Saving

Numbers 21:4-9; John 3:14-21

We’ve been talking a good bit about “salvation” lately, linking it to the crucifixion and resurrection of the Christ—an act of God’s covenant love for us. We learned that salvation is not something we can accomplish for ourselves, apart from God. And we’ve even gone so far as to consider what it is we’re being saved for—that we might respond to God’s love for us in kind, loving and serving others. But what is it that we’re being saved from? Have you ever thought about that?

The text from Numbers seems, at first glance, to be a text about God’s power to save us from death; and then Jesus’ allusion to this story in talking about his own crucifixion and resurrection seems to suggest that the cross is accomplishing a similar type of salvation-from-death for those who look to the Christ. That’s simple enough, right? Christians are being saved from death. What a wonderful thing to believe. Here’s the problem though: it’s just not true, is it? Christians still die. Our faith in Christ does not alter the truth that marks the trailhead of our Lenten journey: “We are all dust, and to dust we shall return.”

So here’s the dilemma. Either we’re not actually being saved, or salvation from death is more than it seems at first glance. And given that even Jesus died, I am faithful to make the latter claim, that being saved from death is different from being saved from actually having to die. In his work on “the meaning of salvation,” Paul Tillich writes that there are many negative things from which salvation is needed, but the “ultimate negativity is called condemnation or eternal death, exclusion from the universal unity of the Kingdom of God, and the exclusion from eternal life. In the overwhelming majority of occasions in which the word ‘salvation’ or the phrase ‘being saved’ is used, it refers to salvation from this ultimate negativity.”[1] We’d probably all prefer the first type of salvation: not having to die, not having to watch our loved one’s die, not having to hear stories about children dying; but it would seem that our salvation to eternal life must take a detour through death.

We don’t like detours. “Detours and delays often frustrate people,” and, as Dennis Olson writes in the beginning of his commentary on Numbers 21, “the old generation of Israelites is no exception.”[2] Let’s take a second glance at this text.

In chapter 20, we see the congregation of Israel being refused safe passage through the land of Edom. They must take a detour. That is where our text begins: “they set out by the way to the Red sea, to go around the land of Edom.” And guess what? “The people became impatient on the way.” Can you believe it? In their frustration, they begin to speak out against Moses and his leadership…but also against God. They thought that their salvation had already been accomplished. They’d been freed from slavery and oppression in Egypt. They were on their way to the promised land—an Old Testament allegory for the Kingdom of God. But the journey had been waylaid by detour after detour.

“What kind of salvation is this?” they began to grumble, “we’re not so sure if God has truly saved us after all!” This is nothing new for the Israelites to grumble about their journey through the wilderness. Olson agrees, “the people [typically] complained against Moses, but rarely do they complain directly against God as they do here.”[3] And so God, in God’s infinite love and mercy, sends poisonous snakes to bite and kill them. If they weren’t wondering, “What kind of salvation is this?” before, they sure are now. Olson points out that the word for “poisonous” in Hebrew literally translates to “fiery”—heat and burning are often used to describe the way God’s wrath burns against Israel’s disobedience.[4] And the people come to Moses and confess that they have sinned by speaking against God. Only once before have they confessed their sins in such a way. “But then they promptly set out to attack the Canaanites against Moses’ stern warning that God was not with them and they would be defeated. Their confession of sin was shallow;” writes Olson, “they believed they could fulfill the promise of God through their own efforts, without God’s help.”[5]

This was precisely the sin for which they ought to have been confessing: they did not trust God’s covenant with them, they did not trust God to uphold the promise to bring them to the promised land. Confession of sin without trust in God’s forgiveness is not true repentance. The Hebrew word for repentance means to turn, to change direction, to return to God. Israel’s previous confession bore no change in trajectory, and God wanted their confession to be truly transforming. God wanted them to turn towards God for forgiveness and healing. You might ask, “If God wanted to save the people from getting bit by snakes, why didn’t God just get rid of the snakes once the people confessed?” That story wouldn’t be a very accurate representation of our experience of sin and confession, would it? The people confess, but the snakes remain an ongoing threat to the community. However, God, in the midst of calamity, provides a means of salvation. And built into the means of salvation, is a reminder of each individual’s “need to turn to the healing power of God.”[6]

The Latin root of the word “salvation,” salvus, literally means “healed.” And is an apt interpretation of the type of salvation God provides in this story. Tillich elaborates, healing can also mean “reuniting that which is estranged, giving a center to what is split, overcoming the split between God and [humanity], [humanity] and this world, and [humanity] and [themselves].”[7] He’s talking about salvation as a reunion with God, God’s purposes for the world, and God’s purposes for our lives. Salvation, in this sense, is much more than simply “not dying,” it has to do with “truly living.” And a hence a major part of salvation has to do with our willingness to let go of that which is not ours to begin with: control. We did nothing to create or own our life, it is given to us as a gift; and we can do nothing to preserve or save it, that power is God’s alone.

So, how does God save us? John gives us the answer. God saves us by loving us. This is hesed, the faithful love of God which endures forever. God loves us, always. God’s desire is to be in relationship with us, always. And when we are estranged from God through sin, God’s desire is to reunite with us, always. But this reunion, involves our confession and turning towards Jesus, our re-turning to God, and our trust in God’s covenant love to uphold the promise of eternal life. That’s the hard part, because we are so easily tempted or tricked into believing that we can be in control...especially in the frustrating presence of detours. The most frightening detour, of course, being death. I’d suggest that it is our fear of death that most often convinces us to try and take control of our salvation.

This is one of the most difficult things about salvation, that we are not in control of it. It’s easy to say, “Only God has the power to save!” But then you run into people who use John 3:16 like a battering ram, trying to break into other people’s lives, or call out to people to climb aboard and be saved, as if they are driving the salvation bus. It’s easy to say God is in control, but harder to live like this is true. It’s also worth pointing out that giving up control of our salvation is different from giving up control of our life, we are still responsible for our actions. We are still responsible for our sins. We are responsible for confessing them, and doing so in a way that turns us and re-orients us to God. But we are not responsible for making God love us, God already loves us. The choices we make, the actions we take, in short, the way that we live our lives are largely determined by our trust in this love, trust in our salvation, and whether or not we are able to humble ourselves in the presence of the temptation to take control. This is also why God sends the Spirit to give us the faith to trust in God’s love for us. Which we don’t always do…and so the cycle of confession begins again.

The Ash Wednesday service, in which we remind ourselves of our own mortality, is not designed to be a frightening service, but a humbling one: one that makes us aware of both our fear of death while reassuring us of God’s power over it. Often, on Ash Wednesday, we preach on the text of Jesus’ time in the wilderness, when he was tempted by the Devil to take control of his own salvation. Only the Christ was able to deny this temptation with full faith in God’s goodness and love for him. Only the Christ was able to deny the temptation to take control of his life even as he was lifted up on the cross.

We must give up control of our salvation in order that God can transform and heal our life and then re-invite us to live it fully. In order to let go, we have to trust God’s love. That trust is hard to muster when there are detours, and snakes, and poison. But that trust becomes easier for us through the cross and the empty tomb. These are reminders that God is in control of our salvation, and that Jesus has accomplished what is impossible for us: trusting God completely. Thanks be to God! Amen.

[1] Tillich, Paul. Systematic Theology, Vol. 2: Part III Existence and the Christ. “E-1.” 1957, The University of Chicago. Chicago, IL. 165.

[2] Olson, Dennis. “Numbers” from Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching. 1996, John Knox Press. Louisville, KY. 135.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Ibid. 136.

[7] Tillich, 166.