Show Me Your Glory
Blake Heffner February 25th, 2007
“Show Me Your Glory” Lent I - Communion Meditation
Texts: Exodus 3 & 4 & 33 (selected verses)
On Wednesday evening, we began our annual pilgrimage called Lent. This year our theme for the mid-week services is taken from a little book by Max Lucado, called It’s Not About Me. The title alone bears the unmistakable aroma of Lent: self-denial. Our topic on Wednesday, from Max’ first chapter was definitely a great starting point, “Bumping Life Of Self-Center.” Tempting as it would be to offer a recap of that very meditation today, this morning we’re going to take a close-up look at a man whose life was dramatically and repeatedly bumped off “self-center:” namely, Moses.
Moses’ story is familiar to most of us; afterall, it’s been portrayed in living color in the Disney animated classic, “The Prince of Egypt.” You recall, as an infant, Moses took that remarkable ride down the Nile River in a pitch-covered basket. He was recovered by Pharoah’s daughter. Talk about an ironic situation. Moses is adopted by the princess; yet, nursed by his own mother. His people are brutally treated slaves; yet, Moses lived in the lap of royal luxury. He’s an odd-ball. He’s clearly not an Egyptian, but his own people, the Hebrews, don’t regard him as one of theirs either.
Moses’ first taste of getting bumped off self-center happens when he comes the aid of a Hebrew slave and, in a fit of rage, kills the Egyptian who had been beating him. There’s an arrest warrant out with his name on it. And, suddenly, Moses flees; he is literally a man without a country. Before you can say “Land of Goshen,” he finds himself out in a desert wilderness call Midian.
Of course, that’s where God bumps him off “self-center” a second time. Moses has gotten married and settled down. He’s working as a shepherd for his father-in-law, Jethro, now, and probably very content with his life. But, God’s got other plans for him – big plans. God shocks him at that burning bush and abruptly redirects his life. Boy, does Moses put up a fight. He has one excuse after another why, he’s not the right man to deliver the Hebrews from bondage. His people won’t believe him, and they certainly won’t follow him. He doesn’t even know God’s name, and he personally has no power against the likes of Pharoah. His final protest amounts to admitting a very genuine personal flaw: he is terrible with words. Well, God has an answer for every question Moses raised. God will not take “No!” for an answer. Soon, Moses finds himself packing his bags, and taking his wife and sons with him. Here is one man who has no illusions about “doing his own thing.” Moses is now God’s man, on a heavenly ordained mission. As we often say, the rest is history.
After the Exodus, the Ten Commandments on Mt. Sinai, and destroying the Golden Calf, Moses still had questions. He knew God had done it all, and his people would need to trust and obey the Lord if they were ever to reach the Promised Land. But, it was no “cake-walk.” This is where Max Lucado picks up the story, in chapter 33 of Exodus. Listen to his commentary:
An anxious Moses pleads for help: “[God], you tell me ‘Lead this people,’ but you don’t let me know whom you’re going to send with me… Are you traveling with us or not?” You can hardly fault his fears. Encircled first by Israelites who long for Egypt, and second by a desert of hot winds and blazing boulders, the ex-shepherd needs assurance. His maker offers it. “I myself will go with you… I will do what you ask, because I know you very well, and I am pleased with you.”
You’d think that would have been enough for Moses, but he lingers. Thinking, perhaps, of that last sentence, “I will do what you ask…” Perhaps God will indulge one more request. So he swallows, sighs, and requests…
For what do you think he will ask? He has God’s attention. God seems willing to hear his prayer. [The Bible says] “The Lord spoke to Moses face to face as a man speaks with his friend.” The patriarch senses an opportunity to ask for anything. What will he request?
So many things he could ask for. How about a million requests? That ‘s how many adults are in Moses’ rearview mirror. A million stiff-necked, unappreciative, cow-worshiping ex-slaves who grumble with every step. Who would have blamed Moses if he had prayed, “Could you turn these people into sheep?”
Sheep. Only a few months before, Moses was in this same desert, near this same mountain, keeping an eye on a flock. What a difference this time around. Sheep don’t make demands in a desert or a mess out of blessings. And they certainly don’t make calves out of gold or ask to go back to Egypt.
And what about Israel’s enemies? Battlefields lie ahead. Combat with Hittites, Jebusites… Termites, [you name it!] They infest the land. I will do what you ask…
Moses knew what God could do. They were still talking about Aaron’s staff becoming a snake and the Nile becoming blood… God had turned the Red Sea into a red carpet. Manna fell. Quail ran. Water bubbled from within a rock. God can move mountains. In fact, he moved the very mountain of Sinai on which Moses stood. When God spoke, Sinai shook, and Moses’ knees followed suit. Yeh, Moses knew what God could do.
Worse he knew what these people were prone to do. [After the Golden Calf incident and other expressions of disobedience], God was ready to be done with them and start over with Moses as he had done with Noah. But twice Moses pleads for mercy, and twice mercy is extended. And God, touched by Moses’ heart, [responds]: “My presence will go with you. I’ll see the journey to the end.”
But Moses needs more. One more request. Glory. “Show me your glory,” he says. We cross a line when we make such a request. When our deepest desire is not the things of God or a favor from God, but God himself, we cross a threshold. Less self-focus, more God-focus. Less about me, more about Him.
“Show me your radiance, “ Moses is praying. “Flex your biceps. Let me see the “S” on your chest. Your preeminence. Your heart-stopping, ground-shaking extra-spectacularness. Forget the money and the power. Bypass youthfulness. I can live with an aging body, but I can’t live without you. I want more God, please. I’d like to see more of your glory.” …This is the prayer of Moses.
And God answers it. He places his servant in the cleft of the rock and tells him: “You cannot see my face; for no man shall see Me and live… I … will cover you with My hand while I pass by. Then I will take away My hand, and you shall see My back; but My face shall not be seen.”
And so Moses, cowering beneath the umbrella of God’s palm, waits, surely with face bowed, eyes covered, and pulse racing, until God gives the signal. When the hand lifts, Moses’ eyes do the same and catch a distant, disappearing glance of the back parts of God. The heart and center of the Maker is too much for Moses to bear. A fading slimpse will have to do.
]And we are told of the impact of this epiphany]. His face was gleaming. Bright as if backlit by a thousand torches. Unknown to Moses, but undeniable to the Hebrews, his face shimmers. [Paul tells us that ] when he descended the mountain, “the sons of Israel could not look intently at the face of Moses because of the radiant glory.”
At this point, Max Lucado turns to us. Forgive my effrontery, but shouldn’t Moses’ request be yours? You’ve got problems. Look at you. Living in a dying body, Walking on a decaying planet, surrounded by a self-centered society. Some saved by grace; other fueled by narcissism. Many of us by both.
Cancer. War. Disease. These are no small issues. A small god? No thanks. You and I need what Moses needed – a glimpse of God’s glory. Such a sighting can change you forever.
In the early pages of my childhood memory, I see this picture. My father and I sit side by side in a chapel. We both wear our only suits. The shirt collar rubs my neck; the pew feels hard to my bottom; the sight of my dead uncle leaves us all silent. This is my first funeral. My nine years of life have not prepared me for death. What I see unnerves me. Aunts, typically jovial and talkative, weep loudly. Uncles, commonly quick with word or joke, stare wide eyed at the casket. And Buck, my big uncle with meaty hands, big belly, and booming voice, lies whitish and waxy in the coffin. I remember my palms moistening and my heart bouncing in my chest like tennis sneakers in a clothes dryer. Fear had me in her talons. Where do I look? The weeping ladies frighten me. Glassy eyed men puzzle me. My dead uncle spooks me. But then I look up. I see my father.
He turns his face toward me and smiles softly. “It’s okay, son,” he assures, laying a large hand on my leg. Somehow I know it is. Why it is, I don’t know. My family still wails. Uncle Buck is till dead. But if Dad, in the midst of it all, says it’s okay, then that’s enough.
At that moment I realized something. I could look around and find fear, or look at my father and find faith. I chose my father’s face. So did Moses. So can you…
Let’s dedicate this season of Lent to looking at God’s face – looking away from ourselves and our agendas and pressing toward a vision of God’s magnificent glory. Let’s begin right here as we come to the Lord’s Table. Let’s look inside ourselves and ask the Lord to show us the things that keep us from a closer walk with Him. And then let us bring these very things to the altar as our living sacrifice.
Let us pray…
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