The strife really is fierce, and it has been since the serpent sowed deceit and destruction in the garden of Eden. Our fear of God, alienation from Him and one another, deceit and pride and endless greed—these things tore the fabric of our human existence before the curse was pronounced upon the serpent.

And yet in the midst of Genesis 3, God declared a message of hope that has echoed throughout human history: The offspring of the woman would one day “crush” the serpent’s head (Genesis 3:15). True, the serpent would “crush” (yes, it’s the same word in Hebrew) the heel of Eve’s offspring—a lethal blow, but it is one that would end in the greatest, most victorious event in human history: the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

That malevolent serpent has since donned many hideous characteristics, and Revelation 12 does not mince words when describing the evil one. We read that the “great fiery red dragon” has been intent on devouring the woman (representing Israel, God’s people) and her Son, Jesus the Messiah. There is an appallingly fierce war in the heavenly realms, one we can hardly imagine. The grim powers of evil and the mighty forces of good tangle with each other. The dragon is identified as the ancient serpent, the devil, who leads the whole world astray. This is serious in the extreme, not to be dismissed with a wave of our enlightened hand. (We often do that.)

In other words, our battle here on earth is not done. We face the rage of the devil who knows his time is short and his end sure (Revelation 12:12). But we also know the perspective from God’s throne: “Then I heard a loud voice in heaven say, ‘The salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God and the authority of his Christ have now come, because the accuser of our brothers and sisters, who accuses them before our God day and night, has been thrown down’” (v.10).

As painful as our suffering here on earth is, victory is ours by the blood of the Lamb (v.11). We are empowered by and rest in the assurance that God has made us alive in Christ, the Lamb sitting on the throne. His shed blood has cancelled out the debt we owe, and the enemy has been disarmed completely. The serpent’s head has been crushed at the cross (Colossians 2:13–15).

Alleluia indeed.

I had the privilege of staying with my grandparents for a summer when I was a young teenager. At that time, Grandma was well into her eighties, but she was still caring for their house, making quilts for innumerable grandchildren, tending her garden, and engaging in church activities. I have vivid memories of their daily rhythm of kneeling beside their chairs in thankful prayer after the evening meal. One of Grandma’s adages echoes in my memory: “Hard work is never our problem; it’s our attitude about it.” This mantra encapsulates the message of our reading today. 

To be sure, work can be painful toil in a world marred by disobedience (Genesis 3). Frustrating? Yes. Exhausting? Indeed. Sometimes lacking any sense of accomplishment? Undeniably. Often rife with unjust practices? Sadly so. As the author of Ecclesiastes described toilsome labor, his words echo Genesis 3; Adam’s call to stewardship would become wearisome exertion. The author acknowledged that our days on earth are distressingly fleeting, and the results of our Herculean efforts are likewise short-lived. Therefore, it is striking that Ecclesiastes affirms the value of work even as the book repeatedly reflects on the harsh reality of death just around the corner.

But the initial charge to Adam was to tend the garden, and what a privilege! This is our stewardship with God, a sacred mission in His kingdom. As the psalmist prays, “…establish for us the work of our hands—establish the work of our hands!” expressing a longing to contribute something meaningful (Psalm 90:17). The apostle Paul describes it this way, “Whatever you do, in word or in deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him” (Colossians 3:17). Our gratitude for our work is unending because working alongside God gives meaning and purpose to our lives. We can take pleasure in working steadily and well because work is God’s gift to us.

The towns called Succoth and Penuel were caught between two fierce armies, and their attempt to remain out of it went seriously awry. Israel has already seen a mere three hundred victorious soldiers free them from the Midian army, and even their rallying cry “a sword for the LORD and for Gideon” (Judges 7:20) shows that it was indeed the Lord who won the battle. Somewhere along the line, however, it seems the victors got off-course. Was it the rumbling of resentment (Judges 8:1–3) that prompted these reactions? Is this another case of the Lord’s triumph turning into human pride? And as if these unsavory events weren’t enough, yet another idol in the form of a gold ephod was constructed, and the people fell into the trap; they worshiped a man-made idol instead of the LORD.

In despair over our human condition, we could miss verse 28 altogether; it’s remarkably understated. The land had peace for forty years—a generation. What a reversal! Despite the grievous weaknesses manifested by Gideon, God used him to accomplish His perfect purposes.

That was Gideon’s broken world. What about ours? Do we reduce people with the thorns and briers of our words? Do we destroy other people to preserve our own personal security? Have we subtly created idols that trap people into false worship? These questions pierce our mask of self-satisfaction. And still, the author of Hebrews declares that the weakness of God’s servants was turned to strength of faith; among those noted is Gideon (Hebrews 11:32–34). That heartens the most broken of us all.

Picture it with me. As I try to move forward, all I can see and hear is the vivid rerun of what I’ve done, what I’ve said, how I’ve wounded the heart of God. 

“Against you—you alone—I have sinned…” The hearts of others are also amidst the wreckage. I replay the script gone bad—over and over again. Do you know this scene as well? No matter the specific circumstances, the aftermath of wrong choices is always a dismal picture. And I generally make it worse by allowing myself to wallow in fear, self-pity, and tears of remorse. I imagine the worst consequences as I sort through what was…what should have…what could have. I know I should pray—that’s a given—but the evil one stubbornly keeps my focus on me and my futile efforts to imagine a way out. 

The words transgression, iniquity, and sin seem to come from a bygone age; what do they mean? Let’s substitute those words with the phrase “deliberate rebellion”—the worst rejection of God’s unfailing covenant love. However we label it, we’re way out on the leash and need to be reeled back in.

Finally, weary and sad, I turn to psalms—a trustworthy path back to the tender and loving embrace of God our Father. My faltering mumblings usually start with something like: “help; please help me,” a less articulate version of “have mercy on me, O God.” My prayer continues: please keep the Holy Spirit firmly lodged in me; I don’t want to grieve Him again (Ephesians 4:30). 

A brief detour to David’s story is in order. His initial introduction to Saul came in the wake of the Spirit’s departure from Saul (1Samuel 16:14–19) when Saul deliberately disobeyed the Lord. David saw the horror of Saul’s increasing personal torment (1Samuel 18-20) and knew his own disobedience could lead down that same dreadful path.

It takes time to refocus; “restore the joy of your salvation to me” is not always answered immediately, but somewhere deep in my soul I begin to sing of God’s abiding love and great compassion, truths that reverberate through the whole of the psalms. Music is a balm to the beaten soul, the “crushed bones,” and the “broken spirit,” and God does not despise my brokenness. How many old hymns contain pleas to be washed and cleaned up! It is a radical change we seek—foul to pure, filthy to clean, wandering to steadfast. “Turn your face away from my sins,” but not from me. He continues to be with us—Immanuel—and with me.

It is a remarkable thing. The psalms are God’s provision of the pattern—given to faint souls—to approach Him no matter what. At the same time, they are God’s answers, assuring us of His unchanging goodness and His loving and powerful hold on our lives. 

These images of shadow and substance contribute to the author’s developing claim that there is something radically new happening through Jesus Christ; something still firmly rooted in and connected to Old Testament rituals.

Chapter 10 recaps the carefully detailed descriptions we read yesterday in Hebrews 9. This literary repetition represents what happened in the sanctuary day after heart-wrenching day, as the human priest sprinkled the blood of animal sacrifices on the altar. The messy process was painful and blood-drenched. It caused worshipers to come face-to-face with images of pain and suffering, powerful metaphors for the grim consequences for others of their sins. Even though the repeated process could never do away with the guilty verdict, this visceral reminder was vital. It also pointed forward. 

That all of this had been dealt with once and for all was a stunning new reality to the audience of Hebrews. Writing to an audience wholly steeped in the necessity of the ongoing temple ritual, the author had to repeat this multiple times. It took time to reconfigure their worldview. Yet it was important to clarify that this was not foreign to the Jewish tradition. In Hebrews 10:6–7, the author quotes Psalm 40, words Jesus Christ repeated as well: “I have come to do your will.” Then, in verses 16–17, the author quotes the prophet Jeremiah’s promise of the new covenant. Until this point, the people’s obedience had been the absent ingredient. But in Jesus, our sins are forgiven forever—period. And the encouraging add-on is that He is ever-present in our continuing process of being made holy (Hebrews 10:14).

Simply put, as the author of Hebrews describes, we often lack enthusiasm for wrestling with biblical truths, especially when they are challenging. We are too prone to mutter, “Whatever!”

This was also an issue for the audience receiving the book of Hebrews. In today’s reading, as soon as the discussion of the supremely remarkable “priest forever” (Hebrews 5:6), Melchizedek, was just getting underway, the author breaks off. It’s as though someone had just said the equivalent of “Why do we need to talk about Melchizedek anyway?” We can infer that the audience was content with matters the author declared to be elementary—mere baby food. 

And now to the second elephant: it sounds like I can lose my salvation! That butts up against dearly treasured assurances. Isn’t it ironic that the discussion on Melchizedek is postponed, and instead, we address this gnarly topic?

It starts on a somber note: “It is impossible…” (Hebrews 6:4). In the Greek text, readers are left hanging. We only discover what is “impossible” after we first read that these persons have been enlightened, tasted, and shared in the Holy Spirit. “Taste” does not mean a tentative superficial sample; it means to enjoy fully. These sound like bona fide children of the living God. The words could be testimonies in a revival service. Their spiritual journeys, however, come to a crashing halt. Most of us know individuals who affirmed their belief in the transforming power of the Word and Spirit but chose to step away. That move implies deliberate disavowal. 

Enter the land metaphor with the key word—“cultivated” (v.7). Caring for land is hard work; so is cultivating our souls. Thorns and thistles speak volumes of neglected land. To riff momentarily on the earlier metaphor, those who stay on baby food or only milk may have compromised immune systems later. When virulent spiritual viruses attack them, they succumb, especially if they have not learned to discern evil from good, an exercise lodged in the study of the Word.

To be sure, the author is confident of “better” things for the “dearly loved” audience (v.9). Rather than tie up loose theological ends into a nice package, the admonition goes directly to our tendency to coast when rest is not appropriate in the face of evil within and without. We need to be warned lest we neglect necessary spiritual disciplines. 

In today’s instructions for the offerings, the labels “sin offering” and “guilt offering” tell the story of our persistent need. While details of these individual instructions vary, the ingredients in Leviticus always include the offering, sacred space, the priest(s), and fire. First, the sacrifice was costly; that is what the word “sacrifice” means when we use it in other contexts. Second, the Lord’s presence made the space “holy ground.” Third, as priests, Aaron and his sons had the task of sprinkling the blood of the sacrifice on the altar. Finally, the fire was constantly burning; it consumed the portions of the sacrifices given up to the Lord, a reminder that the presence of God is a consuming fire.

There were some recipe variations depending on each individual sacrifice. Yeast (leaven) was prohibited from the grain and fellowship offerings; later it came to symbolize sin, a most powerful pollutant. It seems, however, that occasionally leavened cakes accompanied the fellowship thanksgiving offering (Leviticus 7:13), possibly because leaven made it tastier, and gratitude is sweet. 

The fellowship sacrifice (“peace offering”) is at the end of the list in today’s reading. It drew together the community—the person bringing it, the priests, and the Lord. The human participants were communing together as they ate the sacrifice. The root meaning of the word translated fellowship is related to shalom, a word that points to the right order of everything—wrongs set right, reconciliation, restoration. 

So what are the key themes from today? Above all, we are deeply needy. That shatters self-presentations often ordered to make us look like pretty decent human beings. Add to that the glory and holiness of the Lord God Almighty, who dwells in unapproachable light. We tend to reduce this reality to something we can “manage,” but that is an ill-advised coping mechanism. Into the gaping chasm between our sinful selves and the unapproachable light came the incarnate Son of God, Jesus, as both the perfect sacrifice and our Great High Priest.

Nevertheless, the Lord had every reason to say “enough already” to Judah, and He has every reason to say it to us. He blesses us; we turn around and complain. He rescues us from our stunning missteps; we forget those merciful deliverances. Idols, idols, idols—they are lodged insidiously in our wayward hearts.

It ought not surprise us that Israel was in trouble yet again. God’s memory first reached back to Egypt. As He brought them out of that living prison and gave them rest from the constant brutal grind, He did require them to get rid of all the trappings of the surrounding culture. Drop the idols of Egypt, the vile images that seized their attention and demanded allegiance. Imagine that; they were to be counter-cultural to the point where people living around them knew whose they were! They had trouble with that. So do we. We’d like to stay under the radar, be like everyone else, and maintain an acceptable cultural presence—whatever that means. 

In the wilderness, the Lord gave Israel precious gifts—instructions designed for their flourishing; food and water to stay alive, guidance and protection, and that wonderful provision of Sabbath rest. The last was a holy sign that they were the Lord’s people. How perverse that they rejected the joy of the Sabbath that was intended to be restorative! Both generations, however, faltered seriously in the wilderness, succumbing to the tyranny of bondage to their own desires.

They forgot—we forget—that this is about the radiant pure glory and majesty of God’s Name. Once we get that—even if only fleetingly—we will guard our every choice of word and action, encouraging each other daily, and seeking to bring glory to the name that is above all other names. 

In Ezekiel 15 and 16, the Lord God confronts severely flawed self-perceptions. First, He asks a series of questions that unravel self-deception.

The Lord—speaking through Ezekiel—lays a brilliant trap with His questions. First: “How is the wood of the vine better than . . .?” The “better than” invites a recital of all the positive qualities that come to mind.  Imagine you are in an interview for a plum position and you said, “How am I best qualified for that role? Well, let me tell you!” The question is an indicator that I am preparing to explain why I am the no-brainer candidate. 

Each subsequent question presumed the worst about Judah and peeled off additional layers of their faulty self-perception. With chagrin, they would realize that they’d been had. It’s as if the interviewer had asked, “How have you failed in your professional life up to this point? Explain yourself!” Was Israel of any use at all? Good grief, the wood of this vine isn’t even fit for burning (Ezekiel 15:4)! What a blow to self-esteem!

One word—“unfaithful”—connects to the next chapter, the length and content of which are devastating. I have trouble wrapping my mind around the X-rated life described there; Ezekiel does not mince words—sumptuous living, extreme indulgence, exploitation of sex and sexuality. 

And then I remember with deep pain that I am surrounded by and in some cases immersed in the same horrors. Arrogance and wealthy unconcern numb my own heart. It’s all there and here. This unfaithful, promiscuous wife of the Lord was skilled in each of these—and so is our desperately sad culture. 

But the devastation of God’s judgment is not the end of the story. This Lenten season reminds us that gleaming through the darkest of our valleys are the truths of God’s everlasting covenant and atonement through Jesus. Instead of being burned, charred, and useless, pruned branches will abide in the true Vine and bear fruit (John 15:1–5). Taking the place of the shameless and promiscuous wife will be the lovely bride of Christ (Revelation 21:2).

Thanks be to God!

The curtain had rung down (temporarily) on Ezekiel’s street theater (Ezekiel 4–5). His audience may have noticed his actions, but they had a short attention span. Thus, Ezekiel next climbed to the bench to pronounce severe judgment; perhaps that would register more. 

For the record, Ezekiel’s audience presumed themselves spiritually attuned. They engaged with altars, incense offerings, and all the trappings of a religious culture. To be sure, Israelites were commanded to guard against idolatry. It was a tough requirement, because in that context, it was unthinkable not to have idols. Idolatry was central to a world view that was based on utter selfishness, manipulating the gods to gain favorable treatment. And it got worse. Their leadership was bankrupt, they terrorized innocent people, and arrogant violence was in the daily news. 

The processes of making and setting up idols have changed; the expectations have not. Self-advancement and entitlement to self-satisfaction are idols of choice. The apostle Paul declared that greed is idolatry (Colossians 3:5, James 4:1–6). Too often we sacrifice virtue for economic security, exchange the truths of God for lies, and call good evil and evil good (Isaiah 5:20). Until we in the Church come to grips with the reality of our own twenty-first century idolatries, Ezekiel will remain in the prophetic dustbin.

Like Ezekiel’s audience, we are commanded to be counter-cultural, getting rid of everything that traps us and takes the place of the Lord God of the universe. We are admonished to “take every thought captive to Christ” (2Corinthians 10:5). 

Amidst the harsh words, however, there is a powerful declaration.  “Then your survivors will remember me…how I was crushed by their promiscuous hearts that turned away from me…” (Ezekiel 6:9). Yes, there is deserved judgment forthcoming; yes, idolatries are built into the fabric of everyday existence and are abominations to the Lord. But thanks be to God, the end of our own dreadful trajectory into the ravages of sin is at the cross.