Exodus 16

This chapter features more repetition than usual, even for an account that was probably oral in origin. We have God giving instructions to Moses, Moses repeating those directives to Aaron, Moses and Aaron relaying that information to the Israelites, and God reiterating His instructions again for good measure. However, there's a good reason for this seemingly superfluous amount of repetition: the Israelites, despite having been rescued from bondage by God's beneficent hand, grouse like entitled children and ignore God's succinct directives no less than three times.

1. They complain about having no food and wish they were slaves again (really?) (verse 3).
2. They don't listen to Moses when he says to not hoard the manna, and as a result, it becomes infested with lovely maggots (verses 19-20).
3. They gather manna on the Sabbath even though God told them that there wouldn't be any (verse 27).

Like I've mentioned before, the Israelites have just witnessed phenomenally preternatural plagues and walked through parted waters that closed behind them, so why are they so obstreperous? Heck, as a reminder, God even graces His people with a physical manifestation of His glory in verse 10.

This story always made me feel hungry, as many descriptions of food do. I've only had quail once a year or two ago at a "fancy" restaurant. If you've ever seen quail, they're rather small, so even though the dish had two quail, there still wasn't a whole lot of meat. And the taste? From what I remember, it tasted like chicken (of course).

As for the manna, I admit that I'm curious about its appearance and taste. (Just watch; I'll get my wish someday and end up having an allergic reaction.) Verse 31 says that it's white and "tasted like wafers made with honey." So, in effect, God created the first graham crackers, meaning that s'mores probably weren't far behind.

I find it funny that the chapter ends with the parenthetical statement, "(An omer is one-tenth of an ephah)" (verse 36). Thanks, Moses, that clears everything up. Even if one knows what omers and ephahs are, I still think it's droll that Moses waited until the end of the chapter to give this clarification as if he almost forgot.

The Sunday school point of this chapter is that God provides, even when we complain. He may not give us what we want--I doubt that many Israelites fancied eating only manna and quail for 40 years--and He may not always answer our prayers to cure loved ones, for example. But I know I need to learn to trust on Him more. I know I've been saying that since I started writing these posts, so I'm still very much a work in progress.

Exodus 15

I was an English major (receiving my BA in BS, as we liked to call it) because it was the path of least resistance. I'd always loved reading, wrote elaborately disjointed stories of a dazzlingly derivative nature, and dreamt of working in a library or bookstore (remember those?) while writing on the side. I initially started working on a minor in biology because I had also enjoyed that (particularly because of a terrific hands-on biotechnology class I had taken in high school), but I soon jettisoned that pursuit once I realized how many icky chemistry classes I had to take. (In fact, you pretty much had to earn a chemistry minor in order to fulfill the biology minor). So yes, I had a touchy-feely major that all you well-to-do STEM majors shrewdly spurned, and I couldn't even handle minoring in the science that, as many chemists and physicists will tell you, isn't a real science.

So it may seem surprising that I was never much into poetry. Yes, it can be gorgeous, but you often have to put work into extracting the essence of what the poet is trying to say. As we've all learned, poetry is compression, using the least amount of words to express its point or tell its story, which means that the reader must work to unravel its symbolism and ponder why the poet decided to use dactyls instead of trochees. My own attempts at writing poetry, as I believed I mentioned in one of my first posts, are atrocious. That may also be why I've never been into pop music; I've always preferred the instrumental and occasionally electronic palette of film scores. I do love the sound of large choirs, Stephen Sondheim's works, and most of the songs from Disney animated films. (Never fear, as I also like many worship songs.)

But I won't deny that Biblical poetry features remarkable imagery in its evocation of God or the emotions and struggles that following God engenders. In verse 5, for example, Moses says that "deep waters have covered" the Egyptians, making them sink "to the depths like a stone." Humans do naturally have some buoyancy, while most rocks (besides pumice) most decidedly do not. So I do find a wee bit of morbid humor in the image of an Egyptian warrior plummeting to the depths like a boulder. Moses also uses vivid imagery of God's right hand (verses 6 and 12) as well as a perhaps less distinguished body part in verse 8: "By the blast of your nostrils / the water piled up." This metaphorical image reminds me of my dog: with the blast of her nostrils, she expels scintillating droplets of mucus.

Verse 7 says, "You unleashed your burning anger; it consumed them like stubble." I know "stubble" probably refers to plants here, but I can't help thinking about the stubble on a man's face. On the other hand (or arm, as it were), verse 16 says that God will make his enemies "as still as a stone"--which perhaps makes them sink to the bottom of the sea as in verse 5? (Now you know why I'm no good at analyzing poetry.)

After Moses's eloquent performance, Miriam takes a timbrel (basically a tambourine) and lifts the first stanza from her brother's song--only she takes out the first two words. Intriguingly, she's referred to in verse 20 as "Aaron's sister," with no mention of her relation to Moses himself. As the author of Exodus, was he a bit put out that she not only swiped his song, but got a plethora of women to follow her along as well? "Hey, that's my song! Why didn't I get a bunch of lovely Israelite women to sing along and follow me?" In any case, this is probably one of the earliest records of a musical remix. And who knows--perhaps Moses was more skilled at lyrics ("slow of speech and tongue" my foot, unless he wrote this down beforehand) while Miriam was more of a melodist. Before Rodgers & Hammerstein and Ashman & Menken, there could have been Moses & Miriam.

Exodus 14

Before the mighty parting of the Red Sea (which was actually the "Sea of Reeds"), God hardens Pharaoh's heart (verses 4 and 8), spurring him to get off his royal rear and pursue the fleeing Israelites. As I've written in innumerable posts before this, Egypt did quite dandy for a long time after the Israelites left, so Pharaoh's possible fears that Egypt would collapse without slave labor proved unfounded.

As for the Israelites themselves, they see the Egyptians bearing down on them, and what do they do? Well, they did what any self-respecting human being would do after witnessing God saving their firstborn sons: they started to evince an incorrigible querulousness that would soon lead to 40 years of meandering in the desert. In verse 12, they even say, "Didn't we say to you in Egypt, 'Leave us alone; let us serve the Egyptians?' It would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the desert!" Two major problems here. First, I don't know about you, but I don't remember the Israelites saying anything about staying around in Egypt. If serving the Egyptians sent them into such raptures, they were perfectly free to stay. Second, while I don't know whether I would rather die or be a slave (I lack experience in both departments), the Israelites' argument features a false dilemma (i.e., they only have two options: serving the Egyptians or dying in the desert). Such fallacious reasoning stems from their lack of faith in God. But as I just wrote, God just saved all their firstborn sons while killing all the Egyptians' firstborn sons. Then again, I see some of their behavior reflected in me; God has given me so much, and yet I still question if He really has a purpose for me.

I find verse 14 fascinating; Moses, replying to the carping, says, "The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still." While I don't think this means that we should sit around on our butts waiting for God to bless us, it does remind me that, while I do have responsibilities, I need not worry about whether God knows what He's doing. I need to be patient in following His will and still so I can discern Him speaking to me when I pray.

In The Ten Commandments and most other films based on the Exodus, Moses splits the Red Sea in about five seconds. But verse 21 states that "all that night the LORD drove the sea back with a strong east wind and turned it into dry land." The parting of the Sea of Reeds did happen overnight. The return of the water back over the Egyptians took longer than traditionally depicted, as it was "daybreak" by the time the sea was back to normal (verse 27). God screwed up the wheels of the Egyptians' chariots so they couldn't move well, but the Egyptians still must have taken their sweet time trying to waltz out of the way of the returning waters. I mean, a mass of more than 600,000 people made it through, so how could 600 Egyptians dawdle at an even more leisurely pace? OK, while the Sea of Reeds was no Red Sea, I will concede that it was probably wide enough that, by the time the Egyptians saw that the waters were coming back, they probably couldn't run back to the shore in time.

All this thinking about rushing water has activated my bladder, so I'll end this post on that ignominiously juvenile note as I run off to the loo.

Exodus 13

God summarizes many of the points He made in the last chapter for the benefit of people like me afflicted with poor auditory memory. I retain information longer if I read it--after all, I apparently did start reading before I entered preschool. On the other hand, I was able to hear as soon as I was born, so I don't know why it's harder for me to remember spoken statements unless I hear them repeatedly. (I'm better with remembering music.) So it may appear like I'm listening intently, but I know I have to--otherwise, I'll probably miss something. (I also suck at multitasking, but I think that's enough tangents for now.)

God does add some shiny new information about redeeming all the firstborn sons and firstborn males of all animals. The animals all have to be sacrificed--not such a thrill to be a firstborn male in this case, is it? However, the donkeys are spared, much to the relief of Eddie Murphy and his firstborn dragon-mule offspring. Instead, poor Lamb Chop has to give its life for a noble cause. Well, I guess someone has to take the fall for "The Song That Doesn't End," and it might as well be the very sheep who disseminated this malignant earworm.

Twice, God uses the vivid figure of speech "sign on your hand and a reminder on your forehead" (verse 9, repeated in verse 16) to bolster the idea that the Israelites should remember what God has done for them. Our bodies live in the physical realm, so we often view corporeal sensations and concerns as paramount. The idea of a physical reminder of a spiritual truth does have appeal, as it uses an aspect of the temporary, fallen realm to point toward eternal, truly salient principles. We don't have to use phylacteries as some Jews do today, but we should remember that, in this relentlessly physical world, God still comes first.

Verse 17 notes that God takes the Israelites on a path away from the Philistines and other tribes, knowing that His people will skittishly run right back into the arms of Pharaoh if confronted. And sure enough, this presages the complaints the Israelites will make later. And how does God lead them? One if by land, two if by sea. A cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. The Bible doesn't say how big the pillar was. Although cinematic adaptations show a colossal, magnificent column, who's to say it wasn't the size of a pillar that would be more fit for a center for ants?

Of course, I'm being facetious, as God can create wonders more phenomenal than we can imagine. (Plus, a small pillar wouldn't do a very good job of leading 600,000+ people. But as 1 Kings 19 shows, God can also reveal Himself in the subtlest of ways.

Exodus 12

We finally get the (Not So) Super-Secret Origin Story of Passover. While it's not as flashy as, say, Batman's or Baymax's, it does involve a traumatic event from which the heroes emerge, bruised but not broken. In addition, we get a rip-roaring preview of how the back half of Exodus and all of Leviticus will be like.

I was a Cub Scout who somehow made it all the way to Webelos. All the Pack-wide events took place in the fellowship hall of a Presbyterian church, while the more dignified, formal events took place in the church's sanctuary, an impressive, imposing chamber complete with pews and a pipe organ. Instead of paying attention like I was supposed to, I always snuck a peek at the Bibles stored in the back of the pews. Yes, I did have my own Bible back at home, but for some reason, I found myself engrossed in the minutiae of Leviticus and the last half of Exodus whenever I found myself in that august sanctuary. Just one of my little quirks.

Anyway, God commands His people to paint blood over the door so He knows not to kill the firstborn sons residing there. Clearly, God knows who's an Israelite and who isn't, but as with most Old Testament directives, He's just seeing who's actually paying attention to what He's saying. I know that I ignore God's promptings--sure, I haven't actually heard Him speak to me, but it doesn't take a perceptible voice for me to know that He disapproves of some of the more ignoble actions I take.

God tells His people to make bread without yeast (verse 15), but when the actual exodus begins, verse 39 explains their bread was unleavened because "they did not have time to prepare food for themselves." I wouldn't quite call this a retcon, but God did say that they weren't to eat bread with yeast for seven days. Does this mean that the exodus began more than seven days after the death of the firstborn and the first Passover? If so, that's an awfully long time for Pharaoh to be sitting around on his royal rear after his firstborn son and the firstborn sons of all his subjects have been killed. The Egyptians are only too eager to see the Israelites go (verse 33), allowing the former slaves to abscond with some of their jewelry to boot.

Intriguingly, verse 38 says, "Many other people went up with [the Israelites]," implying that some Egyptians also decided to up sticks and take their chances with the Israelites. Seeing what their Pharaoh had allowed, from boils to unsavory infestations to death, I wouldn't blame them. Although the Israelites were God's chosen people, there were those who still acknowledged and even put themselves under God's sovereign power centuries before Christ graced the planet with His presence.

Exodus 11

God has had it with Pharaoh and his duplicity, so He has Moses introduce the plague of the firstborn. Apparently, Moses is pissed off at Pharaoh too, for he leaves in a huff, "hot with anger" (verse 8). If I were in Moses's position, I would be absolutely apoplectic that Pharaoh, through his intractability, has led so many of his subjects to death.

God specifies that only the firstborn sons will die (verse 5), not the daughters. I don't want to turn this into a gender politics post, but in many societies, the firstborn son did receive all the inheritance. Their parents lavished all their adulation on him, leaving their daughters and all subsequent sons rather forsaken. Of course, it's wrong to think this way, but we still find traces of this "Boys are most important" attitude in modern Western society. When a young boy acts rambunctious and obnoxious, some people say, "Oh, how cute! He's going to be a real athlete and charismatic leader when he grows up! That's right; go on trying to trip that blind man, you adorable little rapscallion!" When a girl acts this way, these same people turn around and say, "Shut your pie hole, you little brat, and stop being so annoying! Be a lady, why don't you!" I don't mean to give all guys grief--I'm one myself, after all, and a firstborn at that--but while I think we've made some progress in how we treat the sexes, we still have some ways to go.

I admit that the plague on the firstborn makes me uncomfortable. Sure, the other plagues hurt or inconvenienced some innocent Egyptians, but this plague involves outright death. Natural disasters such as earthquakes, tsunamis, and hurricanes cause their fair share of death and devastation, but we can't say that God sent any of these calamities for a particular purpose. Then we have human-created disasters--oil spills, gas pipe explosions, Miley Cyrus--but at least for those, we can blame fallible humans.

But here, we have God directly causing death, and I'm willing to bet that most of those killed were not God-fearing--after all, they were Egyptians. Therefore, they probably didn't go to heaven when they died. What troubles me most is that some of those killed must have been kids. I wonder--why would God kill them and offer forgiveness to a screw-up like me? "God works in mysterious ways" is the non-answer that comes to mind, but I don't find it satisfying. I can only find small consolation in realizing that no one really knows exactly what happens when we die, especially in regards to those born before the advent of Christ. I don't want to gloss over events in the Bible that cause me unease or for which I don't have answers, and this is certainly one of those events.

Exodus 10

Before an armada of grasshoppers swarm down on Egypt like they did on the poor ants of A Bug's Life, God says to Moses, "Go to Pharaoh, for I have hardened his heart and the hearts of his officials so that I may perform these signs among them" (verse 1). This builds upon the idea in the last chapter that God is using Pharaoh and the Egyptians for His own sake. They suffer these plagues for the benefit of young Israelites who, thousands of years later, will hear this history from Mommy and Daddy with the added bonus of a moral. (And what kid doesn't like a story with a moral?) For that matter, it's also to the benefit of weirdo bloggers trying to write about the Bible in a half-decent manner. Some people want to be remembered, but I don't think anyone wants their purpose in life reduced to being a cautionary tale for their progeny.

However, here God says that He is the one who is hardening Pharaoh's heart. That's a more discomfiting notion than Pharaoh deciding to be a nincompoop all by his lonesome, because that way he's the only one responsible for bringing all these delightful plagues upon his sorry, bald head. Then again, I suppose he's already done that himself, thus possibly passing some point of no return. God's grace is immeasurable, but Pharaoh has had multiple chances to accept it and refused each time.

Locusts aren't as directly harmful to humans as biting flies, boils, or hailstones the size of Pharaoh's pate, but they pretty much destroy whatever's left of the Egyptian economy. (Though Egypt didn't just fall apart; it did recover and continue for a while longer.) The Pharaoh's subjects can go hang for all he cares, but when a plague affects his precious country's economic strength? "Myself forbid!" the self-appointed "deity" probably exclaimed.

During the plague of darkness, "[n]o one could see anyone else or move about for three days" (verse 23). Apparently, though, Pharaoh can somehow tell that he's talking to Moses and Aaron when he summons them, trying to haggle and allowing the men go worship while keeping the women and children as hostages. He dismisses Moses and Aaron for the final time, telling them to "Get out of my sight!" (verse 28). To which the Joker might say this:

After all, it is dark, so Moses and Aaron could just remain standing there and still technically be following the letter of Pharaoh's command. His subsequent command to "[m]ake sure you do not appear before me again" (verse 28) is also a poor choice of words, as it will lead him and many of his unsuspecting subjects to suffer the most grievous, traumatic plague of all.

Exodus 9

The plague on livestock will crush the hearts of those with an affinity for ungulates such as horses, sheep camels, and, um, goats. God sends a plague on all said animals that happen to be "in the field" (verse 3). These animals weren't just cuddly pets--they formed the livelihood for many Egyptians. Thus, seeing Black Beauty keel over with a final whinny and Shaun expire with one last bleat (which probably translated to, "You fool! Why didn't you listen to God and take me out of the field?") was a double-whammy. As for Joe the camel, he was probably too irascible to say anything when he died, instead electing for one final expectoration. And I am aware that camels usually don't spit unless angered, but you'd be pretty grumpy if you were dying all because of your owner's stupidity. At any rate, Joe's repellant, off-putting demeanor made him the perfect candidate for a cigarette company mascot.

Speaking of repellant, the next plague involves boils popping up on the Egyptians and the animals not killed by the previous plague. A truly nasty bit of business, and not one that I particularly want to dwell on.

Before God unleashes the plague of hail, He has Moses say to Pharaoh, "I have raised you up for this very purpose, that I might show you my power and that my name might be proclaimed in all the earth" (verse 16). I find this disturbing in some ways. We all wonder about the meaning of life, but the truth is, Monty Python addressed that age-old philosophical nugget. OK, maybe a better term to use is "one's purpose in life." Does verse 16 imply that some people's purpose is merely to serve as cannon fodder for God's mighty miracles? I would kind of understand that in Pharaoh's case; he's being a jerk by breaking his promises and disregarding the well-being of his subjects. But what about the subjects themselves? I do think this is a sub-issue of the larger conundrum of why God allows suffering that seems disproportionate. However, if we follow God, He does have plans for us to perform good deeds that will show His love (to reference Ephesians 2:10).

God sends hail down onto Egypt. (For some reason, The Prince of Egypt and that masterpiece of Biblical storytelling The Mummy turn the hail into fireballs, because it apparently just isn't cinematic enough to show people getting conked on the head with gigantic spheroids of ice.) Pharaoh asks Moses to stop the hail, claiming, "This time I have sinned" (verse 27). However, "When Pharaoh saw that the rain and hail and thunder had stopped, he sinned again" (verse 34). Isn't that just so emblematic of human nature? I've taken up jogging the past year, and while I can now run for about a dozen miles without feeling like I'm dying, it was quite torturous when I first started. (Because as we all know, people like me who run for fun have a screw or two loose.) "God, please help me get through this," I'd say, and though I wouldn't add, "and I'll never sin again," I would indeed make screw-ups, sometimes not long after my run. Back when I had to give oral presentations, take tests, and, in college, pull all-nighters to finish papers, I'd also have similar thoughts. I know God forgives, but as I've written before, I shouldn't take His grace for granted.

Exodus 8

This chapter describes three plagues in quick succession, all having to do with some of the most beloved animals on our planet: frogs, gnats, and flies. OK, frogs aren't bad as long as you don't have hundreds crawling over you--and I daresay that most folks wouldn't be happy if they had hundreds of chinchillas wriggling over them 24/7. Or Tribbles. (Please pardon the distracting, grammatically incorrect text overlay.)

If the plague of frogs had happened right after the Nile turning to blood, it would make scientific sense. After all, what amphibious creature is going to loiter around in blood, unless it's a vampire? The fish, to their dismay, are stuck, but the frogs are free to hop out and find new digs. However, as the end of the last chapter states, the frogs come seven days after the Nile turns to blood. So maybe God told the frogs to hang out on the banks of the river for a few days before directing them to pester those bald men and wax-cone-wearing women. But if the frogs were swarming over the land, I don't get how Pharaoh was convinced that his "magicians" could replicate the trick. There are already all these frogs, so how does he know that any frogs his magicians "create" aren't the ones sent by God?

The magicians can't reproduce the next plague, when God turns dust into gnats. If indeed every speck of dust in Egypt did turn into a gnat, how horrible would that have been? (Also, that may have been why the magicians failed, because there was no more dust left to turn into gnats.)  Think of him much dust is in, say, your average city or suburb. Well, Egypt is in the middle of a desert, so imagine every grain of sand suddenly turning into a speck of misery. At this point, even the magicians acknowledge God's sovereign power, but Pharaoh proves as stubborn as ever.

Next come the flies, probably thrilled to be able to buzz around all the frog carcasses. I don't know what would be worse, innumerable gnats or innumerable flies, but the flies were probably a whole lot louder and more difficult to squash because of their annoying tendency to fly away just before you hit them. Though with so many, I suppose you're bound to kill some of you swing indiscriminately. The Egyptians really could have used the inimitable talents of Ralph Macchio here.

What's different about Pharaoh's response to this plague is that he tells Moses and Aaron that they can make sacrifices to God--but only while they're in Egypt. Even now, Pharaoh tries to weasel his way into getting the Israelites to stay while not having to suffer the indignities of the plagues. And what's more, he makes a promise that he promptly breaks. I don't mean to cast aspersions on the Pharaoh too much (though he's still definitely a rather distasteful fellow), because I ask God to improve my character without wanting to go through the arduous and even unpleasant trials that true growth in Him requires. And I definitely don't want God to surround me with flies and gnats in order to force me to pay attention to Him.

Exodus 7

When Moses brings up his same old objections, God responds by repeating what He said before: Aaron will serve as Moses' mouthpiece, just as Moses relays God's messages to Pharaoh and the Israelites. Part of me wonders just why God chooses to depend on fallible humans to get His message across. Why doesn't God just cut out the middleman and broadcast His proclamations in a stentorian voice for all to hear? It reminds me a bit of this brilliant moment in Lilo and Stitch. Nani is humoring Lilo in this scene, but I don't think God is patronizing us just so we can feel like we've accomplished something. God loves us and undeniably wants us to love Him back. However, it's not true love if you force or tell someone to like you, so perhaps God guides us so that we may learn to love Him as well as our neighbors.

Moses and Aaron obtain an audience before Pharaoh, but it is Aaron, not Moses, who turns his staff into a snake. Maybe Moses had bad memories from what happened back in chapter 4 and has developed ophidiophobia. Even though Pharaoh's "magicians" do the same thing "by their secret arts" (verse 11), Aaron's staff cannibalizes the magician's staffs. I find Moses's choice to use the word "staff" rather than "snake" rather intriguing--and a little humorous as well. Sure, we can imagine snakes eating each other. But a staff eating another staff? It recalls Joseph's dream in Genesis 41--did the staff grow a mouth somewhere and lick its chops after cramming the other staffs down its wooden maw? I know I'm being disingenuous here; the staffs were probably still snakes when the guzzling happened, but ravenous staffs do make for quite an image.

After Pharaoh hardens his heart (not for the last time), we get the first of the infamous plagues. The Nile, the lifeblood of Egyptian livelihood and society, turns into literal blood. The fish in the Nile die, proving that they are indeed not vampire fish. Verse 21 says, "the river smelled so bad that the Egyptians could not drink its water." I would think that the very nature of blood would make the Nile not potable; its noisome nature would seem secondary. But that also meant that no one could bathe either, making for a repugnantly malodorous few days (or however long the plague lasted). But again, the Pharaoh's magicians somehow repeat this trick, though since the entire Nile had been turned to blood already, they probably only did it on a much smaller, less impressive scale. Still, Pharaoh decides to ride it out, perhaps thinking, "Well, 'The One Plague of Egypt' lacks that ineffable je ne said quoi. 'Ten Plagues of Egypt'? Much better!" As we'll see, Pharaoh will make his subjects wish that he had just let those pesky Israelites go.

Exodus 6

God, forbearing fellow that He is, doesn't react to Moses's whining by hurling a lightning bolt at him. In fact, He doesn't even get irked. Doesn't make for a dramatically satisfying resolution to last chapter's serial cliffhanger--after all, who wants to watch a movie or read a book devoid of conflict?--but this further bespeaks God's endlessly merciful nature.

God decides to repeat His promise to Moses (perhaps thinking, "Surely, he will get it through his thick skull this time"), but he doesn't use cantankerous language. You know how teachers and parents often say, "I don't want to have to say this again?" As a kid, I was never on the receiving end of this barb from anyone except for my parents (of course). Now, it's my turn to serve as the source from which this timeless phrase emits, and it only decides to show itself when I'm truly exasperated. I'm the last person you'd see running around trying to antagonize people, but I do know that I definitely perform actions that disgruntle God. Even though I don't need to "gruntle" God in order to win His favor, I'm only showing that I don't truly value God's grace when I sin.

Moses relays God's promise to his fellow Israelites, but they ignore him because they're so despondent. I do find some encouragement from words of affirmation in most situations. But in times of extreme anguish, such encouragement may seem like empty words. Like I've said before, I've been blessed enough not to have undergone anything too excruciating, but I can understand why the Israelites aren't listening to Moses. After all, God hasn't done anything for them in hundreds of years, they reason, so why should He start now? I admit that I can come close to this kind of thinking, but about more superficial issues like my career path and extra-family relationships because, in case you're wondering, I happen to not be a slave. But then God reminds me of all that I am blessed with. Many people would be utterly euphoric to have any job or a loving family, so to ask for anything more than that seems greedy.

We then proceed to genealogies of Jacob's first three sons, Reuben, Simeon, and Levi. We learn that Moses and Aaron are of Levi's line, which foreshadows Aaron's eventual occupation. I guess the genealogy stops after Levi because Moses, as the author, didn't want to bother with all those random folks born after his ancestor. "Who cares?" he might have said to himself. "I don't even remember all their names anyway."

Because this slightly oddly placed genealogy interrupted the narrative, the final three verses, 28-30, basically repeat the three verses (10-12) right before the genealogy. They're not restated verbatim; after all, Moses knew that plagiarism, even self-plagiarism, is the domain of the dastardly.

Exodus 5

Moses and Aaron ask Pharaoh if the Israelites may go the wilderness to offer sacrifices to God so that He won't "strike [them] with plagues or with the sword" (verse 3). I don't know if this was pretense, or if Moses and Aaron really did fear that God would start smiting them instead of the Egyptians. It's probably a bit of both--after all, as you remember from the last chapter, God was about to kill Moses until his wife prudently circumcised their son on the spot. God does seem more wrathful in the Old Testament than He does in the New. Were people really that much worse back then? Or maybe we are worse today--after all, back then, many people fell amenably in line after God swung death's proverbial scythe back and forth a few times. With the increased value on independent, even maverick thinking nowadays--which is an undeniably beneficial quality in most cases--I wonder if God knows that performing such spectacular acts in such skeptical times will turn more people away. Of course, this all just me typing out of my posterior, which is par for the course for me. (And yes, I'm mixing metaphors, but I'm too indolent to change them.)

Pharaoh not only refuses the request, but he also makes the Israelites' work even more onerous by making them fetch their own straw to put into the bricks they're making--while not reducing the quota by one iota. Straw, as the handy NIV Study Bible notes, serves as a binder in the bricks, helping to hold the clay together. Presumably, someone (who?) gathered the straw beforehand, but now the Israelites have to traipse all over creation to look for the straw.

Pharaoh keeps throwing the word "lazy" around. To which our good friend Inigo Montoya would say this:

As mentioned in Exodus 1, Pharaoh is treating the Israelites like bath tissue because he fears them--either because they'll revolt, or because they'll leave. However, once the Israelites do leave, Egypt apparently does quite well economically for a while longer. Sometimes, we fear situations that we think will make our lives more difficult, but we still survive.

The Israelite overseers, looking for anyone to blame but themselves, incriminate Moses and Aaron for making them "obnoxious to Pharaoh and his officials," even going so far as say that God will judge the two brothers (verse 21). Such are the perils of leadership; although I've never held a position of too much power, I have been in situations in which I just wish I could tell some miffed people why I was acting like I was, but because of discretion, I couldn't. Of course, I've also acted lamentably in situations in which it was completely my fault.

And in the cliffhanger that closes this chapter, Moses definitely seems to be heading in that direction, rebuking God for not rescuing His people on Moses's timetable. And how does God respond? Tune in next week next time for the thrilling conclusion to this rip-roaring conversation!

Exodus 4

God gives the reluctant Moses three signs proving His divine power; for the first, he turns Moses's walking stick into a snake. How does Moses react? As the Bible oh-so vividly states, "he ran from it" (verse 3). Remember, Moses wrote this, so he's not going to write, "Moses flung his hands in the air, squawking in terror and showing the snake a clean dirty pair of heels." (Plus, he was probably using some ancient word processing software, like Microsoft Works on MS-DOS, so the strikethrough effect hadn't been implemented yet.) Or maybe he looked like the lizard in this GIF:

Moses keeps on making excuses, one of which I find particularly pertinent to my own character. In verse 10, Moses claims, "I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor since you have spoken to your servant. I am slow of speech and tongue." Anyone who knows me in real life knows that I'm one of the most awkward, tongue-tied communicators who don't actually have a legitimate speech impediment. I don't claim to be the pithiest, most erudite writer I know, but any half-decent writing is positively Shakespearean when compared with my speaking skills. (And if you're reading this, I did somehow succeed in snookering you into doing so via the written word, as I sure as heck didn't have the gumption to tell you in person.)

I don't want to turn this into a Dear Diary, but I have always had some degree of social anxiety. So whenever I had to give a presentation in school, or worse, work on a dreaded GROUP PROJECT, I'm sure my complaints to God were similar to Moses's--and they probably sounded just as querulous. I thought that, if I ever got past the interview stage, I'd have a behind-the-scenes type of job, ideally using my writing skills somehow (because I sure wasn't skilled at much else). So imagine my surprise when I pretty much fell into a job that requires me to talk for hours on end. As God says in verse 11, "Who gives human beings their mouths?" I'm still not some razor-sharp interlocutor, but without God's help, I probably wouldn't have lasted more than a week. (As I'm writing this, I'm getting the nagging sense that I've included this story in a previous post, and probably using very similar language as well, so I apologize if I'm repeating myself.)

Anyway, God, justifiably exasperated by Moses's litany of excuses, eventually promises to provide Moses's brother Aaron as his mouthpiece before booting him back to Egypt. On the way back, we're treated to a bizarre and indeed rather disturbing encounter that most extra-Biblical accounts of Moses omit. God meets Moses, intending to kill him, causing Moses's wife Zipporah to "cut off her son's foreskin and touch […] Moses' feet with it" (verse 25). We all know what a foreskin is (and if you don't, I'm not going to tell you here), and "feet" is a euphemism for, well, the same general area as the foreskin. What's going on here? Why would God want to kill Moses right after telling him that he will be the instrument by which God will liberate His people? The NIV Study Bible says something about Moses's son being uncircumcised, which causes Zipporah to perform the deed (much to her son's consternation). Once again in Exodus, we have another woman saving the day (a nice change from the mostly ignored women in Genesis); who knows what Moses was doing. (Probably figuring out what to say, being "slow of speech" and all that.) I admit that I still don't get this little passage, but I'm sure God had it included here for a reason. I know that's a rather unsatisfactory note to end on, but never fear. Moses's return to Egypt portends some cinematically dazzling events to come in the next few chapters.

Exodus 3

Moses has a nice little chat with a blazing bush that somehow convinces him to pluck every single Israelite out from under the noses of the Egyptians. Of course, it's a little more complicated than that, but I wonder how Moses waited before telling others the specifics of just how he had received God's directive. Once the plagues commenced, though, I'm sure people's skepticism vanished.

God tells Moses to take off his sandals, because he is standing on ground made holy by God's very presence (verse 5). Nowadays, we take our shoes off when we go into some people's houses, or if you're in Japan, you take off your regular shoes and put on uwabaki. But I'm guessing that few of us take off our footwear when we go to church. I'm not saying that's what we should start doing (imagine the smell, for one thing). But just as taking one's sandals off was a sign of reverence, we should also respect God when entering His house of worship. And, for that matter, God isn't only present in churches--He is right alongside us during every second of our lives. It can be all too easy for me to forget that God doesn't magically disappear when I don't think about Him--he's with me during my triumphs, screw-ups, and all the mundane events in between.

God promises that He will lead the Israelites to "a land flowing with milk and honey" (verse 8). Whenever I read the phrase, "land of milk and honey," I always think of this moment from the classic Winnie the Pooh episode "The Piglet Who Would Be King." I guess it's not so good news if you're lactose intolerant. It would be more like a land flowing with flatulence and broken wind.

Moses equivocates a bit with God, basically saying, "I am unworthy" and "What if?" I don't have the benefit of having heard God speak to me from a conflagrant bush, but if I did hear him tell me to do something as difficult as Moses's task, I'm sure I would dither as well--and I'd probably use Moses's same excuses to boot. I do feel like I'm selfish, petty, and unworthy of being God's instrument, and I do worry too much about hypothetical situations that turn out relatively painless. So yes, as I've written before, I fear God will tell me to do something that will disturb my cozy little world--and there's little doubt that He will ask me to do such a thing.

Intriguingly, this spectacular chapter ends not with some grandiloquent proclamation, but with an assertion that the Israelites will "plunder the Egyptians" (verse 22). Apparently, the Egyptians will suddenly take a shine to the decamping Israelites, allowing them to purloin gold, silver, and (most importantly) apparel. Because when you're going to be wandering for 40 years in the desert, you should do so dressed like an Egyptian.