Remember Where You Came From

After the wandering in the desert, the Israelites stand at the threshold to the land that was promised them and a future of unseen possibilities.  Yet, before they get to walk into their tomorrow, God desires for them to remember their yesterday.

Enter the book of Deuteronomy.  The call of Deuteronomy is to remember where you’ve come from.  Just look at all the calls to remember in this one book:

“… do not forget the things your eyes have seen … teach them to your children … Remember the day you stood before the LORD your God …” (4:9–10)
“Be careful not to forget the covenant …” (4:23)
“… be careful that you do not forget the LORD …” (4:31; 6:12; 8:11)
“Remember that you were slaves in Egypt …” (5:15; 16:12; 24:18; 24:22)
“Remember how the LORD your God led you all the way in the wilderness …” (8:2)
“But remember the LORD your God … if you ever forget the LORD your God …” (8:18–19)
“Remember this and never forget …” (9:7)
“Remember today that your children were not the ones who saw and experienced the discipline of the LORD your God.” (11:2)
“… so that all the days of your life you may remember the time of your departure from Egypt.” (16:3)
“Remember what the LORD your God did …” (24:9)
“Remember what the Amalekites did to you … do not forget!” (25:17–19)
“Remember the days of old; consider generations long past. Ask your father and he will tell, your elders and they will explain to you …”  (32:7)

That’s 25 references, in case you were keeping track.

It’s important to remember.

But it’s also interesting to note WHAT the Israelites are being called to remember.  So many times, these calls to remember are connected to the alien, the orphan, and the widow.  God keeps telling the Israelites to remember their story.

Because they were foreigners once.
And orphans.
And widows.

They are to remember their own stories and become people who see the oppressed.  Because God saw them when they were oppressed.  And God heard their cry.

They are being invited to remember, so that they will hear the cries of others.  And it’s not too long before this becomes an endless cycle of “Which came first, the chicken or the egg?” syndrome.  Do I remember my story and therefore take care of the alien, orphan, and widow?  Or do I take care of the alien, orphan, and widow and it reminds me of my story?

YES.

And in case you were wondering, here’s the list of references to the alien, orphan, and widow:

1:16
5:14
10:18
10:19
14:21
14:29
16:11
16:14
23:7
24:14
24:17
24:19
24:20
24:21
26:11
26:12
26:13
27:19
31:12

This is important.

Because when you forget your story, you begin to feel entitled.  When you forget your humble beginnings, you begin to be proud.  When you forget your Egypts, you begin to be self-righteous.

And so God tells us to remember where we’ve come from — because it keeps us humble.

And God tells us to take care of the oppressed — because it helps us to remember.

And remembering is a big part of trusting the story.

MAIM CHAIM: Living Water

Two more pictures form the desert and we’ll move on.


This picture shows a location in the Negev called En Gedi. Today, En Gedi is a nature reserve and a fascinating place in the desert.  When I visited En Gedi for the first time in 2008, our teacher led us in from the back of the park so we didn’t know where we were. I am not kidding when I say that you couldn’t tell you were approaching water until you were practically right on top of it.

The whole scene was fascinating.  One minute, we were walking in a desert almost identical to the picture in our last post, and the next minute we were staring at a waterfall.  To say that such a location is refreshing in the desert would be an understatement.  On that point, the picture almost writes this blog post itself.

This kind of water is called maim chaim in the Hebrew.  Maim chaim is “living water.”  Living water comes from God — either from rain or a spring. For living water to be “living,” it cannot be moved by human hands.  You cannot get living water from a cistern or a bucket.  En Gedi is a great example of living water.  Again, we were invited to understand that our call is to be “living water” for people in their deserts and to reflect on those people who have been En Gedi in our lives.



This second picture shows a wadi flood.  Wadis are deep canyons cut into the desert terrain; again, the picture in the last post also shows a wadi.  I was shocked to learn that the number one cause of death in the desert is flood.  During the rainy season, rain will fall in a distant region. The rain comes in such quantity and the ground is so dry that the water rushes to the lowest point.  These wadis flood at an incredible rate; I was told that if I was in a wadi and heard the sound of a train, I had about 90 seconds to get out of the wadi.

Besides being incredibly destructive, these wadi floods leave behind many biblical images. Look at this passage from Psalm 69:

But I pray to you, Lord,
    in the time of your favor;
in your great love, O God,
    answer me with your sure salvation.
Rescue me from the mire,
    do not let me sink;
deliver me from those who hate me,
    from the deep waters.
Do not let the floodwaters engulf me
    or the depths swallow me up
    or the pit close its mouth over me.

The floods leave behind puddles of mud (or “mire”) that is so sticky that a person or animal can be trapped without any place to go.  In some cases, this mire can be trickier than quicksand.

Jesus used this wadi flood imagery, as well.  He mentioned that anyone who listened to His teaching was like a man who built his house on the rock, but the fool who didn’t was like one who built his house on the sand.  I have been told by people in construction that sand is a great building material.  It is flexible, it packs solid.  So was Jesus wrong?

The people of the desert would understand that the “sand” is found in the bottom of the wadi; nobody builds their house in the bottom of the wadi.  But the man who listens to Jesus is like a man who builds his house on the rock (or the “cliff face”), out of the path of floods.

Needless to say, the desert is full of images that help us grow into the people and partners God is looking to use in His great Kingdom Project.

Honey from the Rock

 **  This post has been heavily influenced by a particular teaching from Ray VanderLaan. You could see a representation of this teaching by watching "They Were Not Wandering" (That the World May Know series, Volume #12)

This next post is driven by the following picture taken from the biblical desert:

I will make a few observations about this picture.

The first of those observations is about sight.  One of the things that surprised me the most about the desert was the limited sight I had.  I had always pictured the desert as this empty wasteland where one could see for miles in every direction.  The picture I had was distressing because of the hopelessness displayed in that mental image.  What I discovered when I arrived in the desert was that the desert is actually a place where I could never see around the next bend.  Instead of hopelessness, I experienced anxiety.  I found this to be a great life lesson.  In my deserts, I have found that one of my greatest frustrations is the many times that I feel the desert blindsides me with something I could never see coming.  One of the lessons of the desert is the that they teach us to follow and trust the voice of the Shepherd.  He knows the path; He knows where we are going.  Just walk the path and follow His voice.

Another observation I would make would be about rocks.  There are a lot of them.  Again, like shade, this image is an image that is found all over the Scriptures and we usually miss its significance.  Rocks are THE image of the desert — they are everywhere.  And one of the most striking images of the rocks of the desert is what Jewish teaching refers to as “stones of stumbling.”

In the desert there are many stones that cause stumbling.  Some of them are quite small (think of a baseball-sized rock you could hold in your hand).  These are the problems in life that serve as simple annoyances.  These annoyances can often pile up and affect our mood, but at the end of the day, these stones don't do major damage. A few nicks and bruises, but nothing to really worry about in terms of survival or significant pain.

But then there are bigger rocks.  Imagine a rock that a man would lift up, grunting, with both hands.  These rocks can cause some harm.  It's easy to twist your ankle on these rocks in the desert.  If you dropped it on a toe, you would need some attention.  There are moments in our deserts that hurt and cause some serious, yet temporary, pain.

Then, there are rocks that no man could lift.  Large boulders that could easily put a person out of commission.  Stumble into (or off of) one of these rocks and you will be in more than temporary pain.  It's the surgery and the lost job.  The family member that moves away and the broken relationship.  These are stones that will hurt for some time and leave some serious scars.

And then, there are the huge cliffs — the bedrock.  These are rocks that you can't climb over, you can't pass through, and you're never going to move.  They're rocks that change the course of your life.  It's the death of a loved one.  The cancer diagnosis.  The things in life that you have no control over.

These are the rocks of the desert.  In the words of Ray VanderLaan, “I wish I could tell you that if you prayed hard enough, God would take the rocks away.  But He doesn't.  Sometimes he gives us a smooth path for a season — praise Him — but walking the path of God is hard.  And there are rocks.”

What God does say is quite interesting.  Time and time again, God will insist that if we will walk the right path, He will feed us with honey.  Look at how it's stated here in Psalm 81:13–16:

“If my people would only listen to me,
    if Israel would only follow my ways,
how quickly I would subdue their enemies
    and turn my hand against their foes!
Those who hate the Lord would cringe before him,
    and their punishment would last forever.
But you would be fed with the finest of wheat;
    with honey from the rock I would satisfy you.”

Honey from the rock.

Every Jew learns early in their education that God and the words of God taste like honey.  If we would walk the right path and trust in the right voice, God promises to feed us with honey from the rock.  It isn't that He promises to take the rocks away.  But He does promise that if you'll follow His voice, there will be just enough of His presence in every rock.

Another way the rabbis teach it is this: Be careful when you ask for honey, for God might put it in a rock.

Trees of the Desert: AR'AR & TAMARISK

We have two more trees of the desert to talk about.  Let's look at the Jeremiah passage we mentioned in the last post that referenced the acacia tree.

This is what the Lord says:

“Cursed is the one who trusts in man,
    who draws strength from mere flesh
    and whose heart turns away from the Lord.
That person will be like a bush in the wastelands;
    they will not see prosperity when it comes.
They will dwell in the parched places of the desert,
    in a salt land where no one lives.

“But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord,
    whose confidence is in him.
They will be like a tree planted by the water
    that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
    its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought
    and never fails to bear fruit.”

Jeremiah 17:5–8

The second part of that passage again mentions the acacia that we talked about in the last post.  You may notice how similar that image in verse 7 and 8 is to the first Psalm.  But the previous paragraph describes a new tree.

AR'AR
The tree mentioned in verse 5 and 6 is the ar'ar.  It is a stunning picture if you ever run into such a tree.  The tree is this lush and beautiful green bush that has huge, plump fruit on it.  The large green fruit is about the size of a grapefruit and looks like it will be full of sweet things.  And yet, when you take the fruit and break it open, it is completely empty — full of air.  The bedouins of the area claim that the “juice” excreted by the broken fruit is poisonous.

It is a striking image of the desert.  The man who trusts in flesh looks incredibly lush and fertile on the outside — but is full of death and emptiness on the inside.  And deserts have a way of bringing that out of a man.

There is a final tree that shows up in the desert.  It is an image that moves me to this day.

TAMARISK
The tamarisk tree is tall and beautiful.  Like the acacia, the tamarisk is a larger tree, but unlike the former, it does not grow on its own in the desert.  This desert tree requires some minor cultivation in order to survive.  The leaves of the tree absorb what little moisture is in the area and then give off the faintest glimmer of humidity in its shade.  The shade of a tamarisk tree is often 10–15 degrees cooler than the shade of other trees.

But this cultivated tree takes three generations to grow to its full size.  So it stands to reason that a person never plants a tamarisk tree for himself; he will never reap its benefits. A man plants a tamarisk tree for his grandchildren.

In the twenty-first chapter of Genesis, we read the following words:

After the treaty had been made at Beersheba, Abimelek and Phicol the commander of his forces returned to the land of the Philistines. Abraham planted a tamarisk tree in Beersheba, and there he called on the name of the Lord, the Eternal God. And Abraham stayed in the land of the Philistines for a long time.

That story always brings tears to my eyes.  After making a treaty with the Philistines, Abraham goes and plants a tamarisk tree.

It is a statement of faith; Abraham is trusting the story.

He's not planting the tamarisk for himself.  He is planting it for his grandchildren.  He is believing God's promise and staking a claim.


The rabbis ask a question: How many tamarisk trees did you plant today?

How many things did you do today that were for your grandchildren?  These are things that aren't for yourself — things that have eternal ripples. 

This idea pervades much of rabbinic teaching.  Another statement that is often made is that when people obey the mitzvoth (the commands), they are planting the seeds that will become the very trees of the restored Eden.

Your call is bigger than you.  The things you do today have the opportunity to ring throughout the generations.  The choices you make matter.  The story you choose to trust will affect those who stand on your shoulders.  Even in your deserts, you are planting seeds with your life.

How many tamarisk trees did you plant today?

Trees of the Desert: ACACIA

There is another tree in the desert I would like to introduce to you.

ACACIA
This tree is called the acacia.  It is probably the most recognizable and most commonly thought of tree in the desert.  You find different relatives of the acacia tree all around the deserts of the world.  The acacia that's found in Israel has some interesting characteristics.

For starters, the acacia is known for being incredibly resourceful.  The bedouins (people native to the Palestinian desert) claim that you can use the tree for everything from sustenance to fuel and even healing agents.  This tree is incredibly useful.  It's also significantly bigger and casts a much larger shade area.  The tree will often lie dormant for years until the rains come and the area around it is flooded.  At that point, after lying dormant for years, the tree will spring to life and bear its fruit, the buds looking like little white flowers.

One of the biblical references to this tree is found in Psalm 1 and again in Jeremiah 17.  Let's look at Psalm 1 for this post and we'll look at Jeremiah 17 in the next one.

Blessed is the one
    who does not walk in step with the wicked
or stand in the way that sinners take
    or sit in the company of mockers,
but whose delight is in the law of the Lord,
    and who meditates on his law day and night.
That person is like a tree planted by streams of water,
    which yields its fruit in season
and whose leaf does not wither—
    whatever they do prospers.

Now, first of all, let's look at what makes a person like this tree.  They meditate on the law of the LORD.  The word for meditate in the Psalm is the word hagah.  Let me show you another place where hagah is used:

          “As a lion growls,
               a great lion over its prey—
           and though a whole band of shepherds
               is called together against it,
           it is not frightened by their shouts
               or disturbed by their clamor…”   Isaiah 31:4

The Hebrew word for “growls” (bolded above) is hagah.  It is a case of onomatopoeia — where the word sounds like the very thing it describes.  You say the word hagah with a fierce tone and a little roll of the ‘g’ sound.  It should sound like the deep, murmuring growl of a lion, hunched over its prey, proclaiming to the world around it that it means business.

Believe it or not, the word for meditate is also hagah.  Contrary to the popular idea that we should pull up a chair to the corner of the porch (with a good cup of coffee, maybe) and silently contemplate the scripture, this Psalm speaks of one who devours the Text with a fierce, hungry appetite.  (My goal is certainly not to downplay the importance of the other forms of meditation; these are good and beneficial as well.)

If we devour the Text, we become like an acacia in the desert.

But do you catch the image?  The Psalm said that the man who intensely devours the Text is like an acacia that bears its fruit in season.  But the acacia only comes to life once every decade or so.  You see, our discipline of becoming people of the Text is not a quick-fix formula.  It is a deeply rooted passion that pulls us through our deserts.  We hagah and hagah and hagah and one day — when the season is right and when the rains finally come — we bear our fruit.

And we are incredibly useful when we bear our fruit.   And we provide great shade.  But if you were to have looked at that tree two years ago, it looked as dead as could be.  So we had to stay true to our calling.  We couldn't walk with the wicked or stand with the sinners or sit with the mockers.  We had to hagah on God's voice (that is, God's word) and keep on walking.

These are the lessons of the desert.  One foot in front of the other, trusting the story, following the voice of the shepherd.  Just enough.  Patience.  Persistence. 

One foot in front of the other. Through our deserts.

Trees of the Desert: ROTEM

**  The next few posts about "Desert Trees" has been highly shaped by the work of Nogah Hareuveni, one of the world's premier experts in biblical botany. I have used his work to help identify which trees in the Text are which; I experienced the desert lessons from my time in the desert with Ray VanderLaan.

Of the images that came out of the desert, my personal favorite was learning about the trees.

Now, I don't want to mislead you.  That comment was not designed to say that there were lots of trees in the desert; there are very few.  I didn't see groves of trees as I wandered around in the blistering heat — which is actually why the image of trees was so powerful.  I want to tell you about four trees in the desert.

ROTEM
The first “tree” comes in the form of a bush.  This tree, called rotem in the Hebrew, is also referred to as a broomtree.  It comes up in the Scriptures a number of times.  Hagar sets Ishmael under a rotem.  Elijah lies under a rotem and wants to die.  The broomtree is the desert's image of “shade.”  Prior to my time in the desert, I never noticed the passages of Scripture that mentioned shade; the picture just didn't jump out at me.  Now that I have spent time in the desert, I seem to notice any mention of shade in the Text.  The Bible is a book written to desert people — people who don't live in a land of shade.  When you live in desert, shade is an unbelievable relief and refuge from the heat of the day.

God is often referred to as our shade in the Text.  Psalm 121 says that the LORD is the shade at our right hand.  Isaiah 25 speaks of God like this:

Lord, you are my God;
    I will exalt you and praise your name,
for in perfect faithfulness
    you have done wonderful things,
    things planned long ago.
You have made the city a heap of rubble,
    the fortified town a ruin,
the foreigners’ stronghold a city no more;
    it will never be rebuilt.
Therefore strong peoples will honor you;
    cities of ruthless nations will revere you.
You have been a refuge for the poor,
    a refuge for the needy in their distress,
a shelter from the storm
    and a shade from the heat.
For the breath of the ruthless
    is like a storm driving against a wall
and like the heat of the desert.

 God is our rotem.  But what strikes you about the broomtree is its size.  It is not a large tree.  It is the size of a typical sagebrush, which teaches us an important lesson.  It is the lesson of just enough.  This is the rule of the desert.  God doesn't simply want to pour abundance into your life.  There are times and seasons where He may choose to do that, but the desert teaches us how to live by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.  It teaches us how to be content with just enough.  The rotem is not designed to be a massive shelter for total recuperation; the rotem is just enough shade to get us to the next stop along our journey.

This is who God shows Himself to be in our lives.

This is what God gives.

Just enough.

But the lesson doesn't end there.  We are also called to be rotem for others.

Isaiah speaks later about the time when Messiah would come.  He will say the following in chapter 32:

See, a king will reign in righteousness
    and rulers will rule with justice.
Each one will be like a shelter from the wind
    and a refuge from the storm,
like streams of water in the desert
    and the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land.

The “king” who reigns in righteousness would be Messiah, but the rulers are plural.  Who are the rulers?  The rulers would be us.  There will be a King who will reign in righteousness and there will be rulers who rule with justice.  And each one of those rulers will be shelter, refuge, water — and shade.

Your calling is to be shade for others in their desert.

Now you don't have to be the answer to all their questions or perform miracles.  You aren't called to be a gigantic oak tree.  You are called to be shade.

Just enough.

We can all do that.  We can all be people who provide the refreshing relief for others on their journey — who allow them to make it to the next step.  We can be rotem.  So go and find people in their desert.  Go and provide some shade for the exhausted and water for the thirsty.  The desert has taught us to be people who put God on display.