This story is not meant for six-year-olds, but it is meant for us, though we should hardly handle it.
I would surmise Numbers 25 is a text you would hardly remember, or perhaps you might skip over: it is that uncomfortable. When we say that God is really serious about sin, we acknowledge the truth with a few slight nods of the head, maybe a sincere sigh, and an “I’ll get to that confession on Sunday morning” promise.
God is really serious about sin, and I think that’s why we act like there is an Old Testament God and a New Testament Jesus. We might approach the Old Testament God like we approached our parent’s curfew:
“Your curfew is at midnight.”
Me: “Midnight-ish?”
“Ummm. No.”
Me: “Is there any wiggle room in this? All the best things happen after…”
“Did we stutter?”
Me: waltzing into the house at 12:14, whistling, “I’m Walking on Sunshine,” while my parents are at the kitchen table, sleep-deprived with eyes glaring so sharp that the beam could reach Neptune. The room is so cold that I can see their breath.
Me: “Oh! You weren’t kidding.”
“You are grounded for the foreseeable future.”
Me: “For a week?”
“You will never leave this house again.”
The God of the Old Testament was filled with indefatigable love, so great that he would part waters for his people and bring forth water from arid rocks. But he was also insistent that his people worshipped him and never strayed. His love was for them, and he would not suffer the insufferable. We always say that the Israelites “wandered in the wilderness,” but nothing could be further from the truth. A pillar of cloud and fire escorted them as a constant, reliable “north star.” Manna piled up on the earthen floors, readily available for their eating. Moses, the thick-tongued prophet, carried the word of God to them daily.
Then Shittim (Sheh-teem) happened. At the very doorstep of the promised land, the people gathered, waiting for one last push into the glorious reality of the forty-year hope. Finally, they would have a place to call their own, a place that the patriarchs called home. All eyes should have been directed west, bodies balanced on the balls of their feet, prepared for the conquest of God. But here is our text:
While Israel lived in Shittim, the people began to whore with the daughters of Moab. These invited the people to the sacrifices of their gods, and the people ate and bowed down to their gods. So Israel yoked himself to Baal of Peor. And the anger of the LORD was kindled against Israel. And the LORD said to Moses, “Take all the chiefs of the people and hang them in the sun before the LORD that the fierce anger of the LORD may turn away from Israel.” And Moses said to the judges of Israel, “Each of you kill those of his men who have yoked themselves to Baal of Peor” (Num. 25:1-5).
We read this story and immediately attempt to make excuses for the Israelites. We think, “It was a little oopsie-daisy, right? Just a tiny bit of idolatry and bowing down to the idols of the Midianites. Perhaps they were trying to be missionaries to them, but accidentally worshiped their Gods. Whoops. I bet they’ll do better next time.”
I think that’s how we react post-Calvary. We’ve heard the Easter story a thousand times: “Jesus died for you. He rose again for you.” That is the truth. Irrefutable. And it’s meant to bring comfort. Yet, at the same time, in our sinful delusion, we also believe that we’re not idolaters at all. Sure, we accidentally lie sometimes. We aren’t as good as we would like, but we can’t be so bad as to deserve death. Which is to say, there must be something in ourselves God finds worth saving.
That, in its essence, is yoking the self to Baal of Peor. Outside of Christianity, all other religions trust in the self to bring you home. But God has none of this. The rest of these verses are graphic, and I write them out so that you might read them (maybe for the first time) because God is utterly/deadly serious about sin:
And behold, one of the people of Israel came and brought a THE (emphasis mine) Midianite woman to his family, in the sight of Moses and in the sight of the whole congregation of the people of Israel, while they were weeping in the entrance of the tent of meeting. When Phinehas, the son of Eleazar, son of Aaron, the priest, saw it, he rose and left the congregation and took a spear in his hand and went after the man of Israel into the chamber and pierced both of them, the man of Israel and the woman through her belly. Thus, the plague on the people of Israel was stopped. Nevertheless, those who died by the plague were twenty-four thousand (Num. 25:6-9).
The whole congregation is in mourning near the tent of meeting, and an Israelite man, corrupted in spirit, brings THE Midianite woman to that very particular place. “The” woman is the correct Hebrew translation here, which most likely implies the woman was the leader of the false religion. While the specifics remain somewhat vague, we are lead to believe the man brought the woman to the tent in order to commit adultery. Can you imagine the insult to God? The stunned crowd doesn’t know what to do with such an affront. But Phinehas takes a spear and pins them both together.
This story is not meant for six-year-olds, but it is meant for us, though we should hardly handle it. If you yoke yourself to the unholy, holiness will not just elude you but will cause your demise. God is utterly/deadly serious about this. Ours is not a casual confession but a deep understanding that all is not well within us. Only God can make such a predicament right.
Hence the cross. This is not an informal bus trip to the tree. The cross truly is an “un-Sunday School” story meant to show us that God wants us completely, and as his, he alone will remake us to be pure of heart through faith in him alone. He is not willing to share us: and through Christ, he no longer has to. We are not to be yoked to the gods of Baal at Peor or THE Midianites, or any of the false gods of our own time who so demonically and demurely try to seduce us.
Ah. The God of the Bible is deadly serious about sin. That is why, on the cross, he takes all of it on himself so that it might be removed from you forever.
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