God saved us to make worshippers of us. Thus, the obsession of a regenerated heart should be to bring God a pleasing offering in view of his mercy. But how do we know what will please him? We search the Scriptures. When we do, we find that the Lord loves His own Word. Throughout the Bible, worship is filled with God’s Word read, sung, confessed, prayed, preached, pictured in sacraments and responded to with tithes and offerings. We dare not come to God in corporate worship on any terms but his own.

For 13 summers, Timothy Treadwell lived alone and unarmed among the bears of the Alaskan wilderness. He got closer to the creatures than anybody ever dared. He petted them, sang to them, wrestled with cubs, and even swam with them in salmon choked rivers. His bravery, or foolishness, earned him national celebrity. During one interview he declared, “I will not die at their claws and paws. I will fight. I will be strong. I will be master.” But Treadwell was wrong and in the fall of 2003, his life came to a grizzly end when he was devoured by one of the bears he thought he knew so well. Treadwell’s fatal error was that he forgot. He forgot that grizzlies aren’t teddy bears. He forgot to respect them. He forgot to fear them. And because he forgot, he lost his life.
Nadab and Abihu, the men at the center of an alarming account in Leviticus 10:1-3, made a similar mistake. They forgot that the God they worshiped is a roaring lion (Hosea 11:10) and an all-consuming fire (Hebrews 12:29). They forgot that the Lord’s way is in the whirlwind and the storm and that the mountains quake and hills melt before him (Nahum 1:3,5). They forgot that while God is good, he is far from safe. They forgot that the God of the Bible is holy and heavy. We are prone to make the same mistake. The world, the flesh, and the devil conspire to make us lose sight of who God is and how he deserves, no demands, to be worshipped. Passages like Leviticus 10:1-3 disabuse us of any carnal notion that we may approach God on any terms but his own.
Taking a closer look, we see that this short, sordid tale is wrapped in the yellow tape of a crime scene. There, at the foot of the altar of incense in the holy place of the tabernacle lay two charred, smoking bodies. What happened here and why? To answer these questions, we’ll need to exegetically analyze the crime scene.
The Culprits
Nadab and Abihu were the eldest of the four sons of Aaron, the high priest of Israel and brother of Moses. Nadab and Abihu were unspeakably privileged men. In Exodus 24, they were invited by God himself to accompany Moses, Aaron and the 70 elders of Israel up to Sinai’s summit where they beheld the glory of God. The saw the sapphire pavement beneath Jehovah’s feet! What’s more, they had just been ordained to serve as priests beside their father. While good Presbyterian ordination services can sometimes stretch two hours, they can’t hold a candle to the ordination service of a Levitical priest which lasted 7 days. On the 8th day, the entire congregation of Israel, well over one million strong, gathered around the tabernacle to witness the dramatic birth of the Levitical priesthood: “And Moses and Aaron went into the tent of meeting, and when they came out they blessed the people, and the glory of the LORD appeared to all the people. And fire came out from before the LORD and consumed the burnt offering and the pieces of fat on the altar, and when all the people saw it, they shouted and fell on their faces” (Leviticus 9:23–24).
By understanding who these two men were, their proximity to the Lord, and their privileged position in Israel, we can begin to grasp the gravity of their crime. And what was that?
The Crime
In the preceding chapters, we find Moses preparing the tabernacle for opening day, careful to follow the Lord’s instructions to the letter. We find a precious refrain echoing throughout this section: “as the Lord commanded.”
“And Moses did as the LORD commanded him, and the congregation was assembled at the entrance of the tent of meeting” (Leviticus 8:4).
“And he set the turban on his head, and on the turban, in front, he set the golden plate, the holy crown, as the LORD commanded Moses” (Leviticus (8:9).
“And Moses brought Aaron’s sons and clothed them with coats and tied sashes around their waists and bound caps on them, as the LORD commanded Moses” (Leviticus 8:13).
“But the bull and its skin and its flesh and its dung he burned up with fire outside the camp, as the LORD commanded Moses (Leviticus 8:17).
“He washed the entrails and the legs with water, and Moses burned the whole ram on the altar. It was a burnt offering with a pleasing aroma, a food offering for the LORD, as the LORD commanded Moses” (Leviticus 8:21).
“And Moses took the breast and waved it for a wave offering before the LORD. It was Moses’ portion of the ram of ordination, as the LORD commanded Moses” (Leviticus 8:29).
“But the fat and the kidneys and the long lobe of the liver from the sin offering he burned on the altar, as the LORD commanded Moses” (Leviticus 9:10).
But in Leviticus 10:1, something goes horribly wrong: “Now Nadab and Abihu, the sons of Aaron, each took his censer and put fire in it and laid incense on it and offered unauthorized fire before the LORD, which he had not commanded them.”
What do you picture when you hear the words “strange fire”? Maybe you think of green or blue flames? Or perhaps you see something like what Moses saw in Exodus 3: a fire burning without consuming fuel? What made Nadab and Abihu’s fire strange is that it was unauthorized. God never commanded them to bring it.
In Exodus 30 we read that the altar of incense stood in the Holy Place, before the curtain into the Holy of Holies. Priests were commanded to burn fragrant incense upon this altar, morning and evening, as a picture of the prayers of God’s people ascending to heaven. Not just any incense would do. God gave Moses a specific recipe: “Take sweet spices, stacte, and onycha, and galbanum, sweet spices with pure frankincense (of each shall there be an equal part), and make an incense blended as by the perfumer, seasoned with salt, pure and holy” (Exodus 30:34-35). What’s more, he demanded that this holy incense be used exclusively in worship and threatened bootleggers with exile. Perhaps God’s recipe bored Nadab and Abihu? Maybe they wanted to spice things up in the Tabernacle and try something new? Whatever the reason, they brought God incense that He had not commanded. They brought him strange fire.
To many of us, that doesn’t sound like a big deal. But imagine: you call your favorite pizza place and place your order: “I’d like a pizza with ham, bacon, pineapple, and extra cheese.” Then you wait 30 minutes, your mouth watering, your stomach growling. This is your favorite pizza. The flavors blend together perfectly! You can’t wait to devour it. But when the pizza guy shows up and you open the box, you see something very different than what you ordered: black olives, slimy tomatoes, broccoli, blue cheese, spinach, and celery. Yuck! You look to the pizza guy and say, “Hey buster, this isn’t what I ordered. Didn’t you hear what I said?” The pizza guy shrugs and replies, “You never said you didn’t want these toppings. I thought you’d like them.” Now, is that a pizza you’d pay for? Wouldn’t you be offended by the hubris of the delivery guy? How much more then, does God, who is infinitely high and holy and separate from sinners, have the right to determine precisely how he wants to be worshipped by those he created and redeemed for his own glory?
We find this regulative principle of worship beautifully articulated in the Westminster Standards: “The acceptable way of worshipping the true God is instituted by Himself, and so limited by His own revealed will, that He may not be worshipped according to the imaginations & devices of men, or the suggestions of Satan, under any visible representation, or any other way not prescribed in the holy Scripture” (WCF 21:1).
Nadab and Abihu teach us not to worship God on our terms but on His. He is not our guest on Sunday, we are His. All too often, discussion and debate about worship swirls around the question: “What do I like?” But one question ought to dominate all liturgical conversations: “What does God like?” “Does the God that made us and saved us by the blood of his Son, not have the right to regulate His own worship? Does our loving heavenly Father not have the authority to instruct His children in heavenly worship?”
God saved us to make worshippers of us. Thus, the obsession of a regenerated heart should be to bring God a pleasing offering in view of his mercy. But how do we know what will please him? We search the Scriptures. When we do, we find that the Lord loves His own Word. Throughout the Bible, worship is filled with God’s Word read, sung, confessed, prayed, preached, pictured in sacraments and responded to with tithes and offerings. We dare not come to God in corporate worship on any terms but his own. Because the consequences are real.
The Consequence
“And fire came out from before the LORD and consumed them, and they died before the LORD” (Leviticus 10:2). Bishop Hall said, “It is a dangerous thing, in the service of God, to decline from his own institutions; we have to do with a God who is wise to prescribe his own worship, just to require what he has prescribed, and powerful to revenge what he has not prescribed.” Dangerous indeed. As Nadab and Abihu sinned by fire, so they died by fire. So terrible was their sin in the sight of God that he demanded Aaron’s family members to drag their burnt bodies outside the camp and forbid them from mourning their deaths (Leviticus 10:4-7). In Numbers 3:4 and 1 Chronicles 24:2, we are reminded that Nadab and Abihu died childless. God blotted out their names from Israel.
It is a dangerous thing to draw near to God on any terms but his own. It was dangerous for Uzzah who was stricken down dead by the Lord for putting his hands on the ark to keep if from falling onto the ground (2 Samuel 6:1-7), because, as Jonathan Edwards said, Uzzah’s believed “his hands were cleaner than the dirt under his feet.” It was dangerous for King Uzziah who, in his pride, played the priest and offered incense himself. For this, the Lord struck his face with leprosy and he lived out the rest of his days alone (II Chronicle 26:16-21).
“Yes,” you might be thinking “that’s just the wrathful God of the OT. The God of the New Testament isn’t like that!” Really? What happened to Ananias and Sapphira when they lied to the Holy Spirit? (Acts 5:3). What happened to Herod when he refused to glorify God? (Acts 12:2-23). They were slain. Why did Paul urge the Corinthians to approach the table of the Lord in a worthy manner? “For anyone who eats and drinks without discerning the body eats and drinks judgment on himself. That is why many of you are weak and ill, and some have died” (1 Corinthians 11:29-30). If that sounds harsh to us, may I suggest it is because, like Nadab and Abihu, we take God too lightly. We forget his character.
The Character of God
It’s hard to imagine the searing pain Aaron must felt on this dreadful day. God took not one, but two of his boys. In the midst of that unspeakable heartache Moses came to his brother, with a word from God: “Among those who draw near to me I will be sanctified” (Leviticus 10:3). This word “holy” is taken from the Hebrew word cadosh which means “to separate.” God isn’t ordinary. He is sacred. He isn’t our fellow creature. He is our Creator.  We are weak but he is mighty. We are a vapor but he is eternal. We are ignorant but his wisdom is unsearchable. We are finite but he is infinite. We are always changing but God is immutable. We are vile and corrupt but God is sinless and dwells in unapproachable light (1 Timothy 6:16). His eyes are too pure to even look upon evil (Habakkuk 1:13). God is not like a man that he should lie (Numbers 23:19). God is so holy, he made Moses remove his sandals and the seraphim veil their faces in his presence. Berkhof said, “God’s holiness ought to awaken in man a sense of absolute nothingness, a creature-consciousness… leading to absolute self-abasement.” But Nadab and Abihu forgot that God is to be consecrated and instead treated him as something common. They forgot that God is holy. And they forgot that God is heavy.
“Before all the people I will be glorified” (Leviticus 10:3). This word glorified means “to be regarded as heavy, substantial.” In other words, God will not be taken lightly by his people. He’s not just a bumper sticker, keychain, Facebook status, or an item on your to-do-list. He is immeasurably weighty and infinitely significant. He is the Ancient of Days robed in light. He is the Son of Man whom the wind and the waves obey. At his word kingdoms rise and fall. The earth is his footstool. He holds the swirling galaxies of endless space in the palm of his hand. He hung, numbered, and named the stars. In him all things live and move and have their being. He holds the keys of death and hell and one day, every soul will stand before and face the judgement. But Nadab and Abihu forgot that God is heavy and instead treated him like something light. They forgot that He’s glorious.
We would spend less time debating about the hows of our worship if we spent more time discussing the Who of our worship. Jesus was consumed in the flames of God’s hatred for our sins on the cross so that we might be made acceptable to a holy a heavy God. Jesus suffered alone, outside the camp, so that we might have bold access to the throne of grace and the Father’s everlasting embrace. Even now, he who made us by the word of his powerful word and saved us by his powerful grace intercedes for us that we might worship God on earth as he is worshipped in heaven. Even now, the Father is seeking those who would worship him in Spirit and in truth. May he find such joyful, obedient worship in our hearts.
Jim McCarthy is a Minister in the Presbyterian Church in America and is Pastor-elect of Trinity PCA in Statesboro, GA.
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Tragically, when it comes to the contention that racism is the defining trait of the medical profession and the source of health disparities, opposing views have been ruled out of bounds and are grounds for being purged. The separation of politics and science is no longer seen as a source of empirical strength; it is instead a racist dodge that risks “reinforcing existing power structures.” 

The post–George Floyd racial reckoning has hit the field of medicine like an earthquake. Medical education, medical research, and standards of competence have been upended by two related hypotheses: that systemic racism is responsible both for racial disparities in the demographics of the medical profession and for racial disparities in health outcomes. Questioning those hypotheses is professionally suicidal. Vast sums of public and private research funding are being redirected from basic science to political projects aimed at dismantling white supremacy. The result will be declining quality of medical care and a curtailment of scientific progress.
Virtually every major medical organization—from the American Medical Association (AMA) and the American Association of Medical Colleges (AAMC) to the American Association of Pediatrics—has embraced the idea that medicine is an inequity-producing enterprise. The AMA’s 2021 Organizational Strategic Plan to Embed Racial Justice and Advance Health Equity is virtually indistinguishable from a black studies department’s mission statement. The plan’s anonymous authors seem aware of how radically its rhetoric differs from medicine’s traditional concerns. The preamble notes that “just as the general parlance of a business document varies from that of a physics document, so too is the case for an equity document.” (Such shaky command of usage and grammar characterizes the entire 86-page tome, making the preamble’s boast that “the field of equity has developed a parlance which conveys both [sic] authenticity, precision, and meaning” particularly ironic.)
Thus forewarned, the reader plunges into a thicket of social-justice maxims: physicians must “confront inequities and dismantle white supremacy, racism, and other forms of exclusion and structured oppression, as well as embed racial justice and advance equity within and across all aspects of health systems.” The country needs to pivot “from euphemisms to explicit conversations about power, racism, gender and class oppression, forms of discrimination and exclusion.” (The reader may puzzle over how much more “explicit” current “conversations” about racism can be.) We need to discard “America’s stronghold of false notions of hierarchy of value based on gender, skin color, religion, ability and country of origin, as well as other forms of privilege.”
A key solution to this alleged oppression is identity-based preferences throughout the medical profession. The AMA strategic plan calls for the “just representation of Black, Indigenous and Latinx people in medical school admissions as well as . . . leadership ranks.” The lack of “just representation,” according to the AMA, is due to deliberate “exclusion,” which will end only when we have “prioritize[d] and integrate[d] the voices and ideas of people and communities experiencing great injustice and historically excluded, exploited, and deprived of needed resources such as people of color, women, people with disabilities, LGBTQ+, and those in rural and urban communities alike.”
According to medical and STEM leaders, to be white is to be per se racist; apologies and reparations for that offending trait are now de rigueur. In June 2020, Nature identified itself as one of the culpably “white institutions that is responsible for bias in research and scholarship.” In January 2021, the editor-in-chief of Health Affairs lamented that “our own staff and leadership are overwhelmingly white.” The AMA’s strategic plan blames “white male lawmakers” for America’s systemic racism.
And so medical schools and medical societies are discarding traditional standards of merit in order to alter the demographic characteristics of their profession. That demolition of standards rests on an a priori truth: that there is no academic skills gap between whites and Asians, on the one hand, and blacks and Hispanics, on the other. No proof is needed for this proposition; it is the starting point for any discussion of racial disparities in medical personnel. Therefore, any test or evaluation on which blacks and Hispanics score worse than whites and Asians is biased and should be eliminated.
The U.S. Medical Licensing Exam is a prime offender. At the end of their second year of medical school, students take Step One of the USMLE, which measures knowledge of the body’s anatomical parts, their functioning, and their malfunctioning; topics include biochemistry, physiology, cell biology, pharmacology, and the cardiovascular system. High scores on Step One predict success in a residency; highly sought-after residency programs, such as neurosurgery and radiology, use Step One scores to help select applicants.
Black students are not admitted into competitive residencies at the same rate as whites because their average Step One test scores are a standard deviation below those of whites. Step One has already been modified to try to shrink that gap; it now includes nonscience components such as “communication and interpersonal skills.” But the standard deviation in scores has persisted. In the world of antiracism, that persistence means only one thing: the test is to blame. It is Step One that, in the language of antiracism, “disadvantages” underrepresented minorities, not any lesser degree of medical knowledge.
The Step One exam has a further mark against it. The pressure to score well inhibits minority students from what has become a core component of medical education: antiracism advocacy. A fourth-year Yale medical student describes how the specter of Step One affected his priorities. In his first two years of medical school, the student had “immersed” himself, as he describes it, in a student-led committee focused on diversity, inclusion, and social justice. The student ran a podcast about health disparities. All that political work was made possible by Yale’s pass-fail grading system, which meant that he didn’t feel compelled to put studying ahead of diversity concerns. Then, as he tells it, Step One “reared its ugly head.” Getting an actual grade on an exam might prove to “whoever might have thought it before that I didn’t deserve a seat at Yale as a Black medical student,” the student worried.
The solution to such academic pressure was obvious: abolish Step One grades. Since January 2022, Step One has been graded on a pass-fail basis. The fourth-year Yale student can now go back to his diversity activism, without worrying about what a graded exam might reveal. Whether his future patients will appreciate his chosen focus is unclear.
Every other measure of academic mastery has a disparate impact on blacks and thus is in the crosshairs.
In the third year of medical school, professors grade students on their clinical knowledge in what is known as a Medical Student Performance Evaluation (MSPE). The MSPE uses qualitative categories like Outstanding, Excellent, Very Good, and Good. White students at the University of Washington School of Medicine received higher MSPE ratings than underrepresented minority students from 2010 to 2015, according to a 2019 analysis. The disparity in MSPEs tracked the disparity in Step One scores.
The parallel between MSPE and Step One evaluations might suggest that what is being measured in both cases is real. But the a priori truth holds that no academic skills gap exists. Accordingly, the researchers proposed a national study of medical school grades to identify the actual causes of that racial disparity. The conclusion is foregone: faculty bias. As a Harvard medical student put it in Stat News: “biases are baked into the evaluations of students from marginalized backgrounds.”
A 2022 study of clinical performance scores anticipated that foregone conclusion. Professors from Emory University, Massachusetts General Hospital, and the University of California at San Francisco, among other institutions, analyzed faculty evaluations of internal medicine residents in such areas as medical knowledge and professionalism. On every assessment, black and Hispanic residents were rated lower than white and Asian residents. The researchers hypothesized three possible explanations: bias in faculty assessment, effects of a noninclusive learning environment, or structural inequities in assessment. University of Pennsylvania professor of medicine Stanley Goldfarb tweeted out a fourth possibility: “Could it be [that the minority students] were just less good at being residents?”
Goldfarb had violated the a priori truth. Punishment was immediate. Predictable tweets called him, inter alia, possibly “the most garbage human being I’ve seen with my own eyes,” and Michael S. Parmacek, chair of the University of Pennsylvania’s Department of Medicine, sent a schoolwide e-mail addressing Goldfarb’s “racist statements.” Those statements had evoked “deep pain and anger,” Parmacek wrote. Accordingly, the school would be making its “entire leadership team” available to “support you,” he said. Parmacek took the occasion to reaffirm that doctors must acknowledge “structural racism.”
That same day, the executive vice president of the University of Pennsylvania for the Health System and the senior vice dean for medical education at the University of Pennsylvania medical school reassured faculty, staff, and students via e-mail that Goldfarb was no longer an active faculty member but rather emeritus. The EVP and the SVD affirmed Penn’s efforts to “foster an anti-racist curriculum” and to promote “inclusive excellence.”
Despite the allegations of faculty racism, disparities in academic performance are the predictable outcome of admissions preferences. In 2021, the average score for white applicants on the Medical College Admission Test was in the 71st percentile, meaning that it was equal to or better than 71 percent of all average scores. The average score for black applicants was in the 35th percentile—a full standard deviation below the average white score. The MCATs have already been redesigned to try to reduce this gap; a quarter of the questions now focus on social issues and psychology.
Yet the gap persists. So medical schools use wildly different standards for admitting black and white applicants. From 2013 to 2016, only 8 percent of white college seniors with below-average undergraduate GPAs and below-average MCAT scores were offered a seat in medical school; less than 6 percent of Asian college seniors with those qualifications were offered a seat, according to an analysis by economist Mark Perry. Medical schools regarded those below-average scores as all but disqualifying—except when presented by blacks and Hispanics. Over 56 percent of black college seniors with below-average undergraduate GPAs and below-average MCATs and 31 percent of Hispanic students with those scores were admitted, making a black student in that range more than seven times as likely as a similarly situated white college senior to be admitted to medical school and more than nine times as likely to be admitted as a similarly situated Asian senior.
Such disparate rates of admission hold in every combination and range of GPA and MCAT scores. Contrary to the AMA’s Organizational Strategic Plan to Embed Racial Justice and Advance Health Equity, blacks are not being “excluded” from medical training; they are being catapulted ahead of their less valued white and Asian peers.
Though mediocre MCAT scores keep out few black students, some activists seek to eliminate the MCATs entirely. Admitting less-qualified students to Ph.D. programs in the life sciences will lower the caliber of future researchers and slow scientific advances. But the stakes are higher in medical training, where insufficient knowledge can endanger a life in the here and now. Nevertheless, some medical schools offer early admissions to college sophomores and juniors with no MCAT requirement, hoping to enroll students with, as the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai puts it, a “strong appreciation of human rights and social justice.” The University of Pennsylvania medical school guarantees admission to black undergraduates who score a modest 1300 on the SAT (on a 1600-point scale), maintain a 3.6 GPA in college, and complete two summers of internship at the school. The school waives its MCAT requirement for these black students; UPenn’s non-preferred medical students score in the top one percent of all MCAT takers.
According to race advocates, differences in MCAT scores must result from test bias. Yet the MCATs, like all beleaguered standardized tests, are constantly scoured for questions that may presume forms of knowledge particular to a class or race. This “cultural bias” chestnut has been an irrelevancy for decades, yet it retains its salience within the anti-test movement. MCAT questions with the largest racial variance in correct answers are removed. External bias examiners, suitably diverse, double-check the work of the internal MCAT reviewers. If, despite this gauntlet of review, bias still lurked in the MCATs, the tests would underpredict the medical school performance of minority students. In fact, they overpredict it—black medical students do worse than their MCATs would predict, as measured by Step One scores and graduation rates. (Such overprediction characterizes the SATs, too.) Nevertheless, expect a growing number of medical schools to forgo the MCATs, in the hope of shutting down the test entirely and thus eliminating a lingering source of objective data on the allegedly phantom academic skills gap.
Meantime, medical professors need to be reeducated, to ensure that their grading and hiring practices do not provide further evidence of the phantom skills gap. Faculty are routinely subjected to workshops in combating their own racism. On May 3, 2022, the Senior Advisor to the NIH Chief Officer for Scientific Workforce Diversity gave a seminar at the University of Pennsylvania medical school titled “Me, Biased? Recognizing and Blocking Bias.” Senior Advisor Charlene Le Fauve’s mandate at NIH is to “promote diversity, inclusiveness, and equity in the biomedical research enterprise through evidence-based approaches.” Yet her presentation rested heavily on a supposed measure of bias that evidence has discredited: the Implicit Association Test (IAT).The IAT’s own creators have acknowledged that it lacks validity and reliability as a psychometric tool.
Increasing amounts of faculty time are spent on such antiracism activities. On May 16, 2022, the Anti-Racism Program Manager at the David Geffen School of Medicine at the University of California at Los Angeles hosted a presentation from the Director of Strategy and Equity Education Programs at the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai titled “Anti-Racist Transformation in Medical Education.” Mount Sinai’s Dean for Medical Education and a medical student joined Mount Sinai’s Director of Strategy and Equity Education Programs for the Los Angeles presentation, since spreading the diversity message apparently takes precedence over academic obligations in New York.
Grand rounds is a century-long tradition for passing on the latest medical breakthroughs. (Thomas Eakins’s great 1889 canvas, The Agnew Clinic, portrays an early grand rounds at the University of Pennsylvania.) Rounds are now a conduit for antiracism reeducation. On May 12, 2022, the Vice Chair for Diversity and Inclusion at the University of Pittsburgh’s Department of Medicine gave a grand rounds at the Cleveland Clinic on the topic “In the Absence of Equity: A Look into the Future.” Afterward, attendees would be expected to describe “exclusion from a historical context” and the effects of “hierarchy on health outcomes”; attendance would confer academic credit toward doctors’ continuing-education obligations.
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One day it will be said of you that not one of the good promises God made to you in his Word failed, but that each and every one came to pass. One day it will be said of all those who are his that God was faithful to his every word and true to his every promise. And together we will praise the name of the Lord our God.

We live out our Christian lives in a place between Egypt and the Promised Land. We have been justified but not yet glorified—we have been delivered safely through the Red Sea but have not yet forded the Jordan and arrived on its far bank. We may not physically wander as did the Israelites of old and we may not actually follow pillars of fire and cloud, but we no less make a pilgrimage and we are no less dependent upon the goodness, the grace, and the guidance of our God. We are no less reliant upon his promises to sustain us when the path is uncertain, when our enemies rise up, when the way before us seems to stretch on interminably.

The Israelites were prone to doubt God—to doubt his strength, his power, his intentions. They were prone to doubt that he would prove true to his promises and lead them to the land that flowed with milk and honey, the land that would be their home and their rest.
In so many ways the story of the Pentateuch is the story of God proving his faithfulness over against his people’s faithlessness. It is for good reason that so few who saw God parting the sea between Egypt and the wilderness were permitted to see God parting the river between the wilderness and Promised Land. There were consequences for their doubt and for its many manifestations in grumbling, rebellion, and idolatry.
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