Posts Tagged 'Call of God'

Tasted Words, Tested People, Toughened Prophet:  Ezekiel

Listen to this teaching – just hit play!

GOD’S URGENT CALL

 Tasted Words, Tested People, Toughened Prophet:  Ezekiel

Introduction.  Today I want to look at a priest who never expected to become a prophet.  Ezekiel was thirty years old, far from the temple he was trained to serve, living among the first wave of exiles by an irrigation canal in Babylon. Then the heavens opened. The glory of the Lord came near. A voice said, “Son of man, stand up on your feet and I will speak to you.” The Spirit set him on his feet. A scroll was unrolled before him, written on both sides with words of lament and mourning and woe. And now, in the text before us, the call is no longer a vision to be watched. It is a word to be eaten, a people to be faced, and a prophet to be made.

This is the closing word in our series, “God’s Urgent Call.” The urgency has not eased. If anything, as we end this series, we’ve learned that the call of God is not first a program, a personality, or a platform. It is a word that must enter a person, a people who will test that person, and a God who will toughen that person until he can speak whether they listen or fail to listen.

Tasted words, Ezekiel 3:1 – 4.

And he said to me, “Son of man, eat what is before you, eat this scroll; then go and speak to the house of Israel.” [2] So I opened my mouth, and he gave me the scroll to eat. [3] Then he said to me, “Son of man, eat this scroll I am giving you and fill your stomach with it.” So I ate it, and it tasted as sweet as honey in my mouth. [4] He then said to me: “Son of man, go now to the house of Israel and speak my words to them.  (Ezekiel 3:1 – 4 | TNIV)

Don’t miss the order here; it’s essential. Before Ezekiel is sent to speak, he is required to swallow. Before he is a mouth for God, he is a stomach for God. The word isn’t a pamphlet he can just hand out while remaining untouched. It is food. It must be taken in, broken down, absorbed, until it becomes part of the man himself.

That is how the Bible talks about the Word of God when it is received as God intends.  The prophet Jeremiah put it like this:

When your words came, I ate them; they were my joy and my heart’s delight, for I bear your name, Lord God Almighty.  (Jeremiah 15:16 | TNIV)

The psalmist said the ordinances of the Lord are “sweeter than honey, than honey from the honeycomb.” Jesus told the crowds that man does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God. In Revelation, John is given a little scroll and told to eat it; it is sweet in his mouth and bitter in his stomach. Ezekiel’s experience stands in that same line. The Word of God is not first information. It is nourishment.

Notice what he is eating. Chapter 2 already told us the contents of the scroll: lament, mourning, and woe. This is not a scroll of good news!  It’s an extremely hard word about a hard people and a coming judgment. And yet, when it enters the prophet’s mouth, it tastes like honey. How can a word of woe taste sweet?

Because it is God’s word. The sweetness is not in the subject matter. The sweetness is in the Speaker. Even a hard word from a holy God is better than a soft word from a lying world. Even a message of judgment is sweet when it is true, because truth from God is life. Ezekiel does not love the coming destruction of Jerusalem. He loves the God who still speaks. He loves that the Lord has not gone silent in exile. He loves that the glory that departed the temple has found a priest by a canal and given him something to say. The taste is honey because the source is God.

There is a warning here for every preacher, teacher, parent, and witness in this room. It is possible to handle the Word all week and never eat it. It is possible to prepare a lesson, post a verse, quote a text, and remain unfed. F. B. Meyer once said there is no greater mistake than to suppose that because we are constantly handling God’s Word for the purpose of teaching others, we are therefore feeding on it for ourselves. You can acquire an intellectual knowledge of the truth while the heart is entirely unaffected. Ezekiel is not allowed that luxury. He must fill his stomach.

The church in our day is not starving for more opinions about the Bible. We are starving for people who have tasted it. We need men and women who have sat long enough with Scripture that it has gotten into their bloodstream. We need parents who speak to their children out of a full heart, not out of a hurried search on a phone. We need a congregation that does not merely admire the Word from a distance but takes it in until it changes the flavor of the whole life.

“Fill your stomach with it,”  God said.   Not a nibble. Not a sample. Fill. The urgent call begins here, before any pulpit, any classroom, any conversation at work. Has the Word of God become food to you? Have you opened your mouth? Have you let Him place the scroll there? Have you found that even the hard parts taste like honey because they come from Him?

Only then does the Lord say, “Go now to the people of Israel and speak my words to them.” Not your words, but My words. The prophet does not invent a message after breakfast. He speaks what he has eaten. That is still the only safe way to open your mouth for God. Speak what you have first swallowed.

Tested people, Ezekiel 3:5 – 7.

You are not being sent to a people of obscure speech and strange language, but to the house of Israel— [6] not to many peoples of obscure speech and strange language, whose words you cannot understand. Surely if I had sent you to them, they would have listened to you. [7] But the house of Israel is not willing to listen to you because they are not willing to listen to me, for the whole house of Israel is hardened and obstinate.  (Ezekiel 3:5 – 7 | TNIV)

This second movement of the text is a shock. You might expect God to send His newly fed prophet to a distant nation, to people who have never heard the name of the Lord. That would be hard, but it would be understandable. Instead God says, in effect, I am not sending you to foreigners. I am sending you home.

The hardest field is not the one that speaks another tongue. The hardest field is the one that already knows your language, already owns your Bible, already claims your God, and still will not hear.

God even says the unthinkable: if I had sent you to the nations, they would have listened. Jonah discovered something like that in Nineveh. Jesus said something like that about Tyre and Sidon and Sodom. Familiarity with holy things does not guarantee a soft heart. Sometimes it hardens the heart. The people of Israel can understand every syllable Ezekiel will say. That is not the problem. The problem is willingness. They are not willing to listen to the prophet because they are not willing to listen to the God who sent him.

That sentence should make a church sit up straight. The greatest obstacle to the Word of God is not always ignorance. It is often refusal. It is the settled decision that we already know, we already belong, we already have enough of God for our tastes. Hardened and obstinate. The Hebrew picture is a hard forehead and a stiff heart. These are not people who missed the memo. These are people who received the memo and crumpled it.

So the urgent call is not only a call to go somewhere far away. It is a call to speak to our own people. To the family that sat in church and then went home unchanged. To the community that still uses Christian words and lives by other loves. To the congregation that can sing the songs and still resist the Lord of the songs. Ezekiel is not commissioned to a strange language. He is commissioned to a strange unwillingness.

We should be honest about how this feels. It is one thing to imagine preaching the gospel in a place where no one has heard the name of Jesus. It is another thing to speak the truth to people who share your last name, your pew, your town, your history. They know your weaknesses. They remember your past. They can shrug you off with a look. “That’s just Ezekiel. We knew him when he was a priest. We know what he used to be.” Home is the testing ground.

And God tells him why they will not listen: they will not listen to you because they will not listen to Me. That is both a burden and a mercy. It is a burden because the rejection will feel personal. It is a mercy because the rejection is not finally about the messenger. When people harden themselves against a faithful word, they are not first refusing a preacher. They are refusing the Lord. Ezekiel must know that before he opens his mouth, or the first week of ministry will crush him.

Do you see how this closes our series? God’s urgent call is urgent precisely because the people who should be most ready are often most resistant. We do not have the luxury of waiting for a more receptive audience. We are sent to the people in front of us—exiles, neighbors, children, coworkers, a nation that still has Bibles on the shelf and little hunger in the soul. The call is not “Find people who will applaud.” The call is “Speak My words to them.”

Toughened prophet, Ezekiel 3:8 – 11.

Now the Lord does something we might not have asked Him to do. He doesn’t soften the audience. He hardens the prophet.

But I will make you as unyielding and hardened as they are. [9] I will make your forehead like the hardest stone, harder than flint. Do not be afraid of them or terrified by them, though they are a rebellious house. ” [10] And he said to me, “Son of man, listen carefully and take to heart all the words I speak to you. [11] Go now to your people in exile and speak to them. Say to them, ‘This is what the Sovereign Lord says,’ whether they listen or fail to listen. ”  (Ezekiel 3:8 – 11 | TNIV)

God matches the messenger to the mission. If the people have hard foreheads, Ezekiel will have a harder one. If they are flint, he will be the stone that cuts flint. This is not a license to become harsh, cold, or cruel. It is a promise that God will give His servant a holy stubbornness—an unwillingness to quit, an inability to be talked out of the truth, a face that does not flinch when the room turns against him.

Isaiah used the same image of the Servant of the Lord: “I have set my face like flint.” Jesus set His face toward Jerusalem. The apostles, after they were beaten, rejoiced that they were counted worthy to suffer for the Name, and they kept preaching. The church does not need prophets with thin skin and thick self-pity. The church needs men and women whose tenderness toward God has made them tough toward opposition.

Look at how the toughness is formed. It is not Ezekiel pumping himself up. It is not a personality type. “I will make you.” God does the hardening. The same Lord who told him to eat the scroll now tells him He will make his forehead like adamant. Courage in ministry is not a natural resource you either have or lack. It is a gift God gives to people who have first swallowed His Word and then accepted His assignment.

Then comes the last instructions of the commissioning.

Son of man, listen carefully and take to heart all the words I speak to you. Go now to your people in exile and speak to them. Say to them, ‘This is what the Sovereign Lord says,’ whether they listen or fail to listen.

Three more commands, and they complete the urgent call.

Listen carefully. The prophet never outgrows being a hearer. The moment Ezekiel stops taking the Word to heart, he has nothing worth saying. Every Sunday we gather is a test of this. Did we come to taste again, or only to watch someone else eat?

Go now. Not when the people improve. Not when the exile ends. Not when the cultural weather is fair. Now. To your people in exile. The field is the people who are already around you.

Say, “This is what the Sovereign Lord says.” The authority is not in Ezekiel’s tone, training, or tears. The authority is in the formula. He is a messenger. He does not have to make the word work. He has to deliver it.

And then the sentence that could save a thousand discouraged servants: “whether they listen or fail to listen.”

Faithfulness is not measured by the show of hands. The urgent call is not “Get results.” The urgent call is “Get the word out.” God will deal with the hearing. The prophet must deal with the speaking. If they listen, glory to God. If they fail to listen, the prophet has still been a prophet. They will know that a man with the Word of God has been among them.

Conclusion.  That is how this series must end for us. Some of you have tasted the Word and found it sweet. Do not stop at tasting. Fill your stomach. Some of you have looked at the people around you and felt the hardness. Do not be surprised, and do not be silent. Some of you have been afraid of faces, of rooms, of family tables, of a culture that rolls its eyes at holy things. Hear the Lord: I will make you as unyielding as they are. I will make your forehead like the hardest stone. Do not be afraid of them.

We are not Ezekiel. We live on the other side of the cross and the empty tomb. The Word we eat is not only lament and woe. It is the good news that the Son of Man came, set His face like flint, bore the judgment the scroll announced, and rose so that hard-hearted people might be given new hearts. Ezekiel pointed toward a day when God would take the heart of stone and give a heart of flesh. That day has come in Jesus Christ. So we speak with even more reason than Ezekiel had. We speak a finished work. We speak a living Lord. We speak a Spirit who can do what no prophet can do—unharden the hearer.

But the pattern of the call has not changed. Taste the Word. Face the people. Receive the toughness God supplies. Then go to your people and say, “This is what the Sovereign Lord says,” whether they listen or fail to listen.

God’s urgent call is still urgent. The scroll is still sweet. The people are still tested. The Lord still makes flint foreheads for faithful mouths. Open your mouth. Fill your stomach. Get up. Go. Speak.

The Call of Moses

Click to listen to this teaching.

 

 The Call of Moses

 Exodus 3

Introduction.  There are moments in the life of God’s people when the ordinary is interrupted by the extraordinary, when the quiet routines of daily faithfulness are suddenly filled with the sound of heaven’s summons.  The series we walking through together is called “The Urgent Call,” and it rests on a simple conviction:  The living God still speaks, still summons, and still sends.  He doesn’t always speak in the same way, nor does He call every person to the same task, but when God’s call comes, it carries the weight of eternity.  And you’d best be listening.

Today I want to look at one of the most familiar yet most searching of these summons – the call of Moses at the burning bush.  Here is a man who had spent four decades in the desert wilderness of Midian, tending someone else’s sheep, living with the quiet knowledge that his earlier attempt to deliver Israel by his own strength had ended in utter failure and a flight for his life.  He’s not looking for a new job.  He’s not climbing a mountain in some kind of vision quest.  He is simply doing the next faithful thing when the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob steps into the frame and issues an urgent call.

What unfolds in Exodus 3 is not merely a private religious experience.  It is the beginning of Israel’s redemption and a pattern for every believer who has ever felt the weight of divine interruption.  My prayer today is that the Spirit who spoke from the flames may speak again to us today.

An incredible meeting.

Now Moses was tending the flock of Jethro his father-in-law, the priest of Midian, and he led the flock to the far side of the wilderness and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. [2] There the angel of the Lord appeared to him in flames of fire from within a bush. Moses saw that though the bush was on fire it did not burn up. [3] So Moses thought, “I will go over and see this strange sight—why the bush does not burn up.”   (Exodus 3:1 – 3 | TNIV)

Our scene opens with quiet simplicity.  Moses is keeping the flock of his father-in-law, Jethro.  He leads the sheep to the far side of the wilderness and comes Horeb, the mountain of God.  There is nothing dramatic about the setting at first glance – only a shepherd, a flock, and the long, ordinary days of exile.  Then the text records the interruption:  The angel of the Lord appears to him in flames of fire from within a burning bush.  Moses sees that though the bush is on fire, it doesn’t burn up.  So he thinks, “I’ll go over and see this strange sight – why the bush doesn’t burn up.”

I want you to notice something.  This time when God spoke, there was no earthquake, no trumpet blast, no sudden voice booming from the sky.  There is just a bush on fire that doesn’t burn up.  The miracle is quiet enough that Moses must decide to go over to it and investigate.  The urgency of the call begins not with overwhelming spectacle but with a curiosity that draws a man nearer.

How often does the Lord still work this way, I wonder?  He places something a little unusual in the path of an ordinary day – a conversation that will not leave us alone, a burden for a people or a place that keeps coming back to us, a restlessness in the soul that refuses to settle.  The bush is still burning for some of us.  The question is whether we are curious enough to investigate it or not.

Well, Moses does investigate, and in that decision this ordinary shepherd steps onto holy ground.  The God who is about to commission him first captures his attention.  The urgent call is rarely shouted at those who are running the other way; but it is often whispered to those who are willing to stop and look more closely at the strange sight God has set before them.

When the Lord saw that he had gone over to look, God called to him from within the bush, “Moses! Moses!” And Moses said, “Here I am.” [5] “Do not come any closer,” God said. “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.”  (Exodus 3:4, 5 | TNIV)

When the Lord sees that Moses has gone over to look, He initiates a conversation with the one-time shepherd.  God addresses him as “Moses, Moses.”  There is something very personal in the double naming.  The God of the universe addresses that particular man by name, twice, as if to make certain there can be no mistake about the identity of the one being summoned.  Moses’ response, “Here I am,” shows us that availability precedes understanding.  Obedience begins with presence.

Then comes the first command of the encounter:  “Do not come any closer. Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.”  The fire that doesn’t consume the bush now declares the holiness of the One who speaks.  Proximity to God is never casual.  The same God who draws near also requires reverence.  Sandals come off because the very ground itself has been claimed by the presence of the Holy One.

Here is a truth or generation must recover.  We live an age that prizes casual and informal familiarity with the divine.  Yet the God who called Moses thousands of years ago is the same God who will later say that no one may see His face and live.  The urgent call always includes the call to holy fear.  We can’t hear the voice of the Lord rightly if we refuse to remove the shoes of self-sufficiency and presumption.  The ground is holy because He is there.  The call is urgent because the One who issues it is not to be trifled with.

Divine awareness.

The conversation now moves from the wonder of the meeting to the content of the message.  God does not simply announce His presence; He reveals His character, His knowledge, and His intention.

Then he said, “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob.” At this, Moses hid his face, because he was afraid to look at God.  (Exodus 3:6 | TNIV)

The self-identification is covenantal.  The God speaking from the bush isn’t a new deity or a tribal spirit of the mountain.  He is the God who bound Himself by promise to the patriarchs.  He is the God who swore to give them a land and to make of them a great nation.  Forty years of silence in Midian have not canceled the covenant.  The long years of Israel’s bondage in Egypt have not erased the oath.   God is still the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

This is the foundation of every call.  The One who summons us is the faithful God of the covenant.  He doesn’t begin with our resume or our readiness.  He begins with His own unchanging character.  When Moses hid his face, he responded rightly to the weight of that revelation.  The God who calls is the God who has already committed Himself to His people.  Our confidence in answering the call rests not in our own strength but in the reliability of the One who speaks.

The Lord said, “I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out because of their slave drivers, and I am concerned about their suffering.”  (Exodus 3:7 | TNIV)

Three verbs stand out in this verse:  Seen, heard, concerned.  The God of the covenant is not distant or indifferent.  He has observed the affliction of His people.  He has registered every cry.  He feels the weight of their suffering.  The Hebrew carries the sense of intimate knowledge – God knows their pain from the inside.

This is one of the most precious truths in the Bible for those who suffer.  The call of God is never issued in ignorance of human pain.  The same God who will soon command Moses to go also first declares that He has seen, heard, and known.  Before there is a mission there is compassion.  Before there is a commission there is the assurance that heaven is not silent about earth’s misery.

For every one of you who has ever wondered whether God notices the private sorrow, the unanswered prayer, the long night of waiting, this verse stands as an immovable rock.  He has seen.  He has heard.  He is concerned.  The call flows out of divine awareness, not divine absence.

So I have come down to rescue them from the hand of the Egyptians and to bring them up out of that land into a good and spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey—the home of the Canaanites, Hittites, Amorites, Perizzites, Hivites and Jebusites. [9] And now the cry of the Israelites has reached me, and I have seen the way the Egyptians are oppressing them. [10] So now, go. I am sending you to Pharaoh to bring my people the Israelites out of Egypt.”  (Exodus 3:8 – 10 | TNIV)

Here the awareness becomes intention, and the intention becomes assignment.  God has come down.  The language is deliberate.  The transcendent God enters the historical situation of His people in order to act.  He will rescue.  He will bring them out.  He will bring them in.  And the instrument of that deliverance will be the very shepherd standing barefoot before the bush.

Notice the sequence here.  God doesn’t first ask Moses whether he qualified.  He doesn’t take a vote among the elders of Israel.  He declares what He intends to do and then places the responsibility of human agency squarely on Moses’ shoulders:  “So go now.  I am sending you.”

This is the heart of the call.  God is never just observing.  He is always moving toward the fulfillment of His redemptive purpose.  And in that movement He regularly chooses unlikely instruments.  The same pattern runs though the whole of Scripture.  The God who sees the misery of people also raises up deliverers, prophets, apostles, and ordinary saints who will become the means by which His intention becomes history.

For us the application is searching.  The call is not primarily about our preferences or our sense of timing.  It is about the God who has already decided to act and who now invites us into the action.  The question is not whether God is going to rescue His people.  The question is whether we will be found available when He says to us, “So now, go.”

Supernatural provision.

The final movement in our text is the most human and therefore the most instructive.  Moses responds to the call with honest reluctance, and God answers with supernatural reassurance.

But Moses said to God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?”  (Exodus 3:11 | TNIV)

The question is, I think, understandable.  Moses had already tried once, in his own strength, and the result was murder, rejection, and 40 years of obscurity.  He knows the power of Egypt well.  He knows the stubbornness of Pharaoh.  He knows his own limitations.  “Who am I?” is not false humility; it is the sober assessment of a man who has measured himself against the size of the task and found himself wanting.

Every true call of God will eventually bring this question to the surface.  The size of the assignment will expose the smallness of the instrument.  The urgency of the mission will highlight the inadequacy of the messenger.  If we have never felt the force of “Who am I?” we may not yet have heard the full weight of the call.

Yet the text doesn’t leave us there.  God doesn’t rebuke Moses for the question.  He doesn’t say, “Stop doubting and just go already.”  Instead, He meets the reluctance with a promise that changes everything.

And God said, “I will be with you. And this will be the sign to you that it is I who have sent you: When you have brought the people out of Egypt, you will worship God on this mountain. ”  (Exodus 3:12 | TNIV)

The answer is breathtaking in its simplicity and sufficiency.  God does not give Moses a detailed strategy, a list of credentials, or a guarantee of immediate success.  He gives him the one thing that makes every other thing possible:  His own presence.  “I will be with you.”

This is the supernatural provision that undergirds every call.  The God who sends is the God who accompanies.  The same presence that made the bush holy is the presence that will go with Moses into the court of Pharaoh.  The same God who heard the cries of Israel will be the God who stands beside the stammering delivers.

And there is a sign.  Not a sign that precedes the obedience, but a sign that follows it.  When the work is done, Moses and the people will worship on this very mountain.  The place of the call will become the place of thanksgiving.  The mountain of encounter will become the mountain of praise.

Here is the pattern for every believer who feels the weight of God’s urgent assignment.  The provision is not primarily more strength within ourselves.  The provision is the abiding presence of the One who calls.  “I will be with you” is the promise that turns reluctance into obedience and fear into faith.

It’s the same promise that echoes through the rest of Scripture.  It is the word spoken to Joshua as he prepares to lead the people into the land.  It is the word spoken by the risen Christ to the disciples as He sends them into all the world.  It is the word that still sustains the church in every generation:  The God who calls is the God who goes with those He sends.

Conclusion.  The urgent call of Moses is not a museum piece.  It is a living pattern.  The same God who met a reluctant shepherd on the far side of the wilderness still meets His people today.  He still interrupts ordinary days with holy fire.  He still declares His covenant faithfulness.  He still sees the misery of His people and intends their deliverance.  He still answers our “Who am I?” with the unanswerable promise, “I will be with you.”

The question that remains is the same question Moses faced:  Will we turn aside to look?  Will we remove our sandals?  Will we say, “Here I am”? and go?

The series title is not accidental.  The call is urgent because the need is great, the time is short, and the God who speaks is the God who acts.   He has seen.  He has heard.  He has come down.  And now He says to ordinary men and women in ordinary places, “So now, go.”

May the God of the burning bush grant us grace to hear, courage to answer, and the faith to trust the presence that goes with us.  And when the work is done, may we find ourselves, like Moses, back on the mountain – worshipping the One who called us, sustained us, and brought us through.

The Reluctant Hero

Click on the player to listen.

 

Gideon, the Reluctant Hero

 Text:  Judges 6:11 – 18.

 

Introduction.  The last time we saw the Lord summoning His people in a time of dark, spiritual drift and distress.  Today, the call becomes intensely personal.  It lands on one man who never applied for the job, never felt qualified, and never expected the Messenger who found him.  His name is Gideon and his story takes up Judges 6 – 8.  We’re going to concentrate on just a few verses in chapter 6 today.

Israel is well into seven years of crushing Midianite oppression.  The raiders sweep in like locusts, devouring crops, livestock, and hope.  The people have cried out to the Lord, and He has already sent a prophet to diagnose the real problem – idolatry and covenant unfaithfulness.  Now the same Lord moves from diagnosis to deliverance.  He doesn’t send an army.  He sends an angel to, of all places, a winepress.

Trouble everywhere.

The scene is almost comic if it weren’t so desperate.

The angel of the Lord came and sat down under the oak in Ophrah that belonged to Joash the Abiezrite, where his son Gideon was threshing wheat in a winepress to keep it from the Midianites. [12] When the angel of the Lord appeared to Gideon, he said, “The Lord is with you, mighty warrior. ”  (Judges 6:11, 12 | TNIV)

Threshing wheat was always done on a high, open hill where the wind can separate the grain from the chaff.  A winepress was always a low, stone pit, partially underground, designed for trampling grapes.  Gideon is down in that pit, beating out a little wheat by hand, hiding from the Midianites.  Fear has driven Gideon underground.

And into that hole of fear, the angel of the Lord drops the most unexpected greetings in Scripture:  “The Lord is with you mighty warrior.”

Mighty warrior?  The man is literally sneaking around in a winepress!  That title seems almost sarcastic until we remember who is speaking.  The Lord doesn’t describe Gideon as he is at this moment; He addresses him according to the identity and calling He Himself is about give.  God speaks future reality into present weakness.

This is how God’s call often arrives.  It finds us not on the mountain top of confidence but in the low places of self-protection.  We are trying to preserve a little grain, a little security, a little dignity, and suddenly the voice of God names us something we don’t feel at all.  “Mighty warrior.”  “Chosen vessel.”  “Salt of the earth.”  “Light of the world.”  The discrepancy between the title and the present experience can feel almost cruel – until we realize that the Lord isn’t mocking us.  He is naming what His presence will produce. 

Gideon’s initial response isn’t gratitude or excitement.  It’s honest protest.

 “Pardon me, my lord,” Gideon replied, “but if the Lord is with us, why has all this happened to us? Where are all his wonders that our ancestors told us about when they said, ‘Did not the Lord bring us up out of Egypt?’ But now the Lord has abandoned us and given us into the hand of Midian.”  (Judges 6:13 | TNIV)

Gideon has learned well, at least.  He knows the age-old stories of the Exodus, the Red Sea, the manna, and the conquest.  He has heard the testimonies of earlier generations.  But the present reality doesn’t match the inherited memory.  If God is with us, why are our barns empty?  Why are we hiding in caves?  Why are we dreading the next Midianite raid?

I think plenty of us live in that same tension.  We absolutely believe the great acts of God in Scripture.  We sing the hymns of past revivals.  We even remember the past in our own lives when answered prayer seemed to happen all the time.  And then the drought comes – financial, relational, physical, spiritual – and the question we ask is: “If the Lord is with me, why has this happened?”

It’s significant that the angel doesn’t scold Gideon for the question.  The Lord isn’t threatened by honest lament.  What He will never allow, however, is for the lament to become the final word.  The missing miracles of the past are not proof of God’s abandonment; they are the backdrop against which a new act of deliverance will shine.

A weak tribe.

The Lord isn’t deterred by our feelings, and He wasn’t by Gideon’s either.

The Lord turned to him and said, “Go in the strength you have and save Israel out of Midian’s hand. Am I not sending you?”  (Judges 6:14 | TNIV)

God’s command is stark:  “GO.”  And Gideon’s resource is modest:  “in the strength you have.”  The goal is enormous:  “save Israel.”  But the guarantee is personal:  “Am I not sending you?”

This is the pattern of every true call of God.  He doesn’t wait until we feel strong enough.  He doesn’t require us to manufacture extra strength before we obey.  He simply said, “Go with what you already have, because it’s my strength that matters.”  The strength that matters is not the strength we bring but the strength of the One who goes with us.

 “Pardon me, my lord,” Gideon replied, “but how can I save Israel? My clan is the weakest in Manasseh, and I am the least in my family. ”  (Judges 6:15 | TNIV)

 The tribe of Manasseh was already one of the smallest tribe.  Within Manasseh the clan of Abiezer ranked near the bottom.  And within that clan Gideon ranked last.  He is stacking all the reasons why the assignment just can’t be for him.  He is doing what most of us do when the urgent call arrives:  We catalogue our limitations as though they’re enough to cancel the command.

But the very weakness Gideon cites is the reason God chose him.  The Lord delights in using the least so that the glory cannot be stolen.  Paul would later write that same principle to the Corinthians:

God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.  (1 Corinthians 1:27 | NIV)

Gideon’s puny pedigree is not a disqualification; it’s the perfect stage for divine power.

The Lord answers the objection with a promise that settles everything:

The Lord answered, “I will be with you , and you will strike down all the Midianites together.”  (Judges 6:16 | TNIV)

The guarantee isn’t that Gideon will all of a sudden feel better or braver.  It isn’t that Gideon will become impressive.  The guarantee is the Lord’s presence.  That’s the decisive factor.  Everything else – strategy, numbers, weapons, reputation – is secondary.

This is the heart of the call.  God doesn’t primarily call those who “have it all together.”  He calls those who will go in His presence.  When God says, “I will be with you,” that means the outcome is already secured.  Gideon will not just survive the Midianites, he will strike them down until not one is left standing.  The success is as certain as the character of the One who promises it.

Security sought.

Even with this incredible promise ringing in his ears, Gideon needs more.  He needs some assurance.

Gideon replied, “If now I have found favor in your eyes, give me a sign that it is really you talking to me.”  (Judges 6:17 | TNIV)

Some of us may be tempted to criticize him here.  “Just believe already!”  But the text treats Gideon’s request with surprising patience.  Gideon isn’t demanding a sign out of unbelief so much as seeking confirmation that this encounter is truly from the Lord.  He just needs to make sure.  The stakes couldn’t be higher.  If he’s wrong, he’ll be leading his people into greater disaster.  So he asks for a sign.

Gideon is very specific in his request:

“Please do not go away until I come back and bring my offering and set it before you.” And the Lord said, “I will wait until you return.”  (Judges 6:18 | TNIV)

The angel of the Lord agrees to wait.  Yes, the Creator of the universe sits under an oak tree while a frightened farmer goes into his house, kills a young goat, kneads some unleavened bread, and prepares an offering.  I always marvel at God’s patience, but His patience toward the reluctant is staggering.

We know from the verses that follow that the sign will be dramatic – fire from the rock consuming the offering, and the angel vanishing.  But the deeper assurance is already given in those simple words:  “I will wait until you return.”  The Lord is not in a hurry abandon the conversation.  He is willing to linger with the hesitant until faith is strengthened.

Living the call today.

So, what does this ancient encounter say to us who live on the other side of the cross?

First, the Lord still finds His servants in the winepress of ordinary fear.  He still speaks titles of destiny over people who feel anything but mighty.  If you are hiding, trying to preserve a little security while the large threats encircle you, hear the greeting of grace:  “The Lord is with you.”

Second, the absence of the miracles we remember doesn’t equal the absence of God.  Gideon’s generation had the stories but not the current experience.  God was about the write a new chapter.  The same may be true for you.  The silence is not abandonment; it’s the quiet before a fresh act of deliverance.

Third, your weakness is not a veto on the call.  The Lord is not looking for the strongest clan or the most impressive resume.  He’s looking for the person who will go in the strength they already have because He Himself is sending them.  The decisive factor is never our adequacy – it is His presence.

Fourth, honest questions and even requests for assurance are not the opposite of faith.  The Lord who waited under the oak tree for Gideon’s offering still waits for ours.  He is patient with the reluctant.

Finally, God’s call is always a call into mission larger than ourselves.  Gideon was not summoned to feel better about his personal security.  He was summoned to save Israel.  Every true encounter with the living God enlarges our horizon.  We are released from the winepress not so we can live comfortably, but so we can become instruments of deliverance for others.

Jesus Christ entered the ultimate weakness of the cross so that the weakest among us might become more than conquerors through Him who loved us.  The same Lord who met Gideon under the oak has met us at the empty tomb.  He still says, “I will be with you.”  And the promise is enough.

So, the questions this morning are simple but searching:  Where is your winepress?  What fear has driven you underground?  What title has God spoken over you that still feel impossible?  The urgent call is sounding again.  Will you rise, bring your offering of imperfect faith, and go in the strength you have – because the Lord Himself is sending you?

May the God who turns cowering farmers into mighty warriors strengthen us to answer.

 


Bookmark and Share

Another great day!

Blog Stats

  • 418,249 hits

Never miss a new post again.

Archives

Email Subscription

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 277 other subscribers
Follow revdocporter on Twitter

Who’d have guessed?

My Conservative Identity:

You are an Anti-government Gunslinger, also known as a libertarian conservative. You believe in smaller government, states’ rights, gun rights, and that, as Reagan once said, “The nine most terrifying words in the English language are, ‘I’m from the government and I’m here to help.’”

Take the quiz at www.FightLiberals.com

Photobucket