Just one year ago, almost to this very day, my family gathered for a long-awaited reunion. We met in a vibrant park, basking in the joy of being fully together for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Laughter echoed, stories were shared, and a sense of profound connection filled the air. There was an unspoken contentment, a feeling of security that we might have taken for granted. Little did any of us know, a global pandemic was just around the corner, poised to reshape our lives and challenge our perceptions of normalcy and togetherness.
This week, I find myself in the scenic landscapes of Idaho, a welcome change of pace. I’m currently nestled beneath the cool shade of a towering pine tree, watching a cheerful gaggle of children delight in a slip-n-slide. In this simple, idyllic scene, a gentle sense of normalcy has begun to re-emerge, offering a much-needed respite from the anxieties and uncertainties that have permeated daily life. It’s a moment of quiet reflection, a chance to process the profound shifts of the past year and to ponder deeper spiritual truths.
Unveiling Timeless Lessons from the Book of Numbers
My thoughts have gravitated towards the ancient narratives found in the Book of Numbers, a sacred text I’ve been studying intently for several weeks. This particular passage, from Numbers 21:6-8, offers a profound parable for our modern challenges:
“And the Lord sent fiery serpents among the people, and they bit the people; and much people of Israel died… Therefore the people came to Moses, and said…pray unto the Lord, that he take away the serpents from us. And Moses prayed for the people. And the Lord said unto Moses, Make thee a fiery serpent, and set it upon a pole: and it shall come to pass, that every one that is bitten, when he looketh upon it, shall live.”
This account is strikingly poignant. The Israelites, weary and murmuring in the wilderness, were afflicted by venomous, fiery serpents. In their distress, they pleaded with Moses, begging for the Lord to remove the terrifying scourge from their midst. Moses, in turn, interceded on their behalf. Yet, God’s response was not what they, or perhaps we, might have expected. The serpents were not immediately taken away. Instead, a peculiar instruction was given: Moses was to fashion a bronze serpent and raise it on a pole. The promise was that anyone who had been bitten, if they simply looked upon this symbol, would live.
What strikes me most profoundly about this passage is what it *doesn’t* say. Not once does the scripture state that the Lord removed the serpents from the camp. This raises compelling questions for anyone grappling with faith during times of crisis. Is God truly all-powerful? Can He not simply eliminate our problems, or does He sometimes choose to work through unconventional means, providing a path to salvation rather than an immediate removal of the trial?
The Enduring Power of “Look and Live”
This ancient directive, “Look and Live,” resonates deeply with our contemporary struggles. It compels us to consider the nature of miracles and answers to prayer. Are divine interventions only valid when they manifest exactly as we meticulously prayed for, or can they appear in unexpected forms, requiring our active participation and trust?
A friend’s thought echoed in my mind recently, challenging my perspective: “Do you think those who didn’t look at the serpent were standing outside the tents of those who did, ridiculing them for their peculiar act of faith?” This question sparked another: What about those who *did* look and were healed? Were they angry or hurtful towards those who chose not to, perhaps judging their lack of faith? Such scenarios reveal the complex human dynamics that often accompany extraordinary divine commands and the diverse ways individuals respond to perceived mandates.
And what about our current situation? Over the past year, communities worldwide have united in prayer and fasting, fervently petitioning for relief from the global pandemic. We’ve sought comfort, healing, and a return to normalcy. One prominent religious leader articulated this widespread plea, requesting that we pray “that the present pandemic may be controlled, caregivers protected, the economy strengthened, and life normalized.” These are deeply felt desires, universal longings for a world healed and restored.
Just last Sunday, I experienced something profoundly impactful that brought these ancient lessons into sharp, modern focus. Going to church, a ritual once so familiar and comforting, now feels distinctly different. I sat there, physically next to my family, yet surrounded by an unusual sense of isolation. Our bench was empty except for us. The benches to our sides, in front, and behind remained vacant, stark reminders of the new protocols. Social distancing, while necessary, creates an unexpected sense of detachment, achieving isolation even when others are present in the same room. I confess, I don’t particularly like how it feels.
The hymns, usually sung with robust congregational fervor, were quieter, almost hushed. The vibrancy seemed tempered, replaced by a more subdued reverence. Observing a young boy nearby, I watched as he touched, adjusted, and pulled down his mask countless times throughout the service, a testament to the uncomfortable reality of these new necessities. For a moment, I felt like Darth Vader, my own heavy breathing amplified by the fabric, conjuring an absurd image: “Luke, I am your father.” This momentary, almost comical, thought highlighted the surreal nature of our new reality, where even sacred spaces are transformed by the presence of a mask.
The Mask Dilemma: A Modern Test of Faith and Obedience
The mask has become a symbol of our times, a constant reminder of the unseen threat and the adjustments we’ve had to make. My younger daughter, in particular, has developed a strong aversion to it. After a short while, she feels profoundly claustrophobic, growing antsy and upset. It’s a struggle I understand; the physical sensation is often disorienting, and the act of covering one’s face goes against natural human instinct to connect openly. Honestly, I still grapple with uncertainty about the overall effectiveness of masks. The constant debate, the varying scientific opinions, and the sheer inconvenience often leave me wondering if this measure truly achieves its intended purpose.
In contrast to the altered church experience, our home church sessions have blossomed into something surprisingly sweet and impactful. We’ve found a unique intimacy and depth in our family discussions, sometimes leaving our “at-home service” feeling so spiritually nourished that we’ve felt the need to continue our own personal meetings, a testament to the profound spiritual connections forged within our sanctuary walls. Yet, despite these blessings, the lingering question remains, prompting me to reflect more deeply…
Echoes from the Wilderness: Lessons from the Children of Israel
I find myself wondering, what did the children of Israel truly feel when Moses delivered that seemingly outlandish command? Imagine the scene: in the desolate vastness of the desert, surrounded by death and despair, Moses declares, “I’m going to find a mere stick, a common, lowly branch, and I’m going to affix a snake to it. Yes, a symbol that, to some, represents the very essence of death and evil. And all you have to do is look at it, and BAM! You will be healed.”
The absurdity of it, from a purely human perspective, must have been overwhelming. The scriptures never once say that they looked with “perfect faith,” or that they “prayed for the miracle” while gazing upon the serpent. It was a simple, direct command: “look.” I wonder how many among them scoffed, thinking, “This is absolutely crazy! A stick with a snake on it? That’s not going to do anything! I believe in miracles, but this is a bit nuts.”
And so, as the narrative implies, some chose not to look, allowing their skepticism, pride, or perhaps even their deep-seated anger to prevent them from following the divine instruction. Consequently, they were lost to the fiery serpents’ venom. Others, undoubtedly, possessed great faith, and they looked with an unwavering conviction that the Lord’s promise would be granted, and they were healed.
The Profound Blessing of Simple Obedience
But then, there was a third group, a category that resonates most powerfully with me in these uncertain times. These were the ones who, perhaps, didn’t fully comprehend *how* it would work, or even if it *would* work. They might have harbored doubts, or felt the very same skepticism as their peers. Yet, their faith was strong enough in a different way – strong enough to say, “I don’t know if this peculiar act will work, but I love God. I trust my leader, Moses. And I will be obedient, because I know, deep in my heart, that obedience itself brings blessings.”
Some simply looked out of a quiet, unassuming sense of obedience. And even that, that simple act of trusting and following a divine instruction, was enough for a loving God. They, too, were healed. This profound lesson underscores that blessings are not always reserved for those with perfect understanding or monumental faith, but often for those who simply choose to obey.
Yet, despite this comforting truth, the memory of that uncomfortable, empty feeling at church persisted. Why did I feel such a palpable lack of the Spirit I had come to expect from such sacred gatherings?
Mom’s Words: A Compass for Spiritual Navigation
I sat there, wrestling with my discomfort and the unexpected spiritual void, until a memory of my mother’s wise words from months earlier flooded into my consciousness. She had often counseled, “We must learn to recognize how we feel the Spirit at different times. Oh, when I’m depressed, the Spirit feels like this. When I’m tired, I feel it like this.” She explained that because God never truly leaves us, it’s often our mortal selves – our exhaustion, our emotional states, our anxieties – that confuse us. A tired mind, for instance, can drape a muffled blanket over our spiritual perceptions, making it harder to discern His presence. Therefore, she stressed, we need to actively learn how to still recognize His unwavering love and guidance even in those challenging moments.
Armed with this insight, I shifted my perspective. I thought, “Okay, if this modified church experience becomes the new norm, how can I help my children – and indeed myself – not just tolerate it, but learn to love this new way and truly feel the Spirit within it?” It required a conscious effort to adjust my spiritual antennae, to seek out divine connection in different forms.
Familiar Feelings in Unfamiliar Settings
As I deliberately opened myself to experience, I watched the speaker at the pulpit. I allowed myself to simply *feel*, to be present in the moment. And you know what word distinctly impressed itself upon my heart? It felt *familiar*.
And so I sat, remembering all the years we had gathered and worshipped together, feeling a deep, profound gratitude for those precious memories. In that quiet act of remembrance and appreciation, something shifted within me. And then, there it was – that sweet, unmistakable feeling of “this is good” washed over me. In that instant, I knew with certainty that despite the current changes and the initial sense of emptiness, we would indeed get back to feeling unified, uplifted, and spiritually connected again.
“Called to Serve”: A Reframing of Purpose
The service continued, and then, the speaker concluded his remarks and moved to the piano, a beautiful old instrument. He began to share a personal reflection. He explained, “‘Called to Serve’ has always been this loud, declarative marching song, one that made me think we should go out and preach the gospel with all our might, bringing people to Christ through fervent effort.”
“But then,” he continued, “on my mission, I learned that true missionary work is fundamentally different. It’s gentle, it’s loving, and it’s deeply based on selfless service to others. It’s not about force or grand pronouncements, but about quiet, consistent acts of kindness and love. So, I kept the original words, which are timeless, but I composed entirely new music for the hymn, music that reflects this deeper understanding.”
And then, he played. He performed the most exquisitely beautiful rendition of “Called to Serve” I have ever heard. It was imbued with a quiet grace, a gentle melody that resonated with profound kindness, moving and mindful in its delicate harmonies. It wasn’t a call to arms, but a tender invitation to love. My heart, which had felt a bit numb moments before, filled with that familiar, undeniable spirit – the one that whispers, or sometimes shouts, “God is real. His love is present.” It was a powerful reminder that the message itself often finds its truest expression through unexpected, gentle channels.
Hearing Him in a New Way: Adapting Our Spiritual Frequency
Indeed, right now, many aspects of life might feel profoundly different. Change can be incredibly hard, and perhaps you, like many, are experiencing a significant amount of it. You might be feeling alone, isolated, and even that God has fallen silent in the midst of the chaos. I, too, have wondered why the spiritual air sometimes feels so quiet, so devoid of the usual clarity.
But perhaps, just perhaps, what we truly need to do is not to wait for God to revert to an old frequency, but to actively tune ourselves into a new one. We need to learn how to “Hear Him in a new way”—a way that is gentle, loving, and profoundly rooted in service, just as that re-imagined hymn taught me. This isn’t about God changing, but about *us* adjusting our perception and receptivity. If I hadn’t sat there in church with a deliberate desire to feel and understand, I never would have had that transformative experience with the music.
It’s going to take conscious effort, a spiritual discipline. It will require patience and practice, turning our hearts and faces upward, persistently seeking His presence in the quiet moments, in the acts of service, in the small, familiar feelings, until we do. Even in the midst of unprecedented change and uncertainty, divine guidance is still available; we just need to learn its new language, its new rhythm, and tune our souls to its ever-present, loving frequency.