Two years after
the Israelites were delivered from slavery, Egyptian silver clinking in their backpacks, they stood with toes
touching the border of the land God promised them.They'd seen waters part and enemies
drown. Yahweh was intimately involved with their lives. They knew him. They followed him. And just two short years after packing up and moving out of bondage, there they stood on the brink of God's best. Yes, there were vicious armies and untamed wilds on the other side of
that border but they had the smoke and fire of God blazing their trail.
Then it happened. Human nature kicked in. They became more
cautious than optimistic. There at the edge of God's plan, they sent a dozen spies into that question mark
of a promise to check things out. Ten returning spies slinked back with a warning. “Don’t do it! It is great real estate, but the people are giants.
We will all die if we go over there.” The majority report was full
of fear and trepidation.
The other two spies -- young men named Joshua and Caleb – looked on that land and saw a future with hope. For them, the land was more
possibility than problems. “I think we should do this," they
challenged. "This is God’s land and God’s fight. Let Him defend us!”
The
people did what people mostly do. They allowed the voice of fear to drown out the
voice of potential and it cost them dearly. That day, God turned them
back from the border of promise. He sent them out into the
wilderness again where he promptly vowed that not one of their generation would see
the land flowing with milk and honey. Fear would not be woven into the
DNA of his chosen people, not if he had anything to do with it.
So
the people got in the wilderness what they were most afraid of getting in the
promised land. They were destroyed by their own choice. For thirty-eight years they wandered like dead men walking before another generation
found itself toe to toe with God's purposes.
I
wonder if most of that first generation even knew how close they were to greatness? I
wonder if, way down the road, some of them sat around campfires and wondered
aloud, “What do you suppose would have become of us if we’d listened to Joshua
and Caleb? How do you suppose it would have turned out?” Did they
even stop to think about it as they poked their fires or packed up their tents
yet again or held their cups beneath water flowing from rocks?
Or did they even think that deeply? Did they assume,
like most people, that what they had twenty or thirty years out from that
decision was all there was? Did they ever stop to imagine more than
mediocrity punctuated by death? Or did they simply go about their lives, making grocery lists, making beds, making a living, making do?
I wonder, but I can't judge. After all, I am an Israelite myself. I peak
over into spiritual promises and my little internal band of spies reports back,
“That’ll never work for you,” and far too often I listen to those voices of fear or laziness
and I miss out on so much good stuff that way. Who knows how long I've
wandered, unconscious of the promises I've turned down, while God in his mercy determines to kill off all in me that wreaks of fear?
Who knows what
promises I'm toeing now as I poke my fires, count my money, check my phone and
absent-mindedly get back to what I know?