Now, Israel, hear the decrees and laws I am about to teach you.
Deuteronomy 4:1 (NIV)
There is a seriousness about Life that takes stage whenever Death is standing in the wings. I’ve experienced in hospitals and the rooms of hospice. I’ve observed it in homes where families tend to their loved one’s final days. The seriousness can take many different forms, but I find that they are always holy moments.
I find it important as I meditate on the chapters of Deuteronomy to remember that this entire book is one of those holy moments. Death is standing on the banks of the Jordan River in wait for Moses. Moses is ancient. His body is decimated with age. His face is lined with the stress of decades of leadership. Deuteronomy is Moses taking the face of his people lovingly in his withered hands and looking them in the eye one last time. These are the words of his deathbed.
“Listen,” he is whispering with final breath earnestness. “No. Really listen to me.”
When Moses uses the word “hear” it is the Hebrew word shema. It is more than auditory reception. Shema is listening with your heart as well as your ears. It’s hearing channeled into action. It is listening that love transforms into obedience. It’s the same Jesus asked whenever He said, “Those who have ears to really hear, hear this….”
Suddenly, the words of today’s chapter have another layer of meaning. They are the love-filled plea of the man who has given everything to lead his people. I don’t just want to read the words. I want to shema what Moses is communicating in this holy moment as I see Death standing in the background along Jordan’s shore.
Guard the appetites of your heart. Moses begins with a plea to his people to guard their hearts. They serve a living God. They’ve seen what He can do. They’ve heard His voice though they saw no form. There is no form that can adequately represent His being. So don’t fashion idols for yourselves and bow down to animals, or people, or the sun. Don’t give your love and devotion to things that can never love you back.
Be ever aware of God’s nearness. God is with them. He’s pitched His tent in the center of their camp. He goes before them. He goes with them. He is not god up above somewhere. God is always right here, right now.
Remember. Remember. Remember. Moses repeats the word over and over again.
Remember the fire on the mountain.
Remember the voice with no form.
Remember the covenant.
Remember who rescued you.
Remember who claimed you.
Memory is a mentor. The moment you begin to forget you are one step closer towards being lost. Then Moses prophetically foresees that his children, whom he knows all too well, will indeed lose their way.
Home awaits every prodigal. He wraps up his message by reminding them that no matter how far they wander, no matter how badly they lose their way, God is waiting. He’s not waiting with crossed arms but arms that are open. It doesn’t matter what distant pig stye they find themselves mired in. If they, like the prodigal, will seek Him with all their heart they will find Father God there on the porch at home with his eyes glued to the driveway. He just waiting to welcome the prodigal home and celebrate His lost child’s return.
I feel a weight in my meditations in the quiet of my home office this morning. Placing my feet in the sandals of a child of Israel standing along the Jordan River listening to Moses’ heartfelt final plea gives the words added potency. Suddenly the message is more meaningful. Life suddenly gets more serious whenever Death is near.
The neighbor’s diesel pick-up truck has begun to idle across the street. It’s my daily reminder that it’s time to move out of the quiet and into all that awaits me on the calendar and task list of the day. Thankfully, I’m unaware of Death being anywhere nearby today. Nevertheless, I head out with the heart of Moses’ message informing how I want to go about whatever awaits me.
Have a great day, my friend.
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
