May 20 – 27

Friday, May 20

Exodus 19: The Book of Exodus, having treated of Israel’s deliverance, now speaks of Israel’s election and the Covenant. Over the next six chapters two sections will emerge as especially prominent—the Decalogue (20:1-17) and the Book of the Covenant (20:22—23:19), the latter containing a detailed, practical application of the rules of the Covenant.

The things narrated in these chapters are not naked events, but events that received theological and liturgical elaboration reflected in the narrative. It is arguable that Israel devoted more attention to these events than to any other in its history.

The people have now arrived at Mount Sinai, where the rest of the Book of Exodus, and all of the Book of Leviticus, will take place. Indeed, the Israelites will not move from Sinai until Numbers 10:33.

The stories begin with Moses’ scaling of Mount Sinai (verse 3), still known among the local Arabs as Jebel Musa. This peak, 7467 feet high, can be climbed in under two hours. When Moses ascends to speak with God, the people wait below at the base of the mountain, the plain of er-Raha (verses 2,17).

God’s election of Israel (verses 5-6) is an invitation to become His chosen people, an invitation that marks Israel’s history until the end of the world, because God will never reject the descendents of those with whom He made Covenant at Mount Sinai (cf. Romans 11:1). What God proposes, however, is only an invitation, requiring Israel’s ratification of His choice and the resolve to abide by its conditions and strictures (verses 7-8). Moses mediates this Covenant (verses 9,25).

The people of God are to be a “royal priesthood, a holy nation” (verse 6). Both the kingship and the priesthood of the Old Testament are prophetic preparations fulfilled in Jesus. Like Melchizedek of old, Jesus Christ is both king and priest (cf. Hebrews 7:1-3). Moreover, because of their awareness of sharing in the royal and priestly dignity and ministries of the risen Jesus, the early Christians were prompt to see this Exodus promise as fulfilled in the Church (cf. 1 Peter 2:9; Revelation 1:6; 5:10; 20:6).

The subsequent terrifying scene on Mount Sinai (verses 9-25 and 20:18-20) is contrasted with the invitation to Christians to “draw near” to God (Hebrews 12:18-24). The theme of a bold “drawing near to” or “approaching” the divine presence is an important one in the Epistle to the Hebrews, serving as part of its sustained contrast of Christ with Moses (cf. Hebrews 4:16; 7:19; 10:1,22).

Saturday, May 21

Exodus 20: We come now to the Decalogue, or Ten Commandments, a code the Bible contains in two forms: the one here and the other in Deuteronomy 5:6-21. Unlike the earlier legal codes of ancient civilizations, the Decalogue uses the apodictic form, simply stating the laws, not explaining them. Thus, each component is treated as an absolute principle.

Inasmuch as the latter part of the Decalogue contains elements from Natural Law (the right to life, the right to property, etc.), it is not surprising that these have their parallels in other ancient legal codes.

More to the point, however, is the entirely new theological foundation, on which all the elements of the Decalogue are based—namely, God’s self-revelation in the first commandment: “You shall have no other gods in My stead” (verse 3). This commandment is not the “first” simply in the sense of being the earliest in the sequence. It is not as though the order within the Decalogue could be switched around, so that it might begin with the prohibition of murder, say, or the injunction of the Sabbath. This lex prima is not prima inter pares.

The first of the Ten Commandments is the first, rather, in the sense that it is the source and fountainhead of the other nine. The commandments are not equal, and the first is formally different from the others. Its priority, that is to say, is not just material but qualitative. Its “firstness” pertains to its essence, not merely to its assigned place in the Decalogue’s sequential disposition. It is not only first, but the first.

The first commandment of God’s Law is analogous to the way that the number “one” is the first of the numbers. “One” is not simply the numeral that precedes “two”; “one” is, rather, the number out of which, and by reason of which, that second number comes. “One” is the cause and necessary condition of “two” and all the subsequent numbers. “One” is logically one, then, before it is first. “One” becomes “first” only by the emergence of a second.

One (to hen) is the root and font determining the identity of two and the subsequent numbers. “One” is what we call a principle, an arche. The principle of something is that which confers its qualitative and identifying form. In this sense, there is a formal, and not merely material, disparity between the “one” and all other numbers.

Analogously, the first commandment of the Decalogue is the arche, the principle of the other commandments. Perhaps this truth will be clearer if we examine that commandment in its entirety: “I am the Lord your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. You shall have no other gods in My stead.”

Unlike the other commandments, this first commandment commences with God’s self-identification; only then does there follow the immediate prohibition against idolatry. Three things must be said about the auto-identification of God in this commandment:

First, it places the Ten Commandments firmly in the context of God’s revelation. This fact needs to be asserted explicitly, because of a widespread idea that the Decalogue is simply an expression of Natural Law. It isn’t. While it is true that there are a number of material equivalents between certain components of the Decalogue and certain dictates of Natural Law (those governing murder and theft, for instance), there is a formal difference between them. In the case of the Decalogue, each of the commandments is rooted in God’s self-revelation within specific biblical history—Mount Sinai. The Ten Commandments are essentially revelatory. They are all extensions of “I am the Lord your God.” This is why we call them the “Decalogue,” or “ten words” (deka logoi). This Septuagint usage corresponds exactly to the Hebrew expression ‘aseret haddevarim, which is common in the Old Testament (e.g., Deuteronomy 10:4).

Second, God’s self-identification places the Decalogue entirely in the context of unmerited grace. He is not simply “the Lord your God,” but the One who “brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.” The observance of the commandments is man’s grateful response to the God who “first loved us” (1 John 4:19). The Ten Commandments, almost any time the Bible speaks of them, were “given” to Moses on Mount Sinai. Holy Scripture regards them entirely as gifts, component dimensions of God’s redemptive grace and covenant.

Third, God’s self-identification makes idolatry necessarily the first sin: “You shall have no other gods in My stead.” All other sins are material extensions of idolatry. When men exchange “the truth of God for a lie,” all other sins follow, because idolatry is the root cause of “all unrighteousness, sexual immorality, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness,” and so on (Romans 1:18-32). It is always the case that those who worship demons do “not repent of their murders or their sorceries or their sexual immorality or their thefts” (Revelation 9:20-21).

To ensure that false gods are not worshipped, a second commandment prohibits the making of images, especially images intended to represent the true God (verses 4-6). This prohibition played an important role in the history of salvation, because it prepared for the coming of the true Image of God, who is Christ our Lord (2 Corinthians 4:4; Colossians 1:15). The goal and purpose of this prohibition was fulfilled in the mystery of the Incarnation, in which its prophetic value was brought to completion.

In this respect the prohibition of images was similar to the prescription of the Sabbath rest (verses 8-11). That is to say, both commandments were preparatory to the coming of the Messiah, in whose appearance both were fulfilled. For this reason, it would be a theological distortion to appeal to this Old Testament prohibition in order to forbid artistic representations of Christ Himself, just as it is theologically improper to say that Christians must still observe the law of the Sabbath.

Then there follows a prohibition against invoking the name of God irreverently or with evil purpose, such as magic or cursing (verse 7). This commandment did not preclude legal oaths (since perjury is forbidden in verse 16), but it did inspire a godly impulse to avoid oaths in normal conversation (James 5:12).

Then comes the precept of the Sabbath (verses 8-11), which had already been in effect (16:23). Here in Exodus the motive for the Sabbath is entirely theological; it is an imitation of God’s own Sabbath rest (Genesis 2:2-3). In the parallel text in Deuteronomy (5:12-15), however, there is included a certain humanitarian interest—man needs the rest.

The remaining commandments of the Decalogue are concerned with the relations among human beings (verses 12-17), and their inclusion indicates the social nature of man’s relationship to God. These commandments too are fulfilled in the morality of the Gospel (Romans 13:8-10).

The first of these latter commandments points to the importance of tradition, prescribing the honor due to parents. This is “the first commandment with a promise” (Ephesians 6:2).

The prohibition against murder (verse 13) is exactly that. It has nothing to do with the legitimate taking of life by capital punishment or in warfare (cf. 21:12-17; Deuteronomy 20:1-14).

Then, lest the Decalogue become detached from its context in history, it is followed immediately by a return to the description of its original setting (verses 18-21).

The chapter closes with the beginning of what modern historians call the Book of the Covenant (20:22—23:19). The latter commences with rules concerning worship (verses 22-26).

Sunday, May 22

Exodus 21: The material in these next three chapters is often called “the book of the covenant,” a term suggested by Exodus 24:7. In substance this code is largely identical with the core section of the Book of Deuteronomy (and hence the name of the latter, which means “second law”).

Whereas Chapter 20 enunciated universal legal principles, Chapter 21 commences a series of specific “judgments” (mishpotim — verse 1), or “case laws.” The latter are particular applications of the earlier legal principles. Thus, the judgments in the present chapter are concrete applications of the established principle,“You shall not steal” (20:15).

The prescriptions in these chapters come under the heading of “case laws” or casuistry, because they deal with the practical applications of laws to certain hypothetical cases. This is the legal style we find in our most ancient legal codes, such as the formulations of Ur-Nammu, composed in Sumerian about 2050 B.C. and named for the ruler of Ur in southern Mesopotamia (cf. Genesis 11:31).

The accumulation of such case laws serves to indicate certain directions in which future ethical cases—not specifically covered by these laws—might be appropriately judged, by rational recourse to comparison and analogy. The study of such case laws is also intended to give a proper contour to our moral sentiment, a certain “feeling” about moral situations that may arise. By the sustained examination of God’s judgments (mishpotim) in the various hypothetical situations described in these passages, the moral imagination is given a godly shape in order to make proper moral decisions in the future.

The laws in these next few chapters are civil (21:1—22:14), liturgical (20:22-26; 22:28-30; 23:10-19), and moral (22:16-27; 23:1-9).

The present chapter begins with slavery (verses 1-11), the state from which the Israelites have just been delivered. The functioning principle here, through all the hypothetical cases reviewed, is that no man may be enslaved against his own will beyond six years.

In verses 22-36 we have what is the Bible’s first and perhaps clearest enunciation of the legal principle of equity, quid pro quo. Thus, “eye for eye, tooth for tooth,” and so on (cf. Leviticus 24:17-20; Deuteronomy 19:21). All such laws are founded on the perception of proportions. Justice, that is to say, has something to do with the principles of mathematics (symbolized in the scales that often appear in artistic representations of Justice), a proper conformity to correct measure. Moral truth is perceived like mathematics or any other truth, by the correct application of the properly reasoning mind.

Monday, May 23

Exodus 22: This chapter begins with some more applications of the commandment, “Thou shalt not steal.” Whereas Chapter 21 presumed situations in which the harm inflicted was unintentional, and thus involved only commensurate restitution, the present chapter looks more closely at situations in which the harm inflicted is deliberate and intentional. In this chapter, then, we are dealing, not only with laws of compensation but also with punitive laws. The penalties in these latter, one will notice, are quite a bit harsher. They are obviously designed to discourage certain sorts of behavior!

The Bible takes very seriously the concept of ownership, a fact that explains the serious penalties imposed for theft. These include a manifold restitution for stolen or damaged property, and the lack of a guaranteed protection for a thief taken in the act (verses 1-4).

Whereas modern philosophy tends to distinguish public from private property, the Bible is more interested in what we may call family property—property as a family’s substance of labor and inheritance. That is to say, in the Bible property is more closely associated with the experience of tradition, including respect for the labor of one’s ancestors. Property is regarded as an extension of family; it is that component that binds the generations of a family together.

For this reason there is a close alliance between “Honor thy father and thy mother” and “Thou shalt not steal.” It is hardly surprising, then, that those who disregard the claims of tradition are more likely to be thieves. Of this latter phenomenon we have a good illustration in the case of Ahab and Jezebel in the instance of Naboth’s vineyard (1 Kings 21).

Family property, moreover, is a community concern, over which the newly appointed judges (18:13-26) have jurisdiction and the right of determination (verse 9).

Community concern is also directed to another important dimension of social life: sexuality. In the present context, however, this concern pertains to the (consensual) defilement of a virgin (verses 16-17), a situation in which the offense directly affects the financial worth of the father of the girl. This is the reason for its inclusion in the present section of Exodus.

This brief consideration of a sexual matter, however, prompts the inclusion of another sexual offense, bestiality (verse 19). Perhaps even this inclusion is prompted by the consideration of property, inasmuch as the animal must be slain.

By an association difficult to follow, the subject of bestiality leads in turn to rules about sorcery and idolatry (verses 18,20). Perhaps the common element in all these rules is the prescription of the death penalty.

There next follows a concern for sojourners and others deprived of a normal domestic life (verses 21-24)—those with whom the Israelites, remembering their own sojourn, are to commiserate (cf 23:9; Leviticus 19:33-34; Deuteronomy 1:16; 10:17-19; 14:28-29; 16:11-14; Jeremiah 7:6). Sins in violation of this concern are included in this section because of their social nature.

Laws concerning pledges and usufruct are characterized by a concern for the disadvantaged party (verses 25-27).

Tuesday, May 24

Exodus 23: Pursuant to the Decalogue’s prohibition against false witness (20:16), the present chapter opens with directions about judicial proceedings (1-3,7-8).

Because it appeared unlikely that a poor man (dal), in ancient times, would be favored in court, some textual historians suspect that verse 3 has been corrupted in the transmission. They suggest a slight emendation (the supply of one letter in Hebrew), causing this verse to read, “Thou shalt not favor a great man (gadol) in his cause.” This appears to be a responsible emendation that renders the text more understandable in the historical context.

Nonetheless, in more recent times we have seen the rise of political ideologies that have tended in exactly the opposite direction, favoring the poorer, disadvantaged classes as a matter of principle, sometimes at the expense of specific determinations of justice. It is not unknown, in modern times, for the courts to be used in an activist way, to rectify general social inequities, instead of simply adjudicating individual cases on their just merits. It is not the business of the courts to rectify social ills, but to punish evildoers. This is the reason that Justice is portrayed as blindfolded.

The Sacred Text moves on to treat of the effective charity that a believer owes even to his enemies, out of an elementary sense of humane compassion (verses 4-5; Leviticus 19:17-19). This motive also prompts concern for the stranger and sojourner (verse 9), the same motive given earlier (22:21-24).

Following the stated solicitude for the poor and disadvantaged, attention is given to the “Sabbath rest” of the cultivated fields, because this practice, too, serves a kind and humane purpose (verses 10-11, Leviticus 25:2-5; Deuteronomy 15:1-3; Nehemiah 10:31; 1 Maccabees 6:49,53).

From this metaphorical application of the Sabbath rest, the text takes up the literal Sabbath rest, enunciated in the Decalogue (20:8-11). Once again the motive given here is more humane than theological (verse 12).

Continuing the theme of consecrated time, Exodus goes on to treat the three annual feasts (verses 14-17), Passover, Pentecost, and Tabernacles. Each of these is here briefly explained, not in relation to its specific meaning in salvation history (deliverance, covenant, and desert journey), but with respect to its place in the annual agrarian cycle. Both aspects of these feast days remain in something of a tension throughout the Old Testament.

Transferred to the Christian Church these three feasts became Easter, Pentecost, and the Exaltation of the Holy Cross; but one notices that Christians too are reluctant to separate these feast days from an agrarian setting in the calendar. They became the occasion for the Ember Days, at which it was customary to bless the fields and harvests.

The recent mention of unleavened bread (verse 15), leads to more reflection on the same subject (verses 18-19). This prohibition of leaven in the sacrificial rites is analogous to the exclusion of polished stones in the construction of the altar (20:25). That is to say, in both cases there is a concern to preserve the elements of the worship in their more primitive and undeveloped state, in keeping with the sparse conditions of the exodus itself. It seems likely that this liturgical concern (for simplicity) was inspired by a reaction against certain features of Canaanite religion.

Thus ends “the book of the covenant,” which is now followed by a general exhortation that fills the rest of the chapter.

Verse 20 is one of our earliest texts to introduce that spiritual presence that an ancient Christian litany calls “an angel of peace, a faithful guide, a guardian of our souls and bodies.” Indeed, among the many blessings given to men by God to guide their sojourn in the world, the Liturgy of St. Basil lists the ministry of the guardian angels, a traditional doctrine supported by such texts as Matthew 18:10, Acts 12:15, several passages in Daniel, and the entire Book of Tobit.

Early Christian liturgical texts identify Israel’s guardian angel during the Exodus as St. Michael. In the context of the exodus and wandering, this guardian angel is portrayed as the specific enemy of idolatry (verses 23-24), and surely this danger of the idols (1 John 5:21) remains the reason why God links a guardian angel to the lives of those who, at the exodus of their own baptism, have renounced the false gods. These enemies of the true God are served by the nations that are to be driven out of the Promised Land itself.

With respect to the dimensions of the original Promised Land, it is worth noting that not until the tenth century (1 Kings 4:24), and never afterwards, did it assume the vast dimensions indicated in verse 31.

Wednesday, May 25

Exodus 24: As we have considered in our comments on Exodus 19, God does not impose the Sinai covenant on Israel. He does not force them to become His elect people; rather, He invites them. The covenant is to be ratified by Israel, and in the present chapter, which follows the Decalogue and the Book of the Covenant, we come to Israel’s ratification (verse 7).

This narrative seems to be derived from two accounts of the event, joined, but not entirely reconciled, with respect to some details. For instance, it is not entirely clear which actions take place on the mountain and which on the plain. The ratification itself is marked by both a sacrificial meal and by the sprinkling of sacrificial blood (verses 8,11). We find references to this ratification in Zechariah 9:11 and Hebrews 9:18-20.

Indeed, our earliest Christian reflection on verses 3-8 is found in the Epistle to the Hebrews 9:16-23, in a context emphasizing that the deep significance of the sacrificial blood in the Old Testament is its prophetic reference to the redeeming blood of Jesus, shed on the cross for the salvation of mankind. The blood of Jesus is called the “blood of the covenant” also in Hebrews 10:29 and Mark 14:24.

Moreover, in quoting Exodus 24:8, the Epistle to the Hebrews (9:20) slightly, but very significantly, alters the wording of it. Whereas Exodus reads “Behold (idou) the blood of the covenant,” the author of Hebrews wrote: “This (touto) is the blood of the covenant.” There is no doubt that his wording reflects the traditional words of Jesus with respect to the cup of His blood at the Last Supper (cf. Matthew 26:28).

Moses ascended the mountain with three men (verses 9-18), two of whom were brothers, and there was a six-day delay. Compare the remarkable parallel to both points in Mark 9:2. In the scene of the Lord’s Transfiguration, He is joined by the two figures most clearly associated with revelations given on Mount Sinai/Horeb: Moses and Elijah (cf. 1 Kings 19:8-18).

Moses is again summoned to ascend the mountain in order to receive the stone tablets and certain liturgical regulations (verse 12). The engraving of laws on stone was characteristic of many ancient legal codes, all the way from the Decree of Hammurabi to the inscriptions on the walls of the temple of Apollo at Delphi. Law, that is to say, represents inheritance, binding one generation to the next. Hence, it is appropriate to write laws on stone, a substance that does not quickly pass away.

The chapter ends with Moses on the mountain for forty days and nights.

Thursday, May 26

Exodus 25: Here begins a lengthy and detailed orders about the construction of the tabernacle, the instruments of worship, the ordination and vestments of the priests, and so forth (chapters 25-31). Meanwhile, as all of this important instruction is taking place, Aaron and the Israelites will do a bit of liturgical experimentation on their own (chapters 32-34)! The juxtaposition of these two scenes will constitute one of the great examples of narrative irony in the Bible. After the story of the golden calf, the narrative of Exodus will continue in chapters 35-40 with the enactment of the earlier prescriptions.

Chapters 21—31 are composed of seven prescriptive oracles (“the Lord spoke unto Moses, say . . .”), each with its own introduction (25:1; 30:11,17,22,34; 31:1,12). In some of these oracles we recognize points of correspondence with the different days of creation. Thus, the first oracle, which speaks of the candelabrum and of Aaron’s custody of the sacred fire, corresponds to the creation of light on the first day. The third oracle (30:17-21), which describes the brazen sea in the tabernacle, corresponds to the third day’s creation of the seas. The fourth, which prescribes the oil for the lamps (30:22-33), is parallel to the fourth day of creation, when the various lights were placed in the heavens. Thus, finally, this “sabbath” of oracles ends with the Sabbath itself and appeals to God’s own rest after the works of creation (31:12-17; cf. Psalms 89 [88]:21).

Prior to describing all of these matters in detail, the author outlines the subjects that will be treated in the ensuing chapters (verses 3-8). Then Moses is given a vision of the archetypal tabernacle (verse 9,40)—that tabernacle not made with hands—the everlasting holy place into which, in due course, the eternal high priest and one mediator between God and men will enter, having obtained eternal redemption for us (cf. Hebrews 8:1-5).

The ark’s dimensions (verses 10-15) are about 45 inches long, and 27 inches in height and depth. The permanent poles indicate that it must always be ready to travel, and it did move around quite a bit even after the Israelites settled in the Promised Land. Eventually it came to rest in Jerusalem, where Solomon pretty much built his temple around it. The ark was lost when the temple was destroyed. Originally it contained the tables of the Decalogue, bit it seems to have been the receptacle of other sacred objects at certain periods (cf. Hebrews 9:2-4).

The hylasterion (translated variously as “propitiatory” or “mercy seat”) in verses 16-17 will be the place where the high priest sprinkles the expiatory blood on Yom Kippur, thus symbolizing the reconciliation between God and man. As the meeting place of God and humanity, it is a symbol of the Incarnation, where God and humanity are bound together forever. Jesus Himself is called the hylasterion (cf. Romans 3:25). Israel came to think of this hylasterion, overshadowed by the cherubic wings (verses 18-20), as God’s throne in this world (cf. Psalm 79.1; Hebrews 9:5). One is reminded also of the two angelic figures on the empty tomb of the risen Lord, suggesting that the empty tomb is the great symbol of the reconciliation of God and man (cf. John 20:12).

Twelve loaves of fresh bread, representing the full assembly of Israel, are to be kept on the table in God’s presence in the tabernacle (verses 23-30). This “holy bread” (1 Samuel 21:4)—“bread of the presence” (21:6)—and “continual bread” (Numbers 4:7) was a type of the Holy Eucharist, the mystical bread of God’s presence, contained in all the tabernacles of the Church throughout the world, until the end of time.

Friday, May 27

Exodus 26: The construction of the Tabernacle is described in the first part (verses 1-14) of this chapter. It had four coverings, divided into workable sections. The first covering was made of linen, over which were coverings of goats’ hair, rams’ skins dyed red, and dugongs’ skins. Two things are noteworthy about this last: First, the dugong, or sea cow, is a native of the Indian Ocean. The availability of this product indicates the extensive trade carried on through the Red Sea. One speculates that the sea-going power of Sheba was the medium by which this product reached Egypt. Second, the skin of the dugong, which sat uppermost over the Tabernacle, rendered it rainproof.

Next are described the wooden side-frames of the Tabernacle (verses 15-30), indicating that this shrine stood about 14 feet high, was 62 feet long, and measured over 42 feet wide.

Finally comes the internal division of the Tabernacle between the holy place and the Holy of Holies (31-37), the latter measuring about 14 feet square. It contained the Ark of the Covenant and the tablets of the Decalogue (cf. Hebrews 9:3-4).

The division within the tabernacle was later duplicated and further developed within the Jerusalem temple. Indeed, the sense of separated space is intrinsic to the very notion of a “temple,” a word derived from the Greek temno, meaning “to divide.” A shrine of any kind is already a section of space devoted to the things of God, and divisions within a shrine are related to the ordered structure of the community that worships there. The building reflects the congregation’s conception of itself. In the case of Israel and the Christian Church, the ordered structure of the worshipping community is “hierarchical,” meaning that its organizational structure is holy and reflects a divinely appointed order.

This hierarchical aspect of biblical worship, that is to say, is enacted even in architecture. (Indeed, if one looks closely, both “hierarchy” and “architecture” are formed of a common root, a Greek word meaning, roughly, “a principle that gives structure and explanation to reality.”)

Psalm 106 (Greek and Latin 105): This poetic narrative, which summarizes much of the Books of Exodus and Numbers, deals with the period of the Desert Wandering as a source of negative moral example: “Don’t let this happen to you.” Such is the approach to that period through much of biblical literature, from Deuteronomy 33 to 1 Corinthians 10.

The value of this perspective is that it tends to discourage a false confidence that may otherwise deceive the believer. Never has there been missing from the experience of faith the sort of temptation that says: “Relax! God has saved you. You are home free. Once saved, always saved. Don’t worry about a thing. Above all, no effort.”

This temptation was recognized by certain discerning men in the Bible itself. Thus, the Prophet Jeremiah saw it working insidiously in the hearts and minds of his contemporaries near the end of the seventh century B.C. They reasoned among themselves that God, because of His undying promise to David, would never permit the city of Jerusalem, to say nothing of His temple, to fall to their enemies. After all, had not the Lord, speaking through Isaiah a century earlier, promised King Hezekiah that such a thing was unthinkable? And had not the Lord, at that time, destroyed the Assyrian army as it besieged the Holy City? Even so, reasoned Jeremiah’s fellow citizens, there was no call now to fear the armies of Babylon. Thus, fully confident of divine deliverance, they permitted themselves every manner of vice and moral failing. After all, once saved, always saved. Much of the message of Jeremiah was devoted to demolishing that line of thought.

The identical sort of temptation seems likewise to have afflicted the first readers of the Epistle to the Hebrews, whose author also took the period of the Desert Wandering as exemplifying their moral dilemma. Repeatedly, then, he cautioned those early Christians of the genuine danger of stark apostasy facing those who placed an unwarranted, quasi-magical confidence in their inevitable security. This entire book is devoted to warning believers that “it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God” (10:31).

The gravity of this temptation, of course, arises from its resting on a solid truth. God is faithful to His promises; He will never abandon those who place their confidence in Him. The danger here is not that of excessive trust in God’s fidelity, but of insufficient vigilance against man’s infidelity. Just as the Galatians were warned against forsaking the Gospel of pure grace, they were also instructed that “God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap” (Galatians 6:7).