Original Meaning

ONE CAN BEGIN to understand Exodus by thinking of it more as a chapter of a book (the Pentateuch) than a book in its own right. Exodus is not meant to be read in isolation from the surrounding material in the Pentateuch. Rather, it describes one stage of Israel’s story that began with creation in Genesis 1 and ends with the Israelites poised at the borders of the land of Canaan at the end of Deuteronomy.

In Exodus 1, a number of elements draw the reader back to Genesis, thus driving us to read Exodus in light of what has come before. The connection to Genesis (esp. creation and the patriarchs) will prove to be an important theme in Exodus, so it is worth our while to see how this theme is initiated here.

The first such element is the first word of the book. Although not reflected in the NIV, the Hebrew text shows that 1:1 does not begin simply with the words “These are the names. . . .” Rather, it begins with the harmless word “and” (the Hebrew letter waw). This is not academic hair-splitting or forcing meaning from the text. Although the presence of “and” at the beginning of the book may seem odd,1 it functions here to join Exodus to what has come before. This book continues the story begun in Genesis: God chose a people for himself and brought them down into Egypt.2 Their presence there is an outworking of his presence with the patriarchs. It is no by-product of chance. This insight will soon prove to be most valuable for the Israelites.

Second, the first six words of 1:1 are an exact repetition of Genesis 46:8. The words are the same, but the contexts of the two passages are different. The context of Genesis 46 is the imminent move of the Israelites into Egypt. Joseph had just revealed his identity to his brothers. They report back to Jacob, who then sets out to see his long lost son once more before he dies. An appropriate translation for Genesis 46:8 is: “Now these are the names of sons of Israel who were traveling [better English: who journeyed] to Egypt.” And after this opening statement, as we also see in the opening paragraph of Exodus 1, Genesis 46:8–27 provides a genealogy of those who made the trek.

The perspective of Exodus 1:1, however, in contrast to Genesis 46:8, is that of looking back from an Egyptian setting to the past event of the Israelites’ move from Canaan to Egypt under Jacob. But in an effort to reproduce Genesis 46:8, Exodus 1:1 also uses the participle. This grammatical construction is striking. One would expect the standard past-tense narrative formula that is used throughout Hebrew narrative: waw (“and”) followed by the imperfect verbal form.3 The repetition of Genesis 46:8 in Exodus 1:1, including “and” and followed by the genealogies, indicates a clear connection between them. Exodus is to be read as a continuation of the past; it is one part of a larger story.4

A third element in Exodus 1 serves to remind its readers of Genesis. The language of 1:7 is creation language, calling to mind the language found in Genesis 1:28 and 9:1: The Israelites became “fruitful and multiplied greatly and became exceedingly numerous.”5 The Hebrew of Exodus 1:7 is even more explicit than the NIV: “The Israelites became fruitful and swarmed; they increased in number and became exceedingly strong” (“swarm,” also used in Gen. 1:21 and 8:17, is another description of what God’s created beings do).

The Israelites’ increasing number in Egypt was a sign of God’s presence and blessing. They, like their forefathers, were fulfilling the creation mandate. The presence of such creation language in Exodus 1 is another indication that this book is to be read in the context of Genesis.6 The Exodus (deliverance) and Genesis (creation) connection will become more explicit later in the book with the plagues and the crossing of the sea. To anticipate those discussions: God will deliver the Israelites from bondage by unleashing the forces of creation against the Egyptians.

The new pharaoh who came into power (1:8) apparently did not “know” Joseph, which may mean that he was either wholly ignorant of his own nation’s history, or (more likely) that he simply chose to act in ignorance of Joseph’s wise counsel and how the Egyptians had benefited from it (Gen. 41). Verse 8 is also a striking example of a characteristic not only of Exodus in general but of many portions of biblical narrative: The writer does not provide a full, detailed account of what he is reporting.

Two immediate questions come to mind with respect to verse 8. (1) Who is this pharaoh? (2) How much time has passed since the demise of Joseph’s generation? The biblical writer, however, is not interested in giving these details. Why not? This is anyone’s guess. It may be that in providing too many concrete historical details he runs the danger of limiting the timelessness of the message of Exodus7 (although then one must explain why the biblical writer does choose to be specific elsewhere, e.g., the names of the store cities in v. 11). Another reason may be that some of these “incidental” details8 are simply not worth mentioning since they do not add to his purpose, a purpose that is evidently more theological than journalistic. Exodus is the story of God’s deliverance of his people.

Although this latter view is likely the case, another possibility should be given due consideration. It may be that some of the details are not mentioned because they do not need to be. We must not think that the original audience was encountering this or any other biblical story for the first time in writing.9 Although the omission of names and chronological markers may present a problem for modern interpreters, this difficulty should not be projected on ancient readers. An adequate explanation may be no more involved than appealing to the familiarity of the ancient audience with the story that we see only in its inscripturated form. It is likely that by the time the narrative received its “official” (i.e., biblical) written form, the story had already been in wide circulation for considerable time. The biblical form then presents a story that for modern readers appears fresh, but for an ancient audience was the very stuff of their cultural and spiritual fabric.10

Although some of the details of the story are lacking, what is clear is that this new pharaoh is not at all happy with what he sees. What troubles him is the increasing number of Israelites (v. 9).11 To put it another way, Pharaoh is opposed to their fulfillment of the creation mandate to be fruitful and increase (cf. Pharaoh’s words in v. 9 with vv. 6–7). In this respect, Pharaoh represents not only a force hostile to God’s people by enslaving them (vv. 11–14), but a force hostile to God himself, who wills that his people multiply.

We see, then, already at this early stage of the book, what will become much more pronounced later on: the real antagonists in the book of Exodus. This is not a battle of Israel versus Pharaoh, or even of Moses versus Pharaoh, but of God versus Pharaoh. The Egyptian king, as we will see in the following chapters, is presented as an anti-God figure; he repeatedly places himself in direct opposition to God’s redemptive plan, and this behavior is already anticipated here. Pharaoh’s ultimate sin is not simply making slaves of God’s people. This is merely his solution to get at a much more basic problem: The Israelites are becoming too numerous, and as such present a possible military threat to Egypt (v. 10).12

The very oppression of the Egyptians in wanting to reduce the number of Israelites is antithetical to the created order. This is the sin of Egyptian slavery, which anticipates a point to be elaborated in subsequent chapters: Since the increase of the Israelites in Egypt is a fulfillment of the creation command, it is fitting to speak of the Israelites’ deliverance from Egypt in creation language and to punish the Egyptians by means of a series of creation reversals (the plagues and the crossing of the Red Sea).13

Enslavement is one of three solutions by which Pharaoh attempts to keep the Israelites’ numbers to a manageable mass: enough for forced labor, but not enough to encourage rebellion.14 This proves futile as oppression merely results in further increase, and, as if to drive this point home, verse 12 repeats the “increase” language of verse 7. Pharaoh is no match for the Creator-God. Verse 12 hints at the eventual outcome of this battle.

The second solution is to command the midwives15 to kill all Israelite male children at birth (since only males posed any military threat). This, too, proves futile and even results in blessing for the midwives. Ironically, they are blessed by the very thing Pharaoh enlisted their help to prevent: population increase.16

The final solution is the murder of all male infants (v. 22) by throwing them into the Nile. Thus, what for the Egyptians is a life-giving force is intended as an instrument of death for the Israelites. The significance of this act, both for Egypt’s future destruction and Israel’s deliverance, cannot be overstated. Water will play a central role in bringing this struggle to a close.

In keeping with his taciturn prose, the writer does not tell us anything that transpires after the giving of this insidious decree. His only concern is to move the narrative to Moses and his escape. It is evident, however, that either many other male infants escaped as well or (more likely) that the decree was eventually rescinded, since Moses was not the only male of his generation to survive! The existence of male offspring is assumed throughout Exodus 1–14 (e.g., 3:22). Nevertheless, the text does not give us information regarding the sweeping ramifications of this decree. All we are told is that one special child escaped Pharaoh’s evil intention.17

Bridging Contexts

CONTINUITY WITH THE PAST. The first chapter of Exodus is the beginning of the story of Israel’s deliverance from her enemy, Egypt. Yet it is more than this. Already at this early stage we see the author’s concern that his readers understand that story of deliverance fully and properly. From the very first word he demonstrates his intention to put the Israelites’ stay in Egypt in its true historical perspective. Israel, through a variety of circumstances, finds herself in a foreign and hostile place. However the people might choose to view that present circumstance, the author reminds them that the full story is one that stretches back to their ancient ancestors and even to the very beginning of the world itself. It is only in seeing their situation from the broad, divine point of view that the readers can hope to gain a full understanding of their lot in life. It is this divine point of view that transcends the millennia and finds a ready audience today.

God’s people are never alone. They belong to him who rules creation and history. The story of the Israelites’ captivity in and eventual escape from Egypt does not hurry to chapter 14 and the crossing of the Red Sea. Rather it lingers, not only in the present captivity but in the past—the past of ancient ancestors and even creation itself. The writer is somewhat emphatic to show the Israelites that “who you are now” must be understood in connection with “who came before you and who they were.” What the Israelites could come to expect from God in their present situation is directly related to how he dealt with the Israelites in the past.

A need to emphasize the present community’s connection with the past is not unique to Exodus 1. In fact, it is a common theme throughout the Old Testament. (1) One prominent example is the book of Isaiah, particularly several passages beginning in chapter 40. The setting is the imminent release of the Israelites from their captivity in Babylon, not unlike the imminent release at the beginning of Exodus. Isaiah again and again pushes his readers to view their situation not merely in terms of their present circumstances, but in terms of the past. Specifically, he points back to two formative events: the creation of the world and the “creation” of Israel in the Exodus. For example, in 45:18, Yahweh speaks of the certainty of future deliverance by reminding the captives of who it was who created the universe:

For this is what the LORD says—

he who created the heavens,

he is God;

he who fashioned and made the earth,

he founded it;

he did not create it to be empty,

but formed it to be inhabited. . . .

God has not “spoken in secret” (Isa. 45:19). Rather, what he has done in the past is plain to all. He has demonstrated by his past actions that he is fully capable of bringing about Israel’s deliverance from Babylon now. So, “turn to me and be saved, all you ends of the earth; for I am God, and there is no other” (v. 22). Isaiah’s message is: “Do you want some assurance of how God will bring you out of captivity? Just look back to creation, that is proof enough. The Creator will save you.” In other words, the God of creation is the God of salvation. This is a theme, as we will see, that finds expression throughout Exodus.

Elsewhere, Isaiah links the impending deliverance of God’s people from Babylon to the past deliverance from Egypt. For example, in Isaiah 43:16–17 he offers the following assurance for their deliverance:

This is what the LORD says—

he who made a way through the sea,

a path through the mighty waters,

who drew out the chariots and horses,

the army and reinforcements together,

and they lay there, never to rise again,

extinguished, snuffed out like a wick. . . .

The certainty of Israel’s deliverance now is based on God’s past actions. In this second example from Isaiah, the past action is the Exodus.18 God’s message in the opening chapter of Exodus is similar: “If you want to know what will happen to you, my special people, you must remember who I am and what I have done in the past. I do not change, and my care for my people does not change.”

(2) Another example to illustrate the importance the Old Testament places on continuity with the past occurs in those portions of Scripture that we are quick to pass over: genealogies. Although these genealogies sometimes appear disruptive to the flow of the book, they serve a theological purpose. They give the people periodic reminders of where they came from. Genealogies connect the present with the past. Perhaps nowhere is this more obvious than the opening chapters of 1 Chronicles. This is not the stuff of which mighty sermons are made. Here we have nine solid chapters of (yawn) names. Yet these chapters are not a spiritual exercise designed to test our patience. Rather, they make a precise theological point.

The two books of Chronicles present Israel’s history from the perspective of the postexilic world. The writer wants to demonstrate that even though times have changed (the land is ravaged, the people have taken up residency with pagans, and the temple lies in ruins), God is the same and remains with his people. This is why the genealogy stretches back not simply to David or Moses, or even Abraham, but to the beginning—to Adam. The present is not divorced from the past. The present, however chaotic it might seem, must be seen in light of the past.19

When seen in terms of the broader Old Testament theme of continuity with the past, the manner in which the writer describes the Israelites’ situation in Exodus 1 seems well at home. It is merely one of many Old Testament examples that force readers to view their present in terms of their past, because God is the same, yesterday, today, and forever. Viewing the present in terms of the past not only provides security now but gives assurance of what will be. We learn from the past, from what we have seen and heard, that the future outcome is certain.

The New Testament shows the church’s connection with the past in several ways. (1) For one thing, the New Testament is not without its genealogies. We see in Matthew 1:1–17 a three-tiered genealogy tracing Jesus’ lineage from Abraham to David, from David to Babylonian exile, and from the exile to his birth.20 The Gospel writer begins his account of the Christ by placing him in the context of the past: “Who is Jesus? Review God’s dealings in the past and see.” Luke also includes a genealogy, but his extends back to Adam. This serves not only to provide a more universal appeal (cf. previous footnote) but to show that the story of Jesus is one that must be viewed, biblically speaking, from the most comprehensive context: from Adam onward.

What clearly distinguishes the Matthean and Lukan genealogies from their Old Testament predecessors, however, is not where they begin but where they end. Jesus is the goal of the New Testament genealogies and not Israel, as we see in 1 Chronicles. The Gospel writers show the continuity that Jesus has with the past (i.e., the entire Old Testament), and it is precisely here that we begin to see how this applies to Christ’s church. Having Jesus as the goal of these genealogies is not to say that God’s people are now left out of the picture. Rather, what is distinct in the New Testament is that now the people of God have their identity in Christ. They “participate” in the past, as it were, insofar as they participate “in Christ” (to use Paul’s repeated phrase).

The church’s continuity with the past is defined by her present relationship with the crucified and risen Christ. This is the proper starting point for today’s Christians to understand their own continuity with the past. The question of who we are can only be answered in terms of who God is, specifically, in terms of what he has done in Christ and of our relationship to Christ. The Christian connects with the past by virtue of his or her union with Christ (Rom. 5:12–6:14), in whom the past itself is fulfilled.

Linking Adam and Christ in the same genealogy also serves to place Christ in the broadest of all contexts, creation itself. Twice Paul presents Jesus as a “new Adam” (Rom. 5:12–21; 1 Cor. 15:20–28). Jesus is like Adam in that both are representatives of a larger group. The continuity between the two, however, is not absolute, since both heads represent different groups of people. Through Christ life is given to his people, but through Adam’s disobedience comes condemnation. Despite this discontinuity, the force of presenting Jesus as a new Adam should not be lost. The second Adam does what the first did not do: He is obedient to God and thereby brings life to his people.

(2) Aside from the Adam/Christ typology, other passages illustrate the connection between Jesus and creation. Note, for example, John 1:1–18. It is difficult to escape the conclusion that John’s “in the beginning” (1:1) is anything other than an explicit attempt to tie together the person and work of Christ and creation. In fact, he even goes a step further: John does not tie Christ to the point of creation, but beyond it.21 For John, Jesus was not created—he simply “was”; he is the Creator himself (cf. 1:2–3). And one of the great marvels of this Gospel is that Jesus the Creator is also Jesus the Savior.

The twin concepts of salvation and creation, which we have already glimpsed in Exodus 1, are brought together in the New Testament in the person of Christ. The New Testament further brings these two concepts together by describing the salvation of believers as an act of creation (a point that will also be seen in Exodus). Most notable, perhaps, is 2 Corinthians 5:17: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!” Being in Christ (salvation) means being a “new creation.” By virtue of the church’s relationship to Christ the Creator, the Christian’s salvation is a new beginning. The church’s link with the past extends to creation, since its very identity is found in its relationship with the Creator himself.

(3) The continuity the church has with the past—that is, the fact that its present identity is defined in terms of the past—can be seen in the New Testament in a number of other ways. Three brief examples will illustrate the point: Romans 4, Hebrews 11, and 1 Corinthians 10. In all three passages, the biblical writer bases a point of teaching for the church in the present on the experiences of Israel in the past.

For example, do you want to understand the nature of faith? Observe Abraham’s example (Rom. 4). Paul’s choice of Abraham is not arbitrary. He is the one from whom all Israelites descended, and his faith is portrayed as not simply a moralistic model for the church to follow, but as a summary of the true form of Israelite spirituality. Faith in Christ now means participating in the Israelite ideal of faith. Hebrews 11 makes the point even more explicitly. Not only is Abraham held up as a model of faith (vv. 8–19), but the Old Testament saints parade across the page one by one: Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Rahab, and many more; yet even then, the writer acknowledges that he is only skimming the surface (v. 32).22

By having faith in Christ, Christian, you are doing what God’s people in the past have always done. And if a warning is in order, Paul recounts Israel’s desert rebellion in 1 Corinthians 10. The events that transpired back then “were written down as warnings for us, on whom the fulfillment of the ages has come” (10:11). The continuity between the Israel of the past and the church of the present is a basic assumption that the New Testament writers make in applying the Old Testament to the life of the Christian.

We could multiply examples such as these many times over, since the church’s present is described throughout the New Testament by referring to the past. This is because the Christian era is understood as a fulfillment, and therefore a continuation, of Israel’s story. Note the manner and extent to which the New Testament writers cite the Old Testament. The New Testament message as a whole—that is, the person and work of Christ and God’s people in relation to Christ—is connected to the past. Thus, Christians today must understand their connection with the past not simply by looking back to the New Testament, but by rounding off the picture through a look to the Old Testament as well, which is where the New Testament writers themselves locate the roots of the church’s identity.

Although chronologically in the past, the New Testament era is nevertheless part of today’s Christian’s “theological” present, insofar as all Christians through all time have been living in the age inaugurated by Christ’s coming. Yet, the church today must understand itself more fully by looking backward through the millennia to the very dawn of the universe itself, “for he chose us in him before the creation of the world” (Eph. 1:4).

The Lord rules despite appearances. Another theological message of Exodus 1 is seen in the way God is presented—or better, not presented. Scholars have noted the theological significance of God’s apparent absence in this chapter, extending to the end of chapter 2.23 The sense of God’s absence in our daily affairs is a common theme in the Psalms, Prophets, and wisdom literature,24 and is also a topic in the New Testament, although there the emphasis on the “triumph of the resurrection” receives more attention.25

There is no doubt that God is presented in Exodus 1 as one who is not actively engaged in overseeing the unfolding circumstances in which the Israelites find themselves. Joseph and his brothers are not said to have been brought down to Egypt by God; they just seem to go on their own. The new king’s plans to remove the Israelite threat are not brought on by God’s hardening the king’s heart, as we often see in the plague narrative that follows. Rather, it is his own doing. Moreover, the Israelites’ success at thwarting all three of Pharaoh’s hideous attempts is nowhere attributed to God. In fact the midwives, although motivated by their fear of God (1:17), seem to obviate Pharaoh’s wrath by their own cunning: They cook up a story about the rugged Israelite mothers who give birth before they can get to them.26

This extends to chapter 2: Even Moses’ deliverance from Pharaoh’s final decree is due to his mother’s and sister’s ingenuity, not a mighty act of God. In reading this opening chapter of Exodus, we should take care not to jump too quickly ahead to where God takes on a more active role. For now at least, we must allow chapter 1 to speak, and we must hear what it has to say.

As Gowan suggests, the portrayal of God as “absent” in chapter 1 comes into clearer focus in light of the immediate, directive role he takes beginning in 2:23–25 and throughout the remainder of Exodus—“the author’s explicit and powerful statement . . . that now something different is about to happen.”27 It is Yahweh who delivers the Israelites, who fights for them, who cripples the Egyptian army, and who renders Pharaoh impotent. The “absence” of God in chapter 1 is sorely felt by the Hebrew slaves, and it is important for understanding the thrust of the first two chapters of Exodus that we allow this tension to remain. The appearance of God in 2:23–25 must be seen in light of the Israelites’ perception of his absence in chapter 1. “How could God allow this terrible turn of events to take place? Why has the God of our fathers, the God who promised his abiding faithfulness to us and our ancestors, allowed us to become slaves? Look at this young upstart pharaoh, flexing his muscles. Why doesn’t God just snap his fingers and make him go away? Why has God forgotten us?”

The answer, of course—as is made plain beginning at 2:23–25—is that God is with his people even though it does not appear to be so. An old pharaoh dies, a friend of the Israelites. Generations pass, and another pharaoh comes into power, but this one has no love for the growing Israelites. God, however, is with them, regardless of the turn of political events—whether for good or for bad. It is he who directs their paths, who brings blessing in times of peace, and who, as, and when he sees fit, brings deliverance in times of trouble.

To put it another way, Yahweh is the Lord of history. This is a fact. He is not any less the Lord of history in times of trouble, nor do good times suggest a mere temporary spasm of control over events. He is steady and sure, and the Israelites are to see their prolonged enslavement in light of God’s character rather than to make conclusions about God’s presence or absence on the basis of their circumstances.

The specific sociopolitical setting of Exodus 1 is common to the Old Testament. If there is any topic that consistently finds expression throughout the various Old Testament genres, it is the struggles that God’s people face against foreign enemies and oppressors. For example, in the Pentateuch, apart from the Exodus, we see Abraham’s rescue of Lot from Kedorlaomer and his alliance (Gen. 14), the perennial struggles with Edom/Esau inaugurated in Genesis 27, war with the Amalekites (Ex. 17), the defeat of Sihon of Heshbon and Og of Bashan (Num. 21; Deut. 2–3), and recurring contention with the Moabites (Num. 25).

Moreover, the conquest of the land in Joshua and Judges is a truly international struggle. The period of the monarchy is dotted with tense undercurrents and open conflict with the Egyptians, Assyrians, and Babylonians—the latter two eventually bringing the northern and southern kingdoms respectively into captivity in a foreign land. How Israel ought and ought not to view their relationship to the nations is a regular topic in the prophetic literature. Many of the psalms also reflect on the struggles that the righteous Israelite (e.g., David) has with his enemies, often foreign.

The Old Testament, in other words, is not reticent about Israel’s politics. The drama of the Israelites’ place in the world is told against the backdrop of the political machinations of their neighbors. It is sometimes the case that God intervenes quickly to bring an imminent end to the conflict, such as the defeat of the Amalekites in Exodus 17 and the defeat of Sihon and Og. Other times, more patience is required of God’s people, as in the case of the release from Babylon after (roughly) a fifty-year captivity, or four hundred years as we see in Exodus. At still other times, the ultimate resolution of conflict takes on an apocalyptic, otherworldly flavor (e.g., Zech. 14). The point, however, is that Israel’s political fate is never left to the caprice of international events. Rather, God is in control and he will, sooner or later, bring all of history to its proper conclusion.

The NT presents God’s lordship over history in terms of the person and work of Christ:

For by him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things were created by him and for him. (Col. 1:16)

All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. (Matt. 28:18)

Therefore God exalted him to the highest place

and gave him the name that is above every name,

that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,

in heaven and on earth and under the earth,

and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord,

to the glory of God the Father. (Phil. 2:9–10)

Jesus reigns supreme and all powers are subject to him. Revelation speaks of the struggles that the saints of God endure at the hands of God’s enemies. Yet the present circumstances of the believer do not tell the whole picture. With every painful “How long, Sovereign Lord?” (Rev. 6:10), the saints are given a glimpse of the true state of affairs. “Wait a little longer,” they are told (v. 11). Soon the rider on the white horse will be revealed and with him the new heaven and new earth, when God “will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away” (21:4). The Lord Jesus is the Lord of history. He is ever true and faithful. He does not change. Despite appearances, the outcome is assured in Christ.28

Contemporary Significance

YOU ARE OF CHRIST, and Christ is of God (1 Cor. 3:23). Who am I? Where did I come from? Where do I fit in? Where is my niche in life?

Nearly everyone asks questions such as these at one time or another. Despite outward appearances, few people are content to stroll through life without even an ounce of introspective energy, focused solely on the present (at least I know no one like that). Rather, even a glance at the history of human thought displays a universal desire to explain who we are, where we came from, and what we are doing here. Although answers to these questions have always been and continue to be diverse, the motive that impels us to ask such questions in some form is common to all and is, to use the expression, “what separates us from the animals.” Human beings, from the dawn of recorded history, have pondered how they, in their particular point in time, “fit” with those who have gone before and those who will come after.

In recent generations, for example, such questions have been asked on the grand scale: evolution or creation? Are human beings the product of a natural development of species specialization and diversification, or is our existence the clearest imprint of God’s creative stamp? And how then does our understanding of where we came from influence how we define our present and future? Likewise, but on a more narrow scale, are issues of ethnicity. Who are my people? With which of the diverse peoples of this earth do I invest my identity? And what bearing does this have on how I see myself?

On a still narrower level are questions of individual identity. Our identities are largely derived from our parents. Were they immigrants? of high social standing? powerful? well educated? How do our parents’ experiences affect who we are now and how we see ourselves? Families have rituals and traditions that give them identity over against other families with other rituals and traditions. What holidays do you celebrate, and how do you celebrate them? Do you have a traditional yearly vacation spot? Do the children follow in their parents’ vocational footsteps? On any scale, we see ourselves as connected to our past, and we see that past as an integral element in how we see ourselves in the present.

One’s spiritual identity is no different. Christians are connected to the past because their spiritual identity is in Christ, the Lord of history and the Creator of the universe. Christians are so intimately identified with God in Christ that they are considered Christ’s brothers (and sisters) (Heb. 2:5–18), and therefore children of God (1 John 3:1) and co-heirs with Christ in glory (Rom. 8:17). The church is Christ’s bride (Rev. 19:7; 21:2, 9; 22:17), and, as with human marriages, the two become one (Eph. 5:31). The church is the body of Christ (1 Cor. 12:27). Christians are united with Christ (Rom. 6:5). “Who am I?” the Christian asks. “Where do I come from? How do I ‘fit’?” The answer: You are in Christ. Your past is noble, your present secure, and your future certain. You are in Christ and he does not change.

It is part of the Christian proclamation that one’s identity can only be properly understood in terms of one’s relationship to God in Christ. Rebels though we are, all human beings are created by God and therefore are already “tied” to him in some sense (however distorted that tie may be through sin). Hence, as John Calvin argued, one comes to a better self-understanding as one comes to know God: “It is certain that man never achieves a clear knowledge of himself unless he has first looked upon God’s face, and then descends from contemplating him to scrutinize himself.”29 One’s self-understanding is, by the very fact that we are God’s creatures, bound up with one’s relationship to the Creator.

There is no quick fix to the problems people face in the world today. Believers and unbelievers alike share many of the same afflictions and difficulties. Nevertheless, for the believer there is a tie that binds us, in Christ, to the Creator. All of God’s fullness dwells in Christ (Col. 1:19), yet Christ is not ashamed to call us his brothers and sisters (Heb. 2:11). We are intimate with God through Christ, and we view all our present circumstances, whether joyful, mundane, or horrific, in light of this reality. We are of Christ and Christ is of God.

When God Isn’t There. “Why does God let this happen? Doesn’t he see what’s happening? I thought being a Christian meant always feeling God’s presence.” God’s people through all time have struggled with his apparent disinterest in their personal affairs.

This is by no means a modern dilemma. “Where are you, God?” is the refrain of Job and forms the substance of many of the psalms. Wondering where God is and what he is doing is not a mark of spiritual immaturity or distrust in God. Rather, it represents the honest yearnings of God’s people living in this world, who long to feel his presence in their affairs.

The biblical approach to this dilemma, however, is one worthy of profound contemplation. Many psalms, for example, question God’s apparent absence, but they do so from the ultimate point of view of what the writer knows to be the case. His present struggles and periods of doubt are endured in the context of his broader understanding of who God is. Psalm 73 is one example. Note verse 1:

Surely God is good to Israel,

to those who are pure in heart.

The psalmist knows how things work. He understands the means by which God operates. Yet things are not the way he knows they are supposed to be. Note verse 2:

But as for me, my feet had almost slipped;

I had nearly lost my foothold.

What is the psalmist’s specific problem? He sees around him, contrary to what he knows ought to be the case, the prosperity of the arrogant and the suffering of the righteous. How can this be? Where is God? What he sees around him is in such blatant tension with how God is supposed to be running things that the psalmist is beside himself with anguish and inner turmoil.

What can he do? He certainly cannot begin telling others that God is not true to his promises. This would be too much for others to bear. Note Psalm 73:15: “If I had said, ‘I will speak thus,’ I would have betrayed your children.” But neither can he keep it all inside—this is too much to bear as well: “When I tried to understand all this, it was oppressive to me” (v. 16). So what can he do? To whom can he explain his dilemma? He goes directly to the Lord; that is, all of this is oppressive “till I entered the sanctuary of God” (v. 17). Even when he doubts God’s presence, the psalmist turns to God for solace. Why? Because in a sense in which we only too often do not understand, God is there. Doubts of his presence will come—this is our lot in life. Nevertheless, how we perceive the matter does not determine its reality. God is present, he does care. Hence, our sense of his absence must be met head-on, as the psalmist does. We are honest with him, and the result is a deeper, more trusting, and thus more intimate relationship with him.

Such an approach to God’s apparent absence has many applications. All believers go through periods of spiritual dryness where they struggle with feelings of God’s absence. Many of us have felt the unexpected and senseless loss of someone dear to us, or experienced problems in our family or with our savings account. These things do not happen because of lack of faith (as many are saying today). Would anyone level such a charge against the psalmists? The lesson, rather, is that neither our present circumstances nor our perceptions of God’s absence determine reality. We cry out to the Lord honestly, and he hears us.

The Israelites groaned in their slavery and cried out, and their cry for help because of their slavery went up to God. God heard their groaning and he remembered his covenant with Abraham, with Isaac and with Jacob. So God looked on the Israelites and was concerned about them. (Ex. 2:23–25)

In addition to such a personal vein, applying biblical understanding to God’s apparent absence is also relevant for political affairs, just as it was for the ancient Israelites. The church (for better or for worse) has had quite a track record of drawing together the religious and political spheres. Some would say that the Christian faith began a downward spiral of corruption with the “conversion” of Emperor Constantine at the Battle of the Milvian Bridge in A.D. 312. The general failure of the Crusades (A.D. 1095–1291) is frequently mentioned as a textbook example of what happens when the church freely employs the power of the state. This is not to say, of course, that church and state should have no mutual influence. Nevertheless, in election years in particular, it seems that there are many in the church today who do not see the behind-the-scenes God of the Exodus.

For some, the very fate of the country depends on whether the right people are elected into office. The spiritual character of our country (if there even is such a thing) seems to be determined more by the character of the “new pharaoh” we elect rather than by the character of the ever-present God by whose command rulers rise and fall. All this is not to say that political involvement by Christians ought to be discouraged, nor is it to say that all earthly rulers are of equal merit. Rather, the reality of God’s presence in the lives of Americans, Germans, Mexicans, Koreans, and whomever, does not depend on politics. Even if God’s people today, like the Israelites of Exodus 1, were to suffer inhumane treatment at the hands of the government, the big picture should not be lost. It is maintaining this big picture that is a mark of the mature Christian life. We doubt and we struggle, but we trust God. Things are not the way they ought to be, but we rest in God’s promises. We have faith.