Uzziah's Pride

“But when he was strong, he grew proud, to his destruction.” – 2 Chronicles 26:16

Uzziah starts off sounding like a hero in some young adult novel. Crowned king at sixteen, he becomes a victorious warrior, demolishing enemy walls, garnering tribute, leading an impressively large, well-equipped, and fit army. He becomes a master builder, erecting numerous towers and outfitting them with innovative machines. He is hailed a lover of the soil, cutting cisterns and cultivating herds and vines. He seeks good spiritual mentors and sets himself to fear God. And he gains fame, which the author points out repeatedly: “and his fame spread even to the border of Egypt, for he became very strong… And his fame spread far…” This guy is a Judean rock star. 

But in the end all this detail, far more than we got in the parallel account in 2 Kings 15 (in which Uzziah goes by his other name, Azariah), is a warning. The source of Uzziah’s success is God (verse 5, “God made him prosper”; verse 15, “for he was marvelously helped”). But Uzziah eventually becomes proud, insisting on burning incense in the temple himself, despite knowing only the Levites are ordained to do so. When the priests dare to oppose him, rather than repenting, he becomes angry, and in that moment is touched with leprosy, remaining a leper until his death. Archaeologists have since found his tombstone, upon which is written in Hebrew, “The bones of Uzziah, king of Judah. Open not.”

This was a man who from a young age had everything going for him. But something about success made him forget who he was in the temple of God, made him overestimate his authority and reject criticism. His life became an encapsulation of Proverbs 16:18, “Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.” Do I forget that the source of any success I may have is God? Do I care too much about position or influence? How do I react to criticism? Strength is a blessing but also a danger, for it so easily leads to pride, and there is no clearer warning of that than the life of Uzziah.

Turning And Seeing

“And as Josiah turned, he saw the tombs there on the mount. And he sent and took the bones out of the tombs and burned them on the altar.” – 2 Kings 23:16

I love the verbs in this verse: Josiah turned, and he saw. And as he turns, we see. We learn more about the details of the Israelites’ disobedience during Josiah’s repentance than we did during the reigns of the two evil kings that came before him, which is interesting, isn’t it? We learn that in God’s temple, there were kept vessels and altars for idols, houses for male cult prostitutes, and women who wove hangings for idols. We learn they worshipped not just false gods but the sun, moon, and stars. We learn of places made specifically for parents to burn their children as offerings. We learn of the geographical prominence of idolatrous altars and statues. We learn about the timeline of it all: in fact, this section reads like a reverse history lesson, with Josiah undoing the work of predecessors like Solomon and Jeroboam. It must not have been easy to uproot traditions, habits and job descriptions that ran back for generations.

But that is what Josiah does. Before restoring the practices of God’s law, he removes anything that stands against or could distract from God’s truth, and there is something to be relished in how ruthlessly thorough he is. Just when we think he’s done, he turns and unearths more bones in these tombs on the mount. 

Sometimes I too find that the more I turn to God, the more I see what I’m turning from. There is something about sin that blinds us. It numbs and habituates, rendering it difficult by nature to see how much we are in the grip of anger, greed, gossip, lust, anxiety, grumbling, selfishness, or any number of things. The more the light that is God’s law (Psalm 119:105) shines into those places, the more we see all the layers of the lure, grip and power of sin in our lives. We don’t see these things by staring straight at the sin itself. We see them by staring at God in his Word, and then turning back from that to see. 

The Bible says of Josiah, “Before him there was no king like him, who turned to the Lord with all his heart and with all his soul and with all his might, according to all the Law of Moses, nor did any like him arise after him” (2 Kings 23:25). Wow. Yet even Josiah’s repentance was not enough to undo the sin of his forefathers, as we read in the very next verse: “Still the Lord did not turn from the burning of his great wrath.” It would take one from Josiah’s line, Jesus, to turn away God’s wrath from his people, to restore us who were dead, as dead as those bones in the tomb, to life in Christ. 

Words That Strike Fear

“Hezekiah received the letter from the hand of the messengers and read it; and Hezekiah went up to the house of the Lord and spread it before the Lord.” – 2 Kings 19:14

What’s going on with coronavirus can be a bit confusing. At the start, it was easy enough to follow developments at the public health department where Dave works. He remained both realistic and calm, giving me the sense that the people who knew what was going on seemed far less worried medically than the people who didn’t. But as the situation evolved, it became clear that there’s a level of generalized anxiety and fear, and all kinds of social, economic, and legal factors playing into various policy decisions, that make it all complex and sometimes confusing, quite aside from a purely medical standpoint. 

I made the mistake of reading one too many news articles the other day, and could suddenly understand the fear and panic I hear from moms at school or people buying out face masks. It’s difficult to face something uncontrollable, potentially (however unlikely) deadly, and essentially invisible. What does one do? How far does one go? Suddenly it’s difficult to sort out precautions coming from real knowledge and care for others, and those driven by fear and anxiety.

When the field commander for the Assyrian army, called the Rabshakeh, attacks Judah, he doesn’t do so with physical weapons. He uses words. The Judean envoy, realizing how dangerous he is, ask him to not speak in the “language of Judah within the hearing of the people who are on the wall” (2 Kings 18:26), but he does, and what he sends over that wall are words to strike fear. You should be afraid of me, he says. You should doubt your king; don’t listen to your king; you are being deceived; I can offer you more; God cannot deliver you; look at the evidence around you! And the Assyrians keep speaking even from a distance, the second time sending a letter to King Hezekiah along the same lines: don’t trust God; He is deceiving you; look at the evidence.

There is one common thing in how Hezekiah reacts both times: he seeks God’s word. And, save for an expression of grief and lament, it is the first thing he does. He does not gather the latest statistics, read the news, consult neighboring nations, or even sit and fret on the words themselves. The first time, he sends for the prophet Isaiah. The second time, he went and spread his troubles before God himself. He talks to God, and before he shares his struggles, which he does, he acknowledges God’s sovereignty and power. And when God ultimately answers, there is no mistaking that power: He sends an angel to strike down 185,000 in the Assyrian camp. The Assyrians woke the next morning surrounded by corpses.

I don’t know why it is so much easier for me to read article after article, than to simply stop and pray to my sovereign God. The recognition of elements beyond my control is but an invitation to go to the God who can both deliver us from fear and give us wisdom. Hezekiah, the king, the person who is supposed to have all the answers, who is surrounded by advisors, does one simple thing. He takes the fearful letter, and he spreads it before the Lord. We too can take our troubles, however frightening or uncontrollable, and spread them before God in prayer. We have a God who answers. As Isaiah reminds us, “Thus says the Lord: Do not be afraid because of the words that you have heard” (2 Kings 19:6).

King Ahaz

“When King Ahaz went to Damascus to meet Tiglath-pileser king of Assyria, he saw the altar that was at Damascus. And King Ahaz sent to Uriah the priest a model of the altar, and its pattern, exact in all its details.” - 2 Kings 16:10

King Ahaz had a lot going for him. In fact, he’s not unlike someone we would picture meeting in the Bay Area: he was young (reigning in his twenties and thirties), loved innovation and technology (introduced the Babylonian sundial to Jerusalem, 2 Kings 20:11), had access to the latest information (prophets Isaiah and Micah spoke during his reign), and was interested in spirituality (involved himself in sacred spaces and practices). But he had no real relationship with God, and this despite benefiting from God’s deliverance in battle (2 Kings 16:5), having the influence of a godly father (2 Kings 15:34), and being of the line of David.

Instead, he emulates those around him. When the tide turns against him in battle, he looks not to God for help, but makes an alliance with the Assyrian king, just as he sees the Syrians and Israelites doing. But far from it being an equal alliance, Ahaz declares himself their servant, literally slave (2 Kings 16:17), giving the Assyrians treasures from the temple and palace. And when he sees the Assyrian altar in Damascus, he decides to make one exactly like it for himself.

Assyrian altars were quite different from Jewish ones: they were smaller, and had peculiar and unmistakable ornamentation. As one article put it, “Careful instructions would be needed for workmen who had never seen the sort of object which they were required to produce.” In a distorted echo of Exodus 38, Ahaz now puts himself in the place of God, directing the priest in constructing an idolatrous altar which he puts in the place of God’s bronze altar in the temple, and upon which he makes burnt, grain, drink, and peace offerings. It’s a strange and somewhat hideous amalgam of religions: he is in Solomon’s temple, making offerings from Levitical law, but on an Assyrian altar, to Damascene gods. 2 Chronicles 28:23 tells us something of his motivations: “For he… said, ‘Because the gods of the kings of Syria helped them, I will sacrifice to them that they may help me.’” 

The next sentence in 2 Chronicles is compelling: “But they were the ruin of him and of all Israel.” God is not one in a line of many. We cannot keep the convenient or traditional parts of our faith and mix them in with what seems to be working for everyone else. This is not to say we can’t make our faith culturally relevant, but we must always be going back to God’s word as we bring forward His truths to our current day.

Ahaz had auspicious beginnings: but he ended up being one of the worst kings, going on to make idolatrous altars “in every city of Judah” (2 Chronicles 28:25). Perhaps, more than anything else, his story is a warning to us: of how incredibly easy it can be to be so caught up by what others are doing, to trust so much in worldly patterns of success, to care so much about what someone in power thinks of us, that we lose a right view of God in our lives.

Blindness

“The Lord opens the eyes of the blind.” – Psalm 146:8

Esme got a blindfold from her church class a few weeks back; they were learning the story of Jesus healing the blind man. She now enjoys wearing it around the house and bumping into things, but only because she can take it off whenever she wants. I saw a patient this morning whose visual acuity was light perception. Legal blindness is defined as visual acuity equal to or worse than 20/200 on the Snellen chart, but when patients can no longer see any letters, we measure how many feet away they can count fingers, then tell whether a hand is waving. Beyond that is light perception: when you can only tell whether or not a bright light is shining directly into your eye. This patient had lived with poor vision for some time, but came in because she had recently sustained several falls that required orthopedic surgery. 

Vision is something we take for granted until we lose it. The Bible speaks of a spiritual kind of blindness, a walking in the dark and under the power of Satan, until God opens our eyes to bring us into the light (Acts 26:18) and enable us to see and live in hope, glory and power (Ephesians 1:18-19). It is like the eyes of Elisha’s servant being opened to see the horses and chariots of fire all around them on the mountain (2 Kings 6:17): reality had not changed, but his ability to perceive it had. The vision God gives us is wonder, power and life.

When one has lived with blindness a long time, it is quite an experience to be able to see again. Typically the patients I see the day after cataract surgery are unexpectedly emotional. They tell me they had forgotten how bright the colors were. Or what it’s like to move with independence and confidence. Sometimes they ask whether the surgery gave them wrinkles on their face (no, those were there before, I say). If they can’t speak English, sometimes they just grip my hand and cry.

There is something akin to that type of wonder and irrepressible emotion in the Psalmist’s words here: “Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord, O my soul! I will praise the Lord as long as I live; I will sing praises to my God while I have my being.” This is someone who has personally experienced the liberation and love of a God who sets prisoners free, who lifts up the discouraged, who sees the marginalized, and yes, who opens the eyes of the blind. This is someone whose experience of this God has completely transformed who he trusts in, who he worships, and what he longs for. May the same be true for us.

Naaman

“But Naaman was angry and went away, saying, ‘Behold, I thought that he would surely come out to me and stand and call upon the name of the Lord his God, and wave his hand over the place and cure the leper. Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash in them and be clean?’ So he turned and went away in a rage.” – 2 Kings 5:11-12

When the servant girl tells Naaman that a prophet in Samaria can cure him of his leprosy, he takes her advice, but on his own terms. He goes to Samaria, but he doesn’t go to the prophet. He goes to the king. He goes along VIP channels. As commander of the entire army of Syria, Naaman was a successful man, and thought he could use his success to obtain what he needed. So he tells his king, who writes a letter to the Israelite king, which lands him in that king’s presence.

From there, it was a series of surprises. Not only was Elisha not able to be summoned, Naaman himself had to go to knock on Elisha’s door. Not only did Elisha not give him an elaborate welcome, he didn’t even bother greeting him at the door. Not only did Elisha not examine or treat him personally, he sent a messenger with do-it-yourself instructions. 

The response Naaman makes in his rage is telling: my expectations were not met. This is not how I thought I would be served. I didn’t inconvenience myself for something no better than what I already have. We may roll our eyes at this, but don’t we sometimes approach God with the same kind of entitled consumerism? “I thought that he would surely…” I thought that God would surely give me what I wanted by now. I thought that God would surely have worked in this situation in this way. 

In the end, it is another servant who talks him into trying Elisha’s instructions. Instead of standing while another called on God, Naaman has to go himself, and dip in the river not once, but seven times. Then “his flesh was restored like the flesh of a little child, and he was clean.” If you’ve ever gotten close to a child, you’ve probably marveled at their skin: so smooth and unblemished, without sun spots or wrinkles or scars. Naaman’s skin was restored like that, because he was willing to listen to a servant and humble himself and walk the road to the Jordan. His story reminds me of the wise men in Matthew 2, who also had to course-correct when they stopped following the star and instead went to look for a king in a palace. But Jesus did not come in a royal room. He came in a manger, a little child sent to restore us to life, defying our entitled expectations from the moment he was born. 

Offering

“‘There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish, but what are they for so many?’ Jesus said, ‘Have the people sit down.’… Jesus then took the loaves.”- John 6:9-11

For fun, we estimated that we packed 532 school lunches one year. Lately, I’ve been transitioning the kids into packing their own lunches, but it’s still quite a daily production. I like to think that the boy in this story brought a lunch packed by his mother, though of course we don’t know. But it probably was the result of some kind of ordinary, everyday labor. What’s remarkable is that the boy bothers offering it at all, given the size of the crowd. The disproportion is enormous. There’s no logic to it. One can’t blame Andrew for his question, the same question asked by Elijah’s servant when Elijah accepts an offering of twenty barley loaves in 2 Kings 4:42-44: “How can I set this before a hundred men?”

That’s the question I have sometimes, if I really examine myself. How can I set this before everyone? How can what I offer be enough? How can what I say, bring, or do meet the need that I see around me? But Jesus does not ask me to concern myself with that. He takes me just as I am: without criticism or appraisal. He does not say to Andrew, this is all you could scrounge up? He does not disregard the boy’s contribution. He takes it, receives it into his own hands, and gives thanks for it.

In the 2 Kings passage, the bread that is brought is “bread of the firstfruits, twenty loaves of barley.” The firstfruits were that first offering from the harvest once the Israelites came into the promised land (Leviticus 23): it was both a reminder of God’s provision and a product of their own labors. It was an act both of thanksgiving and of trust. N. T. Wright wrote when speaking of how Jesus’ resurrection is a sign of our own one day: “The point of the firstfruits is that there will be many, many more.” That is what Jesus does here in John. He takes the proffered loaves and makes many, many more. Imagine the boy’s wonder, seeing the loaves he had carried with him and given up, now being passed from hand to hand by the thousands.

Spurgeon preached of this passage: “I do not say that every man of common ability can rise to high ability by being associated with Christ through faith, but I do say this—that his ordinary ability, in association with Christ, will become sufficient for the occasion to which God in providence has called him.”

The Bronze Serpent

“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 serpent and set it on a pole. And if a serpent bit anyone, he would look at the bronze serpent and live.” – Numbers 21:8-9

“Turn your eyes upon Jesus 

Look full in His wonderful face 

And the things of earth will grow strangely dim 

In the light of His glory and grace”

- Helen Howarth Lemmel

God had judged the complaints of his people through earth, fire and plague, but here he sends venomous snakes. When the people confess and Moses intercedes, though, God doesn’t remove the snakes. He doesn’t automatically heal the bitten. He provides a different way out. They are to look up at a metal snake held aloft on a pole, and be saved. Apparently the Israelites took the bronze snake with them into the promised land and worshiped it as an idol, naming it Nehushtan (literally, ironically, “a thing of brass”) and making offerings to it, until King Hezekiah tears it down (2 Kings 18:4). 

Jesus speaks of this snake to Nicodemus, right before the famous John 3:16: “And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. For God so loved the world…” (John 3:14-16). The bronze snake points to Jesus—a bit strange to think of Jesus being represented by a snake, perhaps, but he did become the curse to save us from the poison of sin (“Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us,” Galatians 3:13). He was raised up on a pole like the snake, only in this case to provide life that is eternal. The snake on a stick has since gone on in Greek and modern lore to represent medicine and healing, in a symbol called the Rod of Aesculapius that most believe had its origins in Numbers.

The thing that impresses me today is that the bitten Israelite had only to look upon the snake. They didn’t have to prepare themselves in any way. They didn’t have to think a lot about it first. They didn’t have to be of a particular tribe or age. They simply had to turn their gazes, up. How are you looking at Jesus? Do you hold some truth about him before you every day? Do you see him in the people and events around you? 

Charles Spurgeon writes about how this passage was part of his conversion experience. On January 6, 1850, when he was about sixteen years old, he got lost in a snowstorm. Instead of the church he meant to attend, he stumbled down a side street and came to a small chapel with only a dozen or so people. The regular minister was snowed in, so another man got up to speak, and did so quite terribly, apparently. Spurgeon writes in his autobiography: 

“He was obliged to stick to his text, for the simple reason that he had little else to say. The text was ‘Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth [Isaiah 45:22].’ He did not even pronounce the words rightly, but that did not matter… The preacher began thus: “My dear friends, this is a very simple text indeed. It says, ‘Look.’ Now lookin’ don’t take a deal of pain. It ain’t liftin’ your foot or your finger; it is just, ‘Look.’ Well, a man needn’t go to college to learn to look. You may be the biggest fool, and yet you can look. A man needn’t be worth a thousand a year to be able to look. Anyone can look; even a child can look. But then the text says, ‘Look unto Me’. . . Many of ye are lookin’ to yourselves, but it’s no use lookin’ there. Ye will never find any comfort in yourselves. Some look to God the Father. No, look to him by-and-by. Jesus Christ says, ‘Look unto Me’… Look unto Me; I am sweatin’ and great drops of blood. Look unto Me; I am hangin’ on the cross. Look unto Me; I am dead and buried. Look unto Me; I rise again. Look unto Me; I ascend to heaven. Look unto Me; I am sittin’ at the Father’s right hand. O poor sinner, look unto Me! Look unto Me!’

“When he had gone to about that length, and managed to spin out ten minutes or so he was at the end of his tether. Then he looked at me under the gallery, and I dare say, with so few present he knew me to be a stranger. Just fixing his eyes on me, as if he knew all my heart he said, ‘Young man, you look very miserable.’ Well, I did, but I had not been accustomed to have remarks made from the pulpit on my personal appearance before. However, it was a good blow, struck right home. He continued, ‘and you always will be miserable — miserable in life, and miserable in death — if you don’t obey my text; but if you obey now, this moment, you will be saved.’

“I saw at once the way of salvation. I know not what else he said — I did not take much notice of it — I was so possessed with that one thought. Like as when the brazen serpent was lifted up, the people only looked and were healed, so it was with me. I had been waiting to do fifty things, but when I heard that word, ‘Look!’ What a charming word it seemed to me! Oh! I looked until I could have almost looked my eyes away. There and then the cloud was gone, the darkness had rolled away, and that moment I saw the sun; and I could have risen that instant, and sung with the most enthusiastic of them, of the precious blood of Christ, and the simple faith which looks alone to him.”