 books. Five of those occurrences are found in the last few chapters of John. This should catch our attention. If John includes a detail, not only is it historically accurate, it is spiritually significant. When the word “garden” is used, at some level John is tracing a connection to the original garden, the Garden of Eden. Notice where we find the word “garden” in his Gospel:

John 18:1: When he had finished praying, Jesus left with his disciples and crossed the Kidron Valley. On the other side there was a garden, and he and his disciples went into it.

John 18:26: One of the high priest’s servants, a relative of the man whose ear Peter had cut off, challenged Peter, “Didn’t I see you with him in the garden?” Peter denied it, and at that moment a rooster began to crow.

John 19:41: At the place where Jesus was crucified, there was a garden, and in the garden a new tomb, in which no one had ever been laid.

John 20:15: Jesus asked her, “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?” Thinking he was the garden-keeper, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.”

In sum, we find that: Jesus is betrayed in a garden; Peter hides from what he did in a garden; Jesus is crucified in a garden; Jesus is buried in a garden; His resurrection is in a garden.

Each of these events is tied to Genesis 3. John isn’t making the connection as much as he is marveling at what God has done. Let us do the same. We’ll see that everything Jesus does in a garden is a correction to that which took place in the original Garden.

What unfolds in the Garden of Gethsemane is an encounter between good and evil. Recall, back in Genesis 3, who entered the Garden? Who came to attack? The serpent. Now reading in John, who comes into the garden? Judas does. And it says earlier that Satan had entered into him (Luke 22:3). So the old serpent is back! The serpent who betrayed Adam and Eve with his lips will now, through Judas, betray the Son of Man with his lips (a kiss). We read that Judas guides a detachment of soldiers into the garden. Imagine a sort of mob falling in line behind Judas as they travel up the winding path into the garden. Looking down at them from above, the mob even resembles a snake with Judas at the head!

As these men approach Jesus, what does Peter do? Well, since Jesus embodies the Tree of Life, of course Peter pulls out a sword! A sword to guard the way to the Tree of Life. But here, Jesus’ instruction to Peter is profound. He tells Peter to put the sword away. This is a picture of God commanding the cherubim to lay down the sword. The Tree of Life, you see, is making itself available to man.  

But there is an issue: the right ear of the high priest’s servant has been severed. Jesus, stepping into action, heals the man. It’s a picture of how God is undoing the damage that’s been done. He is healing the separation. It’s meaningful, too, that the injured man would have served in the Temple (him being the high priest’s servant). According to Leviticus 21:18, any physical deformity disqualifies a person from serving in the Temple. Having lost his ear, this man had effectively lost his position. But when Jesus heals the wound––when He undoes the separation––the man’s privileges are restored. Again he can serve in the Sanctuary. It’s a picture of how God is returning man to the Garden. He is picking up the fallenness of the right side and restoring what was once lost.

We next encounter the word garden when Peter is confronted. The person who confronts Peter is a relative of the man whose ear Peter had struck. This person says to Peter, “Didn’t I see you with Jesus in the garden?” Behind the question, the person is thinking, “Wait, isn’t this the guy who injured my relative?” Peter responds by denying his actions: “No that wasn’t me!” Basically Peter hides from what he did in the garden, reminiscent of the way Adam and Eve hid from what they did in the Garden. If you remember the story, Adam and Eve felt shame and had to go outside the Garden. It’s interesting that Luke tells us Peter “went outside and wept.” No doubt his tears were tears of shame.

We see that Jesus is crucified and buried in a garden. When he is buried, He is put into the earth (which is cursed). When he is crucified, He wears a crown of thorns (thorns being part of the curse). The night beforehand, He sweats blood (sweat also being part of the curse). Through each of these, Jesus is bearing the curse of Genesis 3.  We read that when Jesus is crucified, the veil in the Temple is torn from top to bottom. Remember that cherubim are embroidered on the veil. So when the veil rips in two, the cherubim embroidered on the veil separate. Symbolically God is commanding the cherubim to step aside. Through Jesus’ death, God is tearing open a way for man to reenter the Garden.

We must recall why man was evicted from the Garden in the first place. Because of sin, yes. But more exactly, it was because man, in his fallen state, could stretch out his hand and eat from the Tree of Life and live forever (Genesis 3:22). Of course, living forever sounds ideal at surface value! But living forever in a fallen state is to be forever caught in a diminished version of reality. It keeps us from sharing in the intimacy that God desires to have with us. So what does God do? He separates man from the Tree of Life so that man will die. Death is the doorway through which man can shed his fallenness and reenter into God’s Presence. In this sense, death is a gift! It is our portal away from the curse.

But a problem remains. If man dies, death takes him! Death robs him away from God who is Life. So incredibly, God takes the matter into His own hands. God goes through the doorway Himself. He claims authority on the other side. He then steps back on this side and says, “Alright, it’s safe now. Go through the doorway and I will take you; death will not.”

Returning from the other side, Jesus is resurrected in a garden. In fact, this is the final occurrence of the word garden in the New Testament. Mary thinks He is the garden-keeper when she encounters Him. He says to Mary, “Woman...” This is meaningful, because in a deeper sense, He is talking to “woman”––as in––Eve, the woman. He says, “Why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?”

Think back to God’s first words to fallen man: “Where are you?” At the time, God was searching for man. But now, thousands of years later, the question Jesus asks is, “Who is it you are looking for?” My how the tables have turned! At first God was searching for man, but now man is searching for God. What does Mary say? She asks Him for directions. She wants to know His whereabouts.

Again, we see that everything Jesus does in a garden is a correction to what took place in the original Garden. Through Jesus, the way to the Tree of Life is open––first spiritually, then physically. If we jump to the very last chapter of the Bible, Revelation 22, we find that God’s rescue mission is a success. It proclaims, “Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne. . .through the middle of the street of the city; also, on either side of the river, the Tree of Life with its twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit each month. . .No longer will there be any curse, but the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him. . .the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever (Revelation 22:1-5 ESV). The Tree of Life is so large that it spans the width of the river! Such that the tree can be accessed on either riverbank. Verse 14 adds, “Blessed are those who wash their robes, so that they may have the right to the Tree of Life and that they may enter the city by the gates.” 

To have the right to the Tree of Life, with what do you wash your robes? With the water from the river of life? Good guess, but no! Rather, you wash your robes in the blood of the Lamb! (See Revelation 7:13-17.) And this is key: it is His death that affords you the right to the Tree of Life. Death is a portal away from the curse, yes, but it’s His death! You must enter in through His death to access the Garden and marvel at what it has become: a Garden with many mansions! So many mansions that it’s become a city, a city with streets paved of gold and children splashing in water as bright as crystal.