“And when all these words have come true
for you –the blessing and the curse…if
you
return to the Lord your God, if with all
your
heart and with all your soul you obey
His
voice, you and your children…then the
Lord
your God…will have pity on you and
gather
you back from all the peoples among whom
the Lord your God has scattered you.”
--Deuteronomy 30:1-3
People of
faith (especially Catholics) often joke about not reading the Bible, particularly
books like Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy, books that include long lists of
laws, statutes and regulations instead of stories and heroes and pizzazz. We
imagine the writing of these books will be incredibly dry and we fear the God we
imagine it presents: a God who is all rules and obedience (all stick and no
carrot, one might say). But what has
amazed me again and again as I read through the Pentateuch is: 1. how fascinating
these ancient books are, & 2. how tender and loving the Lord God appears; already
an image that will find its perfect reflection (and embodiment) in His Son.
Scholars
speculate that Deuteronomy was written during the reign of King Hezekiah (c
715-686 BCE), possibly 800 years after the events described. Because Hezekiah was concerned with correct
worship, ridding Jerusalem of idols and idolatrous practices, and renewing the
commitment to the one true God, it would make sense that he would want these
stories and prohibitions and traditions written down in a text to support his
efforts. A king engaging a scholar to gather and transcribe the words of Moses
as a means of putting those laws together in one book, that seems a reasonable
theory of how Deuteronomy may have come to be written down. The Hebrew tradition even refers to what the
Christian Bible call Deuteronomy (Greek for Second Law) as the Words (i.e. the
words of Moses –from the opening line of the book). It is made up of three
discourses attributed to Moses. They are lengthy exhortations to the people
that first remind them of where they have come from and what they have gone
through, then exhort them to keep faith with God and to observe His laws that
they may always find favor with the Lord.
But the book has another note, an undertone of woe. Moses seems pretty
certain that the people will not stay true to God. Reflecting on his impending
death, Moses bluntly declares: “I know
that after my death you are certain to grow corrupt; you will leave the way I
have marked out for you; disaster will befall you for doing what is evil in the
eyes of the Lord…” 31:29
So, yes.
There is a lot of talk of rules, fascinating and confusing and sometimes arcane
rules, but then there is the strangely, profoundly, sorrowfully painful sense
that the author (whether Moses or some 8th century priestly scribe)
understood the frailty of man, and the allure of sin. But, lingering behind all
of this is a tenderness on the part of God (as depicted by either Moses or said
8th century scribe) that inspires me, and comforts me, and demands
of me renewal and commitment, mercy and hope.
Clearly the
God depicted here is not some cold distant angry vengeful God, it is a glimpse
of the God who would become enfleshed in 1st century Bethlehem, who
would grow up in 1st century Nazareth, and who would die on a cross
for our sins in 1st century Jerusalem.
And what do
I offer to support this thesis? The pity God has on His people. Here at the
end, after all the rules and all the laws and all the threats, what does Moses
tell the people? He tells this: Even after you sin, even after you reject God,
even after you are scattered across the face of the earth, the Lord your God
“will have pity on you and gather you back…”
That is a hopeful promise, a hopeful assurance. Though the people turn
from God, Moses concludes his final discourse by holding out an offer of
redemption.
God so loved the world that He gave His
only begotten son, that we might live (cf. Jn 3:16).
And that promise found in the midst
of all that law and regulation, that assurance, is strikingly familiar for those
who know the Gospels. It resonates with
the promise of the one who came not to destroy the law, but to fulfill it (cf. Mt.
5:17). Moses doesn’t ever let the people off the hook. He tells them:
this is the way to live as God’s people,
but when you fail (and you will) don’t
lose hope. Return to God who longs to gather you as a mother hen gathers her
chicks (cf.
Mt. 23:37).
Think of God’s love like gravity;
it draws us to Him. If we deny it, if we ignore it, if we pretend we don’t have
to accept it we are doomed. There was a wonderful Louis Malle movie in 1980
called: Atlantic
City. In it a young woman on an airplane is reminded by the stewardess
to put on her seatbelt. To which the young woman responds, “Oh, I don’t believe
in gravity.” Think about that. If the airplane hits turbulence or suddenly loses
altitude, will her feelings about gravity really matter? God’s love draws us to Him, and sin is simply
turning away from that love; pretending it doesn’t exist; living like we don’t
believe in it. Moses warns the people: don’t
turn away from God’s love; don’t pretend it isn’t real. You won’t like the
consequences.
I think what I have learned from
reading Dante, and now Deuteronomy is this: God’s judgment (whatever
that means and however it looks) is just one more sign of his eternal and
endless love. God’s judgment is always and everywhere simply His outstretched
hand; if we accept it, it is a blessing; but when we reject it, for whatever
reason, we make it a curse. And we make of ourselves something less than who (or what) we
were meant to be.
As it says in Deuteronomy: God has set before us this day a blessing
and curse (cf. 11:26).
To misquote Hebrews (and Jonathan
Edwards): It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of a loving God (cf. Hebrews 10:31).
