Look Up

Numbers 21: 5-9
And the people spoke against God and against Moses, “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we loathe this worthless food.” Then the Lord sent fiery serpents among the people, and they bit the people, so that many people of Israel died. And the people came to Moses and said, “We have sinned, for we have spoken against the Lord and against you. Pray to the Lord, that he take away the serpents from us.” So Moses prayed for the people. And the Lord said to Moses, “Make a fiery serpent and set it on a pole, and everyone who is bitten, when he sees it, shall live.” So Moses made a bronze[a] serpent and set it on a pole. And if a serpent bit anyone, he would look at the bronze serpent and live.

I was recently in Bath. The easing of lockdown measures made it so that I was allowed to travel across the border finally. I did so to find physical remedy for my well-documented affliction. Perhaps my intentions were misguided, and I had put hope in a worldly treatment instead of solving my issues through more spiritually focused measures. If that were the case, then how magnificent is it that the Lord in His almighty patience and wisdom had revealed in my heart a gospel focused message while I was busy trying to fix myself. The lesson he reminded me was one a friend had taught me the last time I had visited the city. While most who visit (and even some who live in Bath) are occupied with looking laterally at the brownstone architecture, they often miss some of the most beautiful masonry by not doing one simple thing; And that is to look up. When my friend told me that, neither of us knew how important that message would be for my life would be. For when I returned in my visit last week, I was renewed in ways I couldn’t believe. What beauty do we miss when we don’t look up? Not just at brownstone; not just at bronze serpents; at the ever-healing crimson sorrow on the cross.
For as you know, I have not even been seeing the world laterally; my head, my heart, has been downcast. My nose is scabby from dragging my head so low on the ground. Like the Israelites I had grown impatient. Like the Israelites I had taken for granted the manna he had given me. And like the Israelites, I had received God’s outstretched arm that sent something to nip at my heels. But by His loving arm he surrounded me. He tucked at my collar and dragged my eyeline out of the mud, into Him.
First it was my sin that caused me to feel the way I do. It was active disobedience. A knowing tangent that I trundled through because I thought I knew best. How often do you do this? I know my answer to that question. Daily. It’s hard to admit but it happens daily. That’s why we have to put to death that old way of thinking. A way of thinking that was present as long ago as Eve in the garden. It was present when we refused to read our bible last. For me, my sin was rejecting both my physical and spiritual manna. How silly of me. Or perhaps silly isn’t the right word. Maybe selfish? Either way I sinned and what followed inevitably were the consequences.
The first consequence is that I feel fine. I don’t immediately believe I need help. But the insidious shadow I cast over my eyes made me ignore my head slowly stooping down to the floor. It was as if I didn’t notice it. But deep down I did know. I think to some extent we always know when we do the sins we pray we don’t want to do. We can pretend to think differently and when we are confronted, we can often be like Cain and feign ignorance at our misdoings because after all, we feel fine. I suffer no real sting now that I have disobeyed. How foolish was I to think like that. I am not just a meaningless breath wafting with the smoke of Babylon but I am part of a holy nation, a priestly kingdom. Why then do I act any different? Why do I still wear the graveclothes if I am out of the graveyard? How did God open my eyes?
The second consequence is that I don’t feel fine. In that the snakes that God sent gripped their fangs into me and I felt the fire coursing through my veins. It was a slow and purposeful condition that grew in intensity with each day. I was reminded of the bear trap, the quicksand, the whirlpool of desire that was my own sin. I tell you now, that this pain I felt was a much sweeter reality than the numbness of the first consequence. I know that sounds ludicrous at first glance but to the believer this should make sense. It feels horrible. The conviction in your heart is a deep sorrow that could only be fixed by the man of sorrows.
To put it in simpler terms, it’s as if for example I had made a big mess of my room. A gradual decline in cleanliness and discipline led me to throw things around with no real sense of purpose. The bin is overflowing, clothes are on the floor, dishes have been left to gather dust and bacteria. This is what the consequences were like. And the first consequence is that a sock or two on the floor didn’t affect me too much. The second consequence was me tripping on my mountain of clothes and smashing my face on the wall. This is all hypothetical of course. I would never admit to doing such a thing (I’m being facetious). What I mean to say with all this is that it is a dangerous thing to ignore the sin that builds up inside of me. We don’t notice it until the light shines in and makes clear to us the mess that’s in our rooms and in our hearts. Its not pleasant to look at. It’s not pleasant to admit. But as believers know, that mountain of sin that feels insurmountable, has been dealt with and should be put to death on the cross. The cross where Jesus suffered and died to purchase us filthy sinners with His perfect blood. And He rose from the dead to defeat the largest consequence of them all – death. He crushed the most sinister serpent with His heel. It doesn’t sting Him or cause Him to stumble and perish like we would. He conquered death. No snake is greater than Jesus’ love and mercy.
So as the Israelites looked to a reminder of the serpents that tormented them, so have I looked up at the sin on the cross that will lead me no more to oblivion and I am healed.
Dear future me, if you have once again backslid and are looking down, my imperative to you is this – look up.