When words are many, transgression is

        not lacking,

but whoever restrains his lips is prudent. (Proverbs 10.19)

During the Israelites’ 40-year period of wandering through the wilderness, paying the penalty for failing to trust God and refusing to accept the inheritance he’d offered, there were several more incidents in which large groups rebelled against God and the leaders he’d chosen.  One of these is generally remembered as “the rebellion of Korah,” but while Korah was certainly most notable, there were many other ringleaders, including two brothers named Dathan and Abiram.  A portion of the story focuses on these two, and contains lessons for us, today.

Their primary complaint is that Moses and Aaron have clearly not delivered on the promise to lead the people to a wonderful new homeland after rescuing them from slavery in Egypt.  We can quickly see some major oversights in this accusation.  It wasn’t just Moses and Aaron promising this, but God.  Further, it must be acknowledged that they had, in fact, led Israel out of Egypt, where the people had “groaned because of their slavery and cried out for help” (Ex 2.23); was that not enough reason for the people to trust their leadership afterward?  But the most important flaw in the argument is also the most obvious—Moses and Aaron are only representatives of God, who was ready to hand over their inheritance, but for their rejection of his generosity!  God’s message had been relayed to them clearly:

“As I live, declares the Lord, what you have said in my hearing I will do to you: your dead bodies shall fall in this wilderness, and of all your number…who have grumbled against me, not one shall come into the land where I swore that I would make you dwell, except Caleb the son of Jephunneh and Joshua the son of Nun. But your little ones, who you said would become a prey, I will bring in, and they shall know the land that you have rejected. …According to the number of the days in which you spied out the land, forty days, a year for each day, you shall bear your iniquity forty years, and you shall know my displeasure.” (Numbers 14.28-34)

Dathan and Abiram refuse to acknowledge this, and instead pretend the decision was up to Moses and Aaron—who in fact rescued the nation from perishing in one fell swoop, talking God down to this lesser penalty.  Their lack of gratitude is astonishing!

Moses gave Dathan and Abiram an opportunity to air their grievance directly, but they sent back their own message:

“We will not come up. Is it a small thing that you have brought us up out of a land flowing with milk and honey, to kill us in the wilderness, that you must also make yourself a prince over us? Moreover, you have not brought us into a land flowing with milk and honey, nor given us inheritance of fields and vineyards. Will you put out the eyes of these men? We will not come up.” (Numbers 16.12-14)

If they have a complaint, why won’t they confront the responsible parties?  It’s because they’re not interested in seeing it resolved, or learning the facts, or acknowledging anyone’s authority.  They think they’ve figured out what Moses really thinks, and really wants, no matter what he says, and no matter what miracles they’ve witnessed.  Considering that they are openly rebelling, Moses would have been justified in simply sending agents to arrest them, exercising any force necessary to bring them, dead or alive.  He has exercised characteristic patience and attempted to settle the matter peacefully, securing repentance and reconciliation.  Moses’ approach serves to emphasize just how wrong Dathan and Abiram were in their assessment of his character and motivations.  But they’re not interested.  They’ve made their claim, and will stand by it stubbornly, regardless of the evidence. 

The story doesn’t end well for Dathan and Abiram.  His summons refused, Moses instead goes to them.

And he spoke to the congregation, saying, “Depart, please, from the tents of these wicked men, and touch nothing of theirs, lest you be swept away with all their sins.” So they got away from the dwelling of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram. (Numbers 16.26-27)

Then, “the earth opened its mouth and swallowed them up” (v32).  This wasn’t vindictiveness on the part of Moses and Aaron, but God’s jealous protection of his chosen leaders.  And while we don’t see miraculous punishments from God today, his character has not changed since then. 

Dathan and Abiram weren’t motivated by truth or justice; to them, it was about getting what they wanted and never being held accountable.  They were happy to hurl baseless condemnations to get there, as if they were the rightful judges.  We can see from their death how God feels about this behavior, but he also included it in his Law:

If a malicious witness arises to accuse a person of wrongdoing…falsely, then you shall do to him as he had meant to do to his brother. (Deuteronomy 19.16-19)

The lesson for us is simple: watch what you say!  Often, this will mean simply keeping your thoughts to yourself, as James also tells us, “let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger” (Ja 1.19).  You might not like it, but you’re not the judge, and you have no say.  But you will be held accountable one day for what you say.  As Jesus said,

“I tell you, on the day of judgment people will give account for every careless word they speak, for by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned.” (Matthew 12.36-37)

Jeremy Nettles

The past four installments of this bulletin have been focused around one theme, the fall of Jerusalem and destruction of the Temple in 586 BC.  We’ve focused on the spiritual side of things, and stayed light on historical details, trying to take as much of a God’s-eye view as possible, because God had more in mind than simply punishing his wayward people.  He had big plans.

Each previous installment in the series has referred to the book of Lamentations, usually more than once.  This book consists of five poems from the perspective of those who witnessed the siege and destruction, and it represents their attempt to comprehend and cope with the horrors they saw with their own eyes, despite thinking they could never happen.  Progressing from one poem to the next, we find major developments, like the admission of Israel’s guilt in chapter 1.  Next, in chapter 2, we see the realization God didn’t just allow their downfall, but actually caused it, as he’d promised he would, on account of their sins.  In chapter 3 the poet recalls God’s faithfulness, and therefore finds hope that the story isn’t over.  But chapter 4 is a plunge back into sorrow and misery, as the witness recalls the atrocities committed:

Happier were the victims of the sword

                       than the victims of hunger,

        who wasted away, pierced

                       by lack of the fruits of the field.

The hands of compassionate women

                       have boiled their own children;

        they became their food

                       during the destruction of the daughter of my people. (Lamentations 4.9-10)

There’s no ray of hope for the remainder of the book.  It ends with a helpless plea for restoration, capped off by a nagging doubt:

        Renew our days as of old—

unless you have utterly rejected us,

        and you remain exceedingly angry

        with us. (Lametnations 5.21-22)

We previously saw that Jesus’ crucifixion mirrors what happened to Jerusalem.  It was according to God’s plan, because of man’s sin.  Jesus is God in the flesh, and dwelt among the Jews in a far greater sense than the cloud that used to fill the tabernacle or Temple.  Yet, just as they pushed God away in the old days, so they did again—killing his mortal body, this time.  The killers didn’t realize it right away, but it was a catastrophe, and some—Jesus’ disciples—did know.  And just as the exiles had been told of God’s promises of restoration, yet couldn’t quite bring themselves to believe it was true, so Jesus’ disciples had been informed of his plan to die and rise again on three separate occasions (cf. Lk 9.22, 9.44, 18.31-33); yet they, too, couldn’t quite bring themselves to fully believe it (cf. Lk 24.5-11). 

The Jewish exiles waited in despair for decades, until, right on schedule, God fulfilled his promise, down to the name of the future king who would make the decree, saying

of Cyrus, “He is my shepherd,

        and he shall fulfill all my purpose”;

saying of Jerusalem, “She shall be built,”

        and of the temple, “Your foundation

        shall be laid.” (Isaiah 44.28)

Jesus’ disciples waited in despair for three days, until, right on schedule, God fulfilled his promise and raised his Son from the grave.

But there’s a big difference, too: the Second Temple was a hollow imitation of the First.  The most important holy object was the ark of the covenant, with its mercy seat—God’s earthly throne, over which his Presence dwelt in a cloud.  But the ark had been taken by the Babylonians, and was never recovered; and it didn’t matter much anyway, because God’s Presence had already left (Eze 10.18-19), and now it was just a big, heavy box with a lot of gold to salvage.  Of the Second Temple God said, “I will fill this house with glory” (Hg 2.7), but there was no ark, no mercy seat, no throne for him in the Most Holy Place.  His Presence didn’t enter the Temple again, until Joseph brought the infant Jesus there, “to present him to the Lord” (Lk 2.22).

Yet when Jesus rose, rather than a lesser “temple” (Jn 2.21), his new one was better—a “glorious body” (Php 3.21).  There’s more.  The rebuilt Temple meant a great revival to the Jewish nation.  God described it in Ezekiel 37 as a valley of skeletal remains rising up at his command, joining together, growing new flesh and skin, then finally being inspired with the wind itself at God’s command, becoming living souls once more.

“Behold, they say, ‘Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are indeed cut off.’ …Thus says the Lord God: Behold, I will open your graves and raise you from your graves, O my people. And I will bring you into the land of Israel. …And I will put my Spirit within you, and you shall live…” (Ezekiel 37.11-14)

He was talking about the restoration, the return, and the rebuilding; but more importantly, he was talking about what Jesus would do, 5 centuries later.  He offers both a spiritual resurrection, and a bodily one. 

We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.

        For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his. (Romans 6.4-5)

Death awaits us all, and no matter what form it takes, it will be a catastrophe.  It’s our own fault; it’s the result of sin—Adam’s and our own—but we have no reason to wait around in confusion and despair, wondering why a life so beautiful, on the good earth God created, should be destined for destruction.  God has told us, and shown us the end of the story.  Be faithful to him, obey his commands, and wait patiently to see his salvation.

Jeremy Nettles

For the last three weeks, we’ve considered the fall of Jerusalem, the destruction of the Temple, the ensuing captivity, the promised restoration, and what it all meant for God’s people—both the Israelites and their spiritual counterparts, the “sons of Abraham” who lay claim to that heritage through faith in Christ (Ga 3.7).  This time, we’ll examine the mystery foreshadowed by the Israelites’ experiences, centuries before Jesus walked the earth.

Just as he was beginning his earthly ministry, Jesus went up to Jerusalem and its rebuilt Temple, to worship his Father and celebrate the Passover.  When he arrived, he found his Father’s house treated as “a house of trade” (Jn 2.16), and forcibly drove the merchants and money-changers out.  Unsurprisingly, the authorities who were responsible for maintaining order at the Temple, were displeased that this country bumpkin took it upon himself to upset the established order of things.  They asked Jesus, “What sign do you show us for doing these things?” (V18).  To us, this reads like a request to see a miracle—and that may be exactly what the authorities meant.  But even if they meant the word, “sign,” more generally, it amounts to a threat: unless you can show us clear evidence of authority, you will pay the penalty!  Jesus’ response is certainly not what they were expecting: “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up” (v19). 

From our perspective, this side of the cross, it’s fairly obvious what he meant, even if John hadn’t explained it two verses later, “he was speaking about the temple of his body.” But what did the Jewish authorities think?  Their retort, “It has taken forty-six years to build this temple,” had to do with the thorough renovation, begun nearly two decades before Jesus’ birth, and recently completed.  But his prediction, inasmuch as it concerned the Temple in Jerusalem, went back much farther into its history.  The first word, “Destroy,” had nothing to do with the renovation, and much to do with what had happened more than 600 years before, to Solomon’s Temple.  Jesus invites such a calamity to occur again, but says that, unlike the 70-year gap between the First Temple’s destruction and the Second’s completion, it would take only three days for Jesus to rebuild it, himself!

From a human perspective, and with the physical Temple in mind, this is patently absurd; and that was the point.  The authorities didn’t know whether he was an over-the-top boaster, was mocking them, or was just a plain, old nut.  But it was none of the above.  What Jesus told them was not so very different from what the Old Testament prophets had told Israel.  For example,

There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse, and a branch from his roots shall bear fruit. And the Spirit of the Lord  shall rest upon him…

(Isaiah 11.1-2)

This prediction concerned the same person, Jesus, but is obviously figurative, using the physical analogy of a tree stump sending out new shoots, in order to tie this promised Anointed One with their history, calling him a descendant of David’s father, Jesse.

When Jesus called his body “this temple,” it wasn’t just an odd way of referring to himself.  Rather, it was an invocation of the awful history that played out, centuries prior, in the very same location where he and the authorities then stood.  Why?  Because Jesus’ life as a man was God’s Presence among us, as Isaiah had prophesied:

All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet: “Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel” (which means, God with us).

(Matthew 1.22-23)

The Temple also represented God’s Presence in Israel’s midst, fulfilling his promise, “I will dwell among the people of Israel and will be their God” (Ex 29.45).  What a wonderful thing, to be desired, and celebrated!  Israel recognized this from the start.  When, after their disobedience at the foot of Mt Sinai (the first occasion in a long line), God told them “I will not go up among you,” meaning that his promise was made void by their failure to keep their side of the covenant, the people considered it a “disastrous word,” and they “mourned” (Ex 33.3-4).  Through Moses’ intercession, God and Israel reconciled and renewed their covenant, but eventually they drove his Presence away through their disobedience, and his earthly house was destroyed.  Now, despite patching up that part of the covenant, those Israelites’ descendants were preparing to drive God’s Presence away, again.  And it was an even greater catastrophe, this time.  This time, the sting of guilt would be even worse.  This time, they would murder God’s own Son.

The crown has fallen from our head;

        woe to us, for we have sinned!

For this our heart has become sick…

(Lamentations 5.16-17)

So far, we’ve only looked at the first part of Jesus’ prediction, that they would “Destroy this temple.”  We know that the story wasn’t going to end with this, and we’ll consider the long night of despair, as well as the great light of the coming day, next week.  For now, consider the magnitude of the sin committed by the Jewish leaders who, just like their ancestors, had God’s Presence among them, but refused to love, trust, and obey him, and drove him away.  Will you do the same?

For it is impossible, in the case of those who have once been enlightened, who have tasted the heavenly gift, and have shared in the Holy Spirit, and have tasted the goodness of the word of God and the powers of the age to come, and then have fallen away, to restore them again to repentance, since they are crucifying once again the Son of God to their own harm and holding him up to contempt.

(Hebrews 6.4-6)

The past two weeks’ articles have examined the fall and destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple in 586 BC.  In the first, we saw that it was far from a sterile report of a far-off military engagement; rather it was the catastrophic collapse of the Jews’ society, nation, and way of life, along with many of their most fundamental assumptions, and topped off by an incalculably high cost in human life and suffering.  In the second, we discovered that, while they had every right to mourn this disaster, they had no right to be surprised.  God had told them it was going to happen unless they fixed their behavior, for centuries on end.  They ignored his verbal warnings and increasingly severe penalties, imposed in part to encourage them to shape up and avoid this worst one that still lay in store.  As they struggled to comprehend all that had happened, they acknowledged they had brought this upon themselves.

The Lord is in the right,

        for I have rebelled against his word;

but hear, all you peoples,

        and         see my suffering;

my young women and my young men

        have gone into captivity.

(Lamentations 1.18)

For all of the Israelites’ many—many—faults, there is one significant point in their favor.  After being so thoroughly crushed in payment for their sins, and living as they did, in a world so full of polytheism and national patron idols, many in their position would have attributed their capital’s fall, and especially the destruction of their temple, to their god’s inability to protect them.  This was, coincidentally, a tactic employed by the Assyrians, during their (notably unsuccessful) siege of Jerusalem more than a century prior.

“And do not listen to Hezekiah when he misleads you by saying, ‘The Lord will deliver us.’ Has any of the gods of the nations ever delivered his land out of the hand of the king of Assyria? Where are the gods of Hamath and Arpad? Where are the gods of Sepharvaim, Hena, and Ivvah? Have they delivered Samaria out of my hand? Who among all the gods of the lands have delivered their lands out of my hand, that the Lord should deliver Jerusalem out of my hand?”

(2 Kings 18.32-35)

Without a doubt, there were Israelites whose faith in God failed them; but on the whole their strong cultural bonds and ancient traditions carried most of Judah’s survivors  through their captivity without losing their most basic faith in God.  Between a stubborn refusal to attribute failure to God, and their (alas! too late) reflections upon the many warnings he had made to them and to their fathers to this effect, they concluded, quite correctly, that in fact God had not only allowed, but actually caused their fall, and even the destruction of his own Temple!

The Lord has scorned his altar,

        disowned his sanctuary;

he has delivered into the hand of the enemy

        the walls of her palaces;

they raised a clamor in the house of the Lord

        as on the day of festival.

The Lord determined to lay in ruins

        the wall of the daughter of Zion…

(Lamentations 2.7-8)

By finally, belatedly, listening to the warnings issued by God, they also recognized that they had come with a blessing for the future:

In that day the remnant of Israel and the survivors of the house of Jacob will no more lean on him who struck them, but will lean on the Lord, the Holy One of Israel, in truth. A remnant will return, the remnant of Jacob, to the mighty God.

(Isaiah 10.20-21)

Since they’d seen the fulfillment of the threats, they reasoned that the blessings were trustworthy, too.

But this I call to mind,

        and therefore I have hope:

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;

        his mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning;

        great is your faithfulness.

“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,

        “therefore I will hope in him.”

The Lord is good to those who wait for him,

        to the soul who seeks him.

It is good that one should wait quietly

        for the salvation of the Lord.

(Lamentations 3.21-26)

God brought them back to their ancestral homeland and even had them rebuild Jerusalem and the Temple.  But considering the grandiose nature of the promises, it always seemed a bit underwhelming, a mere shadow of Israel’s golden age under King David.  God repeatedly pictured the period of restoration as a return to David’s leadership.

“I will rescue my flock; they shall no longer be a prey. And I will judge between sheep and sheep. And I will set up over them one shepherd, my servant David, and he shall feed them: he shall feed them and be their shepherd. And I, the Lord, will be their God, and my servant David shall be prince among them. I am the Lord; I have spoken.”

(Ezekiel 34.22-24)

And it wasn’t to be just a pale imitation of an old, defunct kingdom, allowed to stand briefly among the surrounding nations.

In that day the root of Jesse, who shall stand as a signal for the peoples—of him shall the nations inquire, and his resting place shall be glorious.

(Isaiah 11.10)

The Gentiles would seek this new David, and desire to become subjects in his “kingdom that shall never be destroyed” (Da 2.44). 

When God’s people finally stopped focusing on what they wanted and worried about God’s will instead, they found hope.  Despite the suffering and despair, the best was yet to come, and they would be the vehicle to bring the Messiah into the world, blessing us all immeasurably.  We’ll look deeper into the Messiah and how his work mirrored Israel’s story of destruction and restoration, in next week’s article.  For now, learn from their experience—their mistakes—and start seeking God’s will rather than your own, before the time comes for the temple of your body to fall.

Jeremy Nettles

In last week’s article, we sought to better understand what the destruction of the Temple and Jerusalem in 586 BC meant for the Jews.  It wasn’t only a grave threat to their way of life, but also to their identity as a nation—as God’s chosen people.  They were left to wonder, how could this happen?  This is symbolized in the Hebrew title of the Old Testament book we call Lamentations, ’Ekhah (אֵיכָה)—“How,” taken from its first line.  The book mourns the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple, together with its attendant misery, horror, and death. 

So, why did God allow his people to suffer so much, and to have their inheritance taken away from them?  Two generations died in captivity, before Cyrus gave them the option to return home.

Whoever is among you of all his people, may his God be with him, and let him go up to Jerusalem, which is in Judah, and rebuild the house of the Lord, the God of Israel… (Ezra 1.3)

But despite Cyrus’ instructions to his subjects to help the Jews along on their way, this lofty goal of returning to repossess their ancestral homeland and rebuild their nation, was out of reach for most of the Jews.  More would return to Jerusalem later, but to this day there have always remained far more Jews dispersed among the nations, than in their ancestral homeland.  Why did God allow his promises to be gutted like this?  Well, he didn’t.  In fact, it was always part of the plan.

God promised them this land, but he also promised to discipline them when they sinned.  He told them, “If you walk in my statutes and observe my commandments and do them, then I will give you” everything needed for not only survival, but flourishing (Le 26.3-4).  In the same oracle, he later said,

“But if you will not listen to me and will not do all these commandments, if you spurn my statutes, and if your soul abhors my rules, so that you will not do all my commandments, but break my covenant, then I will do this to you: I will visit you with panic, with wasting disease and fever that consume the eyes and make the heart ache. And you shall sow your seed in vain, for your enemies shall eat it.” (Leviticus 26.14-16)

He was just getting started.  The list of punishments was far longer than the promised blessings, and four times he said something like, “And if in spite of this you will not listen to me, then I will discipline you again” (v18; cf. vv21, 23, 27-28).  The promised punishments culminate with the one most pertinent to our chosen topic:

“And I will scatter you among the nations, and I will unsheathe the sword after you, and your land shall be a desolation, and your cities shall be a waste.” (Leviticus 26.33)

Nor was this the only time God told his people they could choose one of two paths.  For just one other example, what did God tell Solomon, after filling the newly-dedicated Temple with his glory and promising, “For now I have chosen and consecrated this house that my name may be there forever” (2Ch 7.16)?

“And as for you, if you will walk before me as David your father walked, doing according to all that I have commanded you…, then I will establish your royal throne….

“But if you turn aside and forsake my statutes…, then I will pluck you up from my land…, and this house that I have consecrated for my name, I will cast out of my sight… (2 Chronicles 7.17-20)

It’s the same thing he’d said back in Leviticus.  As he promised, so he did.  God showed Ezekiel a vision of his glory abandoning the Temple; it fell to Babylon soon after (Eze 10).

God always keeps his promises.  Sometimes he goes to greater lengths to reassure his people of the things he has clearly stated once, as he did when “he swore by himself” to Abraham that he would bless him with a nation of descendants (He 6.13), but this is reserved for only the most exceptional cases.  Another of these is visible in Psalm 110, which refers to David in its superscript, but is obviously about the Messiah to come:

The Lord says to my Lord:  “Sit at my right hand, until I make your enemies your footstool.” (Psalm 110.1)

And later in the same Psalm,

The Lord has sworn and will not change his mind, “You are a priest forever after the order of Melchizedek.” (Psalm 110.4)

Unlike the qualified promises he gave to the Israelites, this one stands as an absolute, with no “if” to be found.  Unlike the Levitical priesthood that saw its purpose melt away when the Temple burned to the ground, Christ’s priesthood isn’t tied to an earthly dwelling place, or a normal human lifespan.  He’s always interceding on our behalf, and ready to help us when we need it most.

The Temple’s fall forced the Jews to question the meaning and purpose of their existence.  They wrestled with it, and formed a cautious hope that there was more to the story—that God wasn’t done with them, yet, and the best may be yet to come.  They were right!  We’ll delve deeper into the hope they found, in next week’s article; but for now, learn from the Israelites’ failure to heed all of the “ifs” attached to God’s promises.  We don’t have to worry about Jesus our high priest failing, or his kingdom being conquered; but there are several “ifs” for us to keep in mind, today:

If we have died with him, we will also live with him;

if we endure, we will also reign with him;

if we deny him, he also will deny us;

if we are faithless, he remains faithful—

for he cannot deny himself. (2 Timothy 2.12-13)

Jeremy Nettles