Tag: Numbers

Sermon Extra: The Sword Balaam Saw, But Never Suffered

This past weekend at Zion, we wrestled with one of the oddest and liveliest stories in Scripture: Balaam and his talking donkey in Numbers 22.

Balak, king of Moab, is in a panic. Harrowing reports of Israel’s military victories have reached his throne, prompting him to defend his nation against an attack he assumes is imminent as Israel travels near his territory. Desperate to weaponize anything he can, including the supernatural, Balak sends for Balaam—a shady, but famous prophet-for-hire—to ambush Israel with a spiritual curse.

After two rounds of royal ambassadors knock at Balaam’s door requesting his spiritual services, Balaam saddles his donkey and begins the roughly 375-mile trek to Moab, eager for the big payday that awaits him on the other side of a couple of curt curses. But along the way, the angel of the Lord appears and stops him dead in his tracks.

Ironically, the celebrated spiritual seer is utterly blind to the divine threat standing directly in front of him—but his donkey sees it perfectly:

Balaam was riding on his donkey, and his two servants were with him. When the donkey saw the angel of the Lord standing in the road with a drawn sword in His hand, it turned off the road into a field. Balaam beat it to get it back on the road.

Then the angel of the Lord stood in a narrow path through the vineyards, with walls on both sides. When the donkey saw the angel of the Lord, it pressed close to the wall, crushing Balaam’s foot against it. So he beat the donkey again.

Then the angel of the Lord moved on ahead and stood in a narrow place where there was no room to turn, either to the right or to the left. When the donkey saw the angel of the Lord, it lay down under Balaam, and he was angry and beat it with his staff. (Numbers 22:22–27)

Then, in one of the most captivating and comedic twists in all of Scripture, the donkey speaks:

The donkey said to Balaam, “Am I not your own donkey, which you have always ridden, to this day? Have I been in the habit of doing this to you?”

“No,” he said.

Then the Lord opened Balaam’s eyes, and he saw the angel of the Lord standing in the road with His sword drawn. (Numbers 22:30–31)

Balaam’s entire stock and trade rests on his reputation as a master seer. Yet his donkey possesses sharper spiritual instincts than he does. Balaam blusters and beats the animal, completely oblivious to the fact that it is saving his life. Perhaps Balaam was not quite as spiritually sagacious as his glowing reputation suggested.

But who is this mysterious, sword-wielding figure?

Throughout the Old Testament, when the “angel of the Lord” appears, He does not merely speak on behalf of God; He speaks and acts as God. For this reason, Christians have often understood the angel of the Lord to be the preincarnate Son of God, Jesus Christ.

Irenaeus of Lyons, a second-century Christian theologian who was born in Asia Minor and later served as bishop of Lyons in Gaul, writes this about the angel who appears to Balaam:

Now the angel who appeared to Balaam was the Word Himself; and in His hand He held a sword, to indicate the power which He had from above.

Notice that Irenaeus specifically points to the sword in Jesus’ hand. It is a bald display of His divine power—and it is aimed squarely at Balaam. It is a weapon of looming judgment.

Jesus is blocking a man who is marching myopically toward a massive payout, so desperate for a king’s cash that he is determined to curse a nation God is determined to bless. He parades himself as a great spiritual seer even though he cannot see the divine figure standing directly in front of him. And so, Jesus raises His sword against Balaam in judgment.

The drawn dagger delivers a sobering reality check: Jesus takes sin seriously. He will not permit Balaam to stroll down his destructive path indefinitely or chase his greed unchecked. The sword blocks his way.

But the biblical story of the blade doesn’t end at Balaam’s blockade.

Fast-forward fourteen centuries to a hill outside Jerusalem. Immediately after Jesus dies on the cross, a Roman soldier verifies His death by piercing:

Jesus’ side with a spear, bringing a sudden flow of blood and water. (John 19:34)

The One who once brandished a blade at Balaam because of his sin is now pierced because of ours.

At Calvary, the sharp point of divine judgment reverses direction. On the road to Moab, a sword was gripped in Jesus’ hand. At the cross, a sword is driven into His side. Jesus absorbs the violent judgment Balaam earned—and the violent judgment we also deserve.

The sword is therefore both a haunting warning and an exquisite promise. It exposes the lethal gravity of our stubbornness, selfishness, and greed. Yet it also points us toward the magnificent mercy of the cross. Just as judgment is poised to pierce us, Jesus steps into the path of the blade and is pierced instead.

Balaam saw the sword aimed at him, but he also walked away unscathed. That’s grace.

And that’s grace we can still receive.

Sermon Extra: When Our Desires Defy God’s Choices

Our desires don’t always line up with God’s choices. And when there’s a mismatch, conflict—and sometimes catastrophe—is not far off.

This past weekend in worship at Zion, we looked at a story from Numbers 16 about a man named Korah. Korah is a Levite, which means he belongs to the tribe God has chosen to care for the tabernacle—the tent where God dwells among His people. This is no small calling. Korah has been chosen for holy work.

But Korah does not want the holy work God has given him. He wants the holy work God has given to somebody else.

He does not want to serve near the altar of the tabernacle. He wants to stand at the altar. He does not want to assist the priests. He wants to be a priest.

So Korah starts fuming. Then he starts recruiting. He gathers a group of fellow grumblers, and together they bellyache to Moses and Aaron: “You have gone too far! The whole community is holy, every one of them, and the LORD is with them. Why then do you set yourselves above the LORD’s assembly?” (Numbers 16:3).

Korah and his crew accuse Moses and Aaron of self-dealing, as though they have maneuvered and manipulated their way into Israel’s best and most powerful positions. But Moses and Aaron have done no such thing. They have simply received what God has given. As God says to Aaron a couple of chapters later: “I am giving you the service of the priesthood as a gift” (Numbers 18:7).

This is what Korah cannot accept. The priesthood is not a prize to be won. It is not a platform to be seized. It is a gift to be received. But Korah does not like God’s gift because Korah does not like God’s choice.

So God answers in judgment: “The earth opened its mouth and swallowed them and their households, and all those associated with Korah, together with their possessions” (Numbers 16:32).

Korah tries to climb above the place God has given him. Instead, he plunges beneath the ground.

This is what rebellion does. It reaches upward in pride, only to crash downward in death.

In Genesis 4, we read about another conflict between human desire and divine choice. Two brothers, Cain and Abel, each bring an offering to the LORD. God looks with favor on Abel and his offering, but not on Cain and his offering. Hebrews tells us why: “By faith Abel brought God a better offering than Cain did” (Hebrews 11:4). Abel comes in faith. Cain, it seems, comes without it.

Cain is furious. And instead of repenting before God, he butchers his brother.

When God confronts Cain, He describes the crime vividly: “What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out to Me from the ground. Now you are under a curse and driven from the ground, which opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand” (Genesis 4:10–11).

In Numbers 16, the ground opens its mouth to swallow Korah in judgment. In Genesis 4, the ground opens its mouth to drink in Abel’s blood after Cain’s violence. In both stories, rebellion rattles the earth.

When our desires try to overrule God’s choices, creation itself testifies against us. The ground beneath our feet becomes a preacher. It announces that sin is never merely private, never merely personal, never merely “between me and God.” Sin wounds brothers. Sin fractures communities. Sin groans through creation. Sin digs graves.

Perhaps the earth is sometimes wiser than we are.

But then comes Jesus.

When Jesus breathes His last from the cross, the earth moves again: “The earth shook, the rocks split and the tombs broke open” (Matthew 27:51–52).

Once more, creation reacts. Once more, the ground opens. But this time, something different happens.

Matthew recounts that, when Jesus dies, “the bodies of many holy people who had died were raised to life.” And then, after Jesus’ resurrection, “they came out of the tombs and went into the holy city and appeared to many people” (Matthew 27:52–53).

The earth that once swallowed sinners begins to spit them back.

There is an old word for when our desires conflict with God’s choices: rebellion. Korah rebelled against God. Cain rebelled against God. And we rebel against God.

As we learn from the stories of Korah and Cain, our rebellion opens graves. But as we learn from Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus’ sacrifice empties tombs.

One day, unless Jesus returns first, the earth will open its mouth to receive us, too. The ground will claim what sin has broken.

But it will not keep us.

Because the same Jesus who died and rose will call us from our graves. And when He does, the earth will have to give us back. The ground that swallowed us will surrender us. Death will not get the final word.

Jesus will. 

Our rebellion will always be overruled by God’s choice. We cannot grab for ourselves what God has not given. Korah learned that the hard way.

But our rebellion is also redeemed by God’s choice. And for us, God’s choice is life.

And for life, God’s choice is us.

Sermon Extra: Grace Is Why

This past weekend in worship at Zion, we looked at Numbers 12 and the jealousy of Moses’ siblings, Miriam and Aaron.

Miriam and Aaron were key leaders among God’s people. Miriam was a prophetess. Aaron was Israel’s high priest. God had spoken through them and used them profoundly and powerfully. But, in Numbers 12, instead of rejoicing in how God had used them, they became resentful of how God was using Moses.

They grumbled, “Has the LORD spoken only through Moses? Hasn’t He also spoken through us?” (Numbers 12:2).

In response, God explained:

“When there is a prophet among you, I, the LORD, reveal Myself to them in visions, I speak to them in dreams. But this is not true of My servant Moses; he is faithful in all My house. With him I speak face to face, clearly and not in riddles; he sees the form of the LORD.” (Numbers 12:6–8)

God does not deny that He has spoken through other prophets. He has. But He makes it clear that Moses’ calling is unique.

When God speaks through other prophets, He usually does so mystically — through dreams, visions, and riddles. But with Moses, God speaks “face to face, clearly and not in riddles.” With Moses, there’s not a foggy divine impression to interpret, but a clear divine Word to proclaim.

God’s meeting with Moses on Mount Sinai is proof positive of this. In Exodus 20–31, Moses receives the very words and commands of God for the people of Israel. Moses is not just one more voice among many. He is the Lord’s chosen servant through whom God directly gives His very Word.

As God explains Moses’ unique calling, He also offers this compelling compliment: “He is faithful in all My house” (Numbers 12:7).

Miriam and Aaron may have been faithful in their respective callings within areas of God’s house, but Moses was entrusted with a responsibility that extended to all of God’s house. He was called to lead, shepherd, intercede for, and speak God’s Word to the whole Israelite community.

Some 1,500 years after God calls Moses to be a servant in all of God’s house, the preacher of Hebrews explains that, as lofty as Moses’ calling was, there is One whose calling is even greater:

“Moses was faithful as a servant in all God’s house, bearing witness to what would be spoken by God in the future. But Christ is faithful as the Son over God’s house.” (Hebrews 3:5–6)

With one preposition, the preacher draws an important distinction. Moses was faithful in God’s house. Jesus is faithful over God’s house. Moses was born into God’s house as a son of Israel. Jesus was born over God’s house as the Son of God.

And then, the preacher of Hebrews adds this prodigious promise: “And we are His house” (Hebrews 3:6).

In the book of Numbers, God’s house is centered on the children of Israel. But now, the preacher of Hebrews declares that anyone — whether or not they are a son or daughter of Israel by birth — can be part of God’s house because they have been invited not merely as a son of Israel, but by the Son of God.

Jesus has created a whole new household. He takes sinners who were far from God and brings them near. He takes people estranged from God and makes them members of His family.

Miriam and Aaron were jealous because they did not have the same role, authority, or intimacy with God that Moses had. But Moses was not jealous that, one day, another would come whose role, authority, and intimacy with God would far surpass his own.

Instead, Moses demonstrated humility. As Numbers 12 reminds us: “Now Moses was a very humble man, more humble than anyone else on the face of the earth” (Numbers 12:3).

Jealousy always leads to misery because it looks at what I do not have and complains, “Why not me?”

Humility leads to joy because it looks at what God has given and asks, “Why me?”

The question of jealousy never finds a satisfying answer. Why does someone else have that gift, that role, that opportunity, that recognition, that authority, that blessing? That is something that we simply cannot know.

But the question of humility has a clear answer.

Why has God shown me mercy? Why has Christ brought me near? Why am I part of His house?

Grace is why.

And grace gives us more than enough reason to rejoice.