A stiff-necked people

We did the Golden Calf story in Children & Worship and in my Bible Study last week which reminded me of this piece I wrote in July 2018.


Lunch today was rough. Partway into our meal I saw my son sucking grapes into his mouth. I’ve caught him doing this once before—it’s hard to explain with words, but he sucks them in with such force that you can just picture them hurtling back and getting lodged into his wind pipe. I can be overly paranoid sometimes, but I decide this isn’t one of those times. I ask him to stop, explaining that he could choke. My husband agrees—confirmation that I’m not being overly cautious.

At this point I should add that my son is going through an obstinate phase. Lately, it seems to be his goal in life to disobey any request from his parents. So it shouldn’t have surprised me too much when I turn a minute later and see his wide eyes, shocked face and mouth open in a way that shows he is clearly choking. I alert my husband and as he pulls my son out of his chair to give him the Heimlich, the grape, thankfully, dislodges from my son’s throat. My daughter, son and I all dissolve into tears as my husband stands staring—all of us in shock.

A few hours later, I get the kids settled down for naps and collapse in front of Parks and Rec, knitting in hand. Now that I’m sitting and still, the events from lunch rush back to me. Eventually I turn off the TV (you know it’s bad when Leslie Knope can’t cheer you up) and open my Bible. I land in Exodus and read about the Golden Calf incident. Tears fill my eyes for the second time today as I once again see my obstinate son staring at me with wide, scared eyes, unable to breathe:

7 And the Lord said to Moses, “Go down, for your people, whom you brought up out of the land of Egypt, have corrupted themselves. 8 They have turned aside quickly out of the way that I commanded them. They have made for themselves a golden calf and have worshiped it and sacrificed to it and said, ‘These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!’” 9 And the Lord said to Moses, “I have seen this people, and behold, it is a stiff-necked people. 10 Now therefore let me alone, that my wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them, in order that I may make a great nation of you.”

My child has a stiff-neck. Oh my goodness, does my child have a stiff-neck. He never would tell me what caused him to choke, but I’m fairly certain he either sucked in another grape or tried to get it lodged into his throat. He’s curious so I’m sure he just wanted to understand what would happen when he choked. (Thankfully, I don’t think he’ll try that again.) As I read in Exodus, I'm smacked in the face with the realities of the fall—the realities of human nature. Why do we insist on doing what is bad for us? This is the story again and again throughout history. It starts with Adam and Eve eating the fruit when they know they shouldn’t, but it doesn’t stop there.

In Exodus 20, God gives Moses the 10 Commandments, which includes a command that his people must not have any other gods before Him. Two chapters later, Moses tells all of these commandments to the people of Israel and they proclaim, “All the words that the Lord has spoken we will do.” Moses returns to Mount Sinai to receive further instruction from God and, while he’s gone, the Israelites get impatient. So Aaron, Moses’ brother, makes them a golden calf. The people worship it, saying, “These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt.” (32:4). From Adam and Eve, to the Israelites, to me, to my dear son—we are a stiff-necked people.

In the time of ancient Israel, there were clear examples of stiff-necks. They would have worked with donkeys and mules regularly and realized how difficult it can be to convince the creatures to do what you want. “Stiff-neck” would have brought to mind the master trying to turn the animal’s head to direct it, only to have the creature outright refuse to move its head. This is a helpful visual for me. I spend my days trying to direct the steps of my precious children. Many days I feel like they are outright refusing that direction.

Sure there are times I’m directing them a certain way because that’s what I want or need at that moment. Just as the owner of a donkey would be directing it to do his work—not necessarily something the animal wanted to do, but something that needed to be done. But there are other times when the animal’s master is directing him for his own good—directing him away from a pit or a steep precipice—moving him away from danger. Why, oh why, do my children have to have stiff-necks in these moments? Why can’t they recognize that I’m only trying to keep them safe?

When God tells Moses that his people have rebelled against him in the verses I quote above, he declares a desire to just wipe them all out and start over with Moses. But in the end, God doesn’t destroy his people. He does punish them, but he still remains committed to them as his people. He still takes care of them and ultimately he still gives them all the blessings he has promised. Shortly after he agrees to spare their lives, he reveals himself to Moses, declaring the following:

6 The Lord passed before him and proclaimed, “The Lord, the Lord, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, 7 keeping steadfast love for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin, but who will by no means clear the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children and the children's children, to the third and the fourth generation.”

If I’m honest with myself, I’m just as stiff-necked as my kids. I’m stubborn and insistent on getting my way, even when it’s not the best thing for me. Yet the Lord extends mercy and grace to me. He is slow to anger, even in my repetitive disobedience. He abounds in steadfast love and faithfulness for me, even in my fallen, depraved state.

Back to present day. My children are, of course, not sleeping. I am, of course, exhausted and in need of sleep. I want to do everything but forgive my son right now, but that’s what I do. I forgive him for disobeying. I forgive him for terrifying me. I forgive him for every time today, this week, and this month he’s done something I’ve told him not to do. He doesn’t deserve forgiveness, but neither do I. So I extend to him the gracious, loving forgiveness of which I’m a grateful recipient.