Original Meaning

Manna and Quail (16:1–36)

THE REVERSAL AT Elim is only temporary, however. Eventually the foretaste of paradise ends and the people again find themselves on the arduous journey toward Sinai (16:1). But, surely, having just seen again God’s care for them, rebellion is now out of the question, right? Wrong! A mere month has passed since the departure from Egypt. Is their memory so short? They have just witnessed God’s Exodus-like provision of water in the desert. Still, they arrive in the desert of Sin8 and immediately begin grumbling against Moses and Aaron.

The Israelites bring what is an absurd charge against their leaders, well in keeping with the absurdity of this passage as a whole: “You have brought us out into this desert to starve this entire assembly to death” (16:3).9 Only the most callused heart or the most stupid mind could conceive of such a ridiculous charge. The only thing more surprising, perhaps, is the response God gives. Rather than punish them, he rains down bread from heaven (v. 4). If any need convincing of the grace of God in the Old Testament, they need only to look here!

Without any hint of anger or malice, God provides for his people again, but with one minor provision. They are only to gather as much bread as they need for each day. This is a test, a point explicitly made in 16:4, to see if they will follow God’s instructions.10 In view of Israel’s behavior thus far, a test is certainly in order. This provision, like the mention of law in 15:25–26, also serves to foreshadow the giving of the law at Sinai. God is testing the Israelites to see whether they will follow “my instructions [torah].” This Hebrew word calls to mind the law given at Sinai. Torah can mean more than just the Sinaitic legal material. It is a fluid term, but in this context there seems to be an intentional multivalence.

Verses 5 and 24–30 refer to the Sabbath as the motivating factor for gathering twice as much bread on the sixth day. As mentioned above, this is the first reference to the Sabbath in the Old Testament, an indication that it is already known before its official promulgation in 20:8–11. This, too, is another indication that the narrative, at least in part, is preparing us for the events at Mount Sinai. Note also the nature of this Sabbath command. It is not simply that the Sabbath is “observed” by the Israelites in that they refrain from gathering food. Rather, it is God who refrains from supplying the food. It is he who ceases working, so that no manna or quail is to be found. Some of the Israelites break the command not by actually gathering food but merely by attempting to do so. Keeping the Sabbath is something God does and the Israelites are expected to follow suit. This pattern is rooted in creation itself: The Israelites rest because God did.

The main purpose of sending manna and quail is certainly not just to test the Israelites or simply to fill their stomachs. It is rather to teach them something about God, or as verse 6 puts it, so that the Israelites will “know that it was the LORD who brought you out of Egypt” (see also v. 12). That the Israelites will “know” is another echo of the departure narrative. God is not yet finished teaching his people who he is. In fact, he has hardly begun.

It is also in this context that Moses addresses the grumbling of his fellow Israelites. They have complained to Moses and Aaron, but Moses reminds them that their real complaint is against God (vv. 7–8). He is the one they are distrusting and even mocking by their display of thanklessness. God responds again by giving the people another glimpse of his Exodus might. There, out in the desert, they see “the glory of the LORD appearing in the cloud” (v. 10). The last time the Lord appeared in a cloud was in 14:24 as they were making their way through the sea. The cloud was then a sign of God’s presence with and protection of his people, just as it is now.

Reference to the cloud is also a glimpse of what is to come. The book of Exodus ends with the cloud covering the Tent of Meeting and God’s glory (kabod) filling the tabernacle (40:34). God’s glory appearing to them in the cloud (16:10) foreshadows both Sinai and the building of the tabernacle, where the cloud and the glory become more prominent.

Thus, with a view both to the past and the future, God provides bread in the morning and quail at night. Quail was common enough in those regions, but the bread is another matter. Morning dew yields to snow-like flakes, and this is supposedly bread to eat. The people are reasonably surprised. Their initial response is to ask: “What is it?” (v. 15). The Hebrew for this question is man huʾ, which partly explains the name “manna,” first seen in verse 31.11

Most important is the fact that this food is God’s gift to his people. All he asks is that they gather only as much as they need for one day and not keep any until the next morning (v. 16). This gracious provision of food is not to be hoarded, but God is to be trusted anew every day, a lesson they will have to learn for their long trek in the desert and their life as a nation thereafter. Israel is to be kept in a perpetual state of dependence. After all, God has brought them out of Egypt so that they may “serve” him. They must learn that as servants of God, they are bound to trust in his good pleasure.

As might be expected, not everyone obeys God’s simple instructions to gather only what they need (v. 20). This, too, foreshadows future events, in particular the “golden calf” episode (ch. 32), where God’s giving of his law is likewise accompanied by rebellion. Hence, the Sabbath command hinted at in 16:4–5 is reiterated and expanded. Moses spells out for them that because the seventh day is the Sabbath, there will be no manna or quail for them to gather; God is “resting.” They are to follow suit by not going out to gather any food. Thus, in order to have food on the Sabbath, the Israelites must gather twice as much on the day before. But if the food spoils overnight, how is the surplus to be kept edible? They are to bake and boil it (v. 23).12

Some of the Israelites do not see the necessity of obeying the God who has saved them, and they go out on the Sabbath anyway. This second act of disobedience is met with a stunning rebuke by God: “How long will you refuse to keep my commands and my instructions” (v. 28). This pattern becomes commonplace throughout the trek in the desert: rebellion in the face of God’s clear commands. The reference to God’s commands for Israel comes up quite suddenly. The focus of previous chapters has been on Pharaoh’s obedience to God’s commands, not Israel’s. But God has won the battle against Pharaoh. The Israelites are his people now, and he wastes little time reminding them of that fact. Lack of obedience will have dire consequences.

The only previous time Moses uttered a similar phrase to 16:28 was to Pharaoh in 10:3: “How long will you refuse to humble yourself before me?” Is God’s patience with his people here already reaching its limit? Is the Israelites’ stubbornness so similar to Pharaoh’s that it warrants a similar rebuke? This is another warning to Israel that in their grumbling they are in danger of becoming more like Egypt than the holy people God has called them to be.

Although talk of the quail recedes to the background, the manna takes on added significance (vv. 33–36). (1) It is evidently tasty. This is no rice cake or Communion wafer. It tastes like honey, which is one of the elements that make the Promised Land so attractive (see 3:8, 17; 13:5; 33:3). Hence, the manna seems to be a foretaste (literally) of the blessings of Canaan. (2) Some of the manna is to be kept (an omer, i.e., about two quarts) in a jar as a perpetual reminder to future generations that God brought the Israelites out of Egypt. Like the previous meal of Passover and Unleavened Bread, this meal is future-oriented. We see again that God acts in ways that have far-reaching purposes. The point here is not simply to fill their stomachs but to teach his people something that will be passed on for generations.

Verses 34–35 are significant because of a sudden and anachronistic reference to the “Testimony” (i.e., the ark of the Testimony, which is not built until 37:1–9). Any doubt of the anachronism of these verses is put away in 16:35: “The Israelites ate manna forty years, until they came to a land that was settled; they ate manna until they reached the border of Canaan.” Clearly, this comment was written after the forty years in the desert were over and the people had “settled” in the land (i.e., after Josh. 5:10–12, when eating manna ceased).

Whatever one may think of the authorship of Exodus in general, Moses did not write these words. This is no veiled prophecy but a backward look to the desert era from the perspective of someone who lived at the very least sometime after Moses died. Are these two verses merely editorial additions updating a Mosaic work, or are statements such as this (along with, e.g., the Unleavened Bread regulations in 12:14–2013) clues as to the authorship of the whole? As interesting as this question is, it need not detain us here, for that would divert attention from the theological focus of the narrative.

Verse 36 should not be passed over too quickly. The omer is already mentioned in verse 16, but here the writer adds the explanation that “an omer is one tenth of an ephah” (“omer” is mentioned in the Old Testament only in 16:16, 18, 22, 32, 33, 36). This verse is part of the post-Mosaic summary begun in verse 34. I suggest this was penned at a time when an omer was no longer a popular measurement, hence the need for an explanation. By contrast the ephah is used over thirty times in the Old Testament, often in places where an omer could have been used.14 Yet note also that even though verse 36 suggests a date of authorship well after the time of Moses, the reference to an omer and the need to explain it argue for the story’s antiquity.

Bridging Contexts

GOD’S PEOPLE IN THE DESERT. The desert is a difficult time for the Israelites. It is easy to condemn them as faithless, but I suspect that many of us would not have fared much better. Life was hard in Egypt, but it must seem harder still in the uncharted desert through which they are traveling. It is not an easy place for them to live, not only because of their harsh surroundings, but also because their only recourse in a barren land is to trust God completely. And if the Bible teaches us anything about human nature, it is that total trust and obedience are rare even in the most godly person.

The desert is a theme that comes up repeatedly in the Bible. The present passage sets up certain parameters within which we are to look at this theme. At least three prominent elements play off of each other and give definition to the way in which the desert is presented: grumbling, God’s gracious provision in response to that grumbling, and God’s testing of his people. These three are not to be isolated from one another but help give this passage its shape.

(1) Exodus 15:22–17:7 is, if anything, a story of Israel’s grumbling (complaining, quarreling) against God. Complaint is not always a bad thing in the Old Testament. For example, many of the psalms are complaints by God’s people who wonder why God has abandoned them (see Ps. 64:1; 142:1; cf. also Hab. 2:1). But the complaining here is different. It is rebellious complaining, not such as we see in the psalms, where the psalmist is truly at the end of his rope and calls to God precisely because he has some faith in him (however tenuous it may be at the time). Here, however, the desert community grumbles or murmurs to a third party against God (or God’s chosen leader) because of lack of faith. At the first sign of difficulty or perceived inequity on God’s part, they turn away from him with an attitude of contempt. God does not chide his children for honest doubts, but this is not what is meant by “grumbling” here.

The grumbling we see in 15:22–17:7 is, somewhat stunningly, revisited in Numbers 11:1–35, where the Israelites again complain for lack of food. They are tired of manna and want meat to eat. Although the events of that chapter are similar to those in Exodus 16, Numbers 11 is not merely a retelling of those same events. That complaint happens shortly after the Israelites leave Mount Sinai (10:11), two years after they have left Egypt. The events of Exodus 16 occur in the second month after they have left Egypt, that is, two years before Numbers 11.

In Numbers 11, therefore, we have a second series of complaints against God. This chapter assumes that manna has been in steady supply for those two years, but that quail was only intermittent at best (a point not explicitly made in Ex. 16). The people want meat, which is just what God gives them once again. But this time it is no gracious provision but a punishment. They will have enough meat to eat—more than enough. Soon it will come out of their nostrils and they will hate the very sight of it (Num. 11:20). We have moved on to another level of meaning with respect to the desert theme: It is starting to become a place of punishment rather than a gracious supply of food and water, a place where God shows his care for his people.

This dimension of the desert theme reaches a climax of sorts in Numbers 14, 16, and 17. With chapter 14 we are still only about two years into the desert journey.18 Here the grumbling of God’s people reaches a level where God reacts in a way that would have been unthinkable in the Exodus narrative. All those twenty years old or older will not be permitted to enter the land. They will be made to wander in the desert until the last rebel is dead (14:26–31). Surely we have hit the low point in Israel’s once victorious march to Canaan. By human standards, the entire plan seems to be hanging by a frayed thread.

(2) But this is not the case. Exodus 15:22–17:7 also testifies to God’s gracious provision for his people despite their lack of trust. It would be wrong to think of the desert, even as it is presented in Numbers, as an unexpected twist in God’s plan to bring his people to Canaan. It is not a time when God temporarily loses his control over the events. The story about Elim in 15:27 is in part designed to rid us of that notion. God shows his control and power over the desert. It, too, is “his country,” and his people are as safe there as anywhere else. It is the place where God comes to his people to provide for them.

(3) God also tests his people in the desert. The word “test” no doubt conjures up images in our minds of pop quizzes or IRS audits, but this is not what the concept means in the Old Testament. God is not a professor looking to “fail” his people at the first wrong answer. He is not putting them in an unbearable situation because he is looking for an excuse to do them in. These are his people, after all, whom he has redeemed from Egypt. The desert tests are not trials for the Israelites to prove that they are somehow “worthy” of God. Such thinking misunderstands not only the Exodus narrative but the theology of the Old Testament. God does not redeem Israel from Egypt for any reason other than his own sense of fidelity to the promise he made to the patriarchs. It is not that the Israelites are now “good enough” to be worthy of his attention.

The purpose of the desert tests are succinctly summarized in Exodus 20:20: “Moses said to the people, ‘Do not be afraid. God has come to test you, so that the fear of God will be with you to keep you from sinning.’” God tests his people for their benefit, not for his own. It is through passing and failing these tests that God’s people learn the nature of the obedience that he requires of them. Exodus 15:22–17:7 records the first series of tests that the Israelites are to go through, and we should note the nature that this testing takes on: (a) “Pay attention to his commands and keep all his decrees” (15:26); (b) trust God daily by gathering only what you need (16:4, 16); and (c) keep the Sabbath (16:5, 24–30).

These are apparently vital lessons for God’s people to learn at this stage of their journey (both physical and spiritual). It is not so much that God is testing them to see whether they will keep the Sabbath, for example. On a certain level of the narrative that is part of it, but there is a deeper lesson being taught. God wants to produce in his people a deepening relationship with him as their covenant God so that they will better understand the importance of keeping the Sabbath, the other commands, and the need to trust him daily. In other words, they are being taught how to obey God. This is what it means for God to test his people. The problem is not so much that the Israelites “fail” the test, but that they turn around and put God to the test (17:7).

By testing the Israelites, God is teaching them. This is why at this initial stage in their journey he responds to their complaint not with fire (see Num. 11:1–3) but with the gracious provision of water and food. We should not lose sight that God responds to the Israelites in Exodus 15:22–17:7 with barely a hint of retribution. His only harsh words in this passage are in 16:28, which are certainly threatening, but this is all we hear of him. God’s anger, to put it another way, is not the focus.

But this forbearance on God’s part seems to come to an end in the book of Numbers. Now he does not just speak stern words but enacts punishments as well. The desert has taken on a very different feel. Whereas it was once a place where Israel could see God’s care for them, it is now a place of his wrath. A victory march has become a death march—or nearly so, were it not for the grace of God, which once again rises to the occasion. For they do not all die. A core is left: Joshua, Caleb, and all those under the age of twenty at the time of the rebellion at Kadesh in Numbers 14. What was to be a brief journey through a barren land has become a trial by fire, a process of purification wherein God’s people are being prepared to enter the land at last.

Subsequent reflections in the Bible on the desert period reflect the transition we see from Exodus to Numbers. A number of passages in the Old Testament describe the desert in a positive way, as the place where God came to meet his people and escort them to Canaan, the place where God demonstrated to all his special care for his special people:

There [in the desert] you saw how the LORD your God carried you, as a father carries his son, all the way you went until you reached this place. (Deut. 1:31)

Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her. (Hos. 2:14)

For forty years you sustained them in the desert; they lacked nothing, their clothes did not wear out nor did their feet become swollen. (Neh. 9:21)

These passages speak of the desert period as one in which God showed his love for his people, as a father for his child and as a husband for his bride.19 The desert was a positive place where God’s love for Israel was the focus.

Such an understanding of the desert is also carried through in Isaiah with respect to the departure from Babylon. As we have noted in other chapters, the departure from Babylon is a second Exodus for God’s people. Isaiah typically depicts the desert as a place of refuge, where God will meet his people and bring them back home. It is not a hostile place but the way back to Canaan, with God marching alongside of them:

A voice of one calling:

“In the desert prepare

the way for the LORD;

make straight in the wilderness

a highway for our God.” (Isa. 40:3)

See, I am doing a new thing!

Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the desert

and streams in the wasteland.

The wild animals honor me,

the jackals and the owls,

because I provide water in the desert

and streams in the wasteland,

to give drink to my people, my chosen,

the people I formed for myself

that they may proclaim my praise. (43:19–21)

Other Old Testament passages, however, have a different view of the desert, a view more in line with that given in Numbers. The element that is highlighted in these passages is Israel’s rebellion in the desert despite God’s care for them. The desert is used as a constant reminder and object lesson for God’s people not to harden their hearts:

He split the rocks in the desert

and gave them water as abundant as the seas;

he brought streams out of a rocky crag

and made water flow down like rivers.

But they continued to sin against him,

rebelling in the desert against the Most High.

They willfully put God to the test

by demanding the food they craved.

They spoke against God, saying,

“Can God spread a table in the desert?

When he struck the rock, water gushed out,

and streams flowed abundantly.

But can he also give us food?

Can he supply meat for his people?”

When the LORD heard them, he was very angry. . . . (Ps. 78:15–21; see also v. 40)

In the desert they gave in to their craving;

in the wasteland they put God to the test. (Ps. 106:14)20

Certainly the reason why the Old Testament itself reflects such diverse opinion on the characterization of the desert period is due to the diversity in the Pentateuch itself. Thus, a dual lesson is to be learned: comfort and trust in God’s blessing, and punishment in the face of constant rebellion. Israel’s desert experience had both.

Both of these summaries of the desert experience are also reflected in the New Testament. There are a number of echoes of the Exodus experience in the Gospel of John, some of which have already been mentioned in other contexts in this commentary. Particularly relevant here is the feeding of the five thousand (6:1–15) and Jesus as the “bread of life” (6:25–59).

The feeding of the five thousand can be understood on a number of different levels. One of those levels is as a provision of food similar to the manna incident. Here Christ miraculously provides food for a mass of people who have been following him. There is even a “test” involved (John 6:6). By providing bread and meat (like manna and quail?), Jesus is not just filling their stomachs but teaching them about who he is. He is their source of life, who will take care of them as they wander through life. This is not just a random trick Jesus has pulled, like the magicians of Pharaoh’s court, to show the people how powerful he is. It is rather a display of power and love as God had done for Israel centuries earlier. Thus, by learning this lesson, the people will know that they are not “to work for food that spoils [like manna left overnight], but for food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you” (6:27).

Jesus’ “bread of life” speech is even more explicit. The crowd that has witnessed the feeding miracle are intent on following him. They find him and begin to discuss with him what God requires of them. Jesus tells them that they are “to believe in the one he has sent” (John 6:29). But the people require a sign to prove to them that Jesus is worthy of such attention. After all, as they argue in verse 31, Moses gave his people a sign, bread from heaven. What is Jesus’ proof? Jesus responds (vv. 32–33):

I tell you the truth, it is not Moses who has given you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is he who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.

The benefits to those who “eat” this bread from heaven are greater than for those who ate the manna: They will never hunger nor thirst again, and they will be raised up at the last day (vv. 35, 40).

But how does the crowd respond? They grumble (John 6:41, 43). Even some of the disciples grumble to the point where they stop following him (vv. 61–66). How ironic! Jesus, the true bread, has come and the people respond by grumbling. Whereas the Israelites grumbled because they had no bread, the crowd grumbles because they do. Even though this bread far exceeds anyone’s expectations—it gives eternal life, not simply filling one’s stomach to live another day—they will have none of it. But it is the only means by which they have any hope to live. In the same way as the manna was the only food to keep the Israelites alive another day, Christ, the bread from heaven, is now the only way to life eternal. We may also presume in Jesus’ use of this desert story that he saw a ready analogy between the Israelites in their desert wandering and the people of his day, a point to which we will return shortly.

The desert motif in John may be traced further to include John 7:37–39. Jesus has already introduced the notion of “thirst” in 6:35, which reflects the miraculous giving of water in Exodus 15:22–27 and 17:1–7. He is the bread and the water of Israel’s desert experience. This is made more explicit in John 7:37–39.

On the last and greatest day of the Feast, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, “If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.” By this he meant the Spirit, whom those who believed in him were later to receive. Up to that time the Spirit had not been given, since Jesus had not yet been glorified.

What is particularly interesting here is the equation of the “living water” with the Spirit given at Pentecost. Paul likewise speaks of the manna as “spiritual food” in 1 Corinthians 10:3, which doesn’t mean “food for spiritual people” but food that is of the Spirit. This is also what Revelation 2:17 seems to be pointing toward, although in a more directly eschatological sense (“To him who overcomes, I will give some of the hidden manna”). This, then, gives us a proper perspective from which to apply the desert motif to our lives (see below).

Other New Testament passages highlight the negative side of the desert experience. One of those is 1 Corinthians 10:5–11:

Nevertheless, God was not pleased with most of them; their bodies were scattered over the desert.

Now these things occurred as examples to keep us from setting our hearts on evil things as they did. Do not be idolaters, as some of them were; as it is written: “The people sat down to eat and drink and got up to indulge in pagan revelry.” We should not commit sexual immorality, as some of them did—and in one day twenty-three thousand of them died. We should not test the Lord, as some of them did—and were killed by snakes. And do not grumble, as some of them did—and were killed by the destroying angel.

These things happened to them as examples and were written down as warnings for us, on whom the fulfillment of the ages has come.

The lesson to be learned from Israel’s rebellions in the desert is that the church should not follow their example. In view of Christ’s coming, such grumbling is unthinkable. It seems obvious that for Paul’s admonition to be effective, one must assume a certain analogy between Israel and the church. Specifically, for Israel’s desert experience to be a fitting warning for the church, Paul understands the church to be in some sort of “desert” setting too.

This analogy is precisely what we find explicated in greater detail in Hebrews 3:1–4:11. This is a complex passage, but the main contours are plain. Hebrews 3:1–6 provide the basis for understanding the subsequent citation of Psalm 95:7–11. The writer of this book explains that Jesus is a new Moses and that, therefore, Jesus’ people, the church, are the “new Israel.”

With this in mind the writer proceeds to expound Psalm 95:7–11 in Hebrews 3:7–4:11. In its original context, Psalm 95 is a warning to Israel not to rebel as the Exodus community had done. This psalm explicitly draws on the events of the desert wanderings.21 It was during their period of desert wandering that Israel rebelled.

The point is this: In order for the rebellions of Israel’s desert wanderings to provide the basis for a warning to the church (see esp. Heb. 3:12–19), the writer must understand the church to be in an analogous period of desert wandering. If we look at this passage through 4:11, the analogy extends further: Both Israel and the church have been led out of oppression of some sort by a divinely appointed leader. The goal of that Exodus was to bring God’s people to their final rest. For Israel this rest was the land of Canaan; for the church it is a spiritual and eternal rest.

But in the meantime, both communities are in an extended period of desert wandering. For the church, it is not just individual Christian lives that are “in the desert.” The entire church age is analogous to the forty-year period of our Israelite ancestors. We who have been redeemed through the death and resurrection of Christ, our Moses, are on the way to our final rest. While we are on that journey, the Old Testament warnings pertaining to Israel’s desert wandering apply to us as well.

There is one significant difference, however, between the church’s desert and Israel’s, and Hebrews’ citation of Psalm 95 brings this out nicely.22 The relevant portion is 95:7b–10a:

Today, if you hear his voice,

do not harden your hearts

as you did at Meribah,

as you did that day at Massah in the desert,

where your fathers tested and tried me,

though they had seen what I did.

For forty years I was angry with that generation. (italics added)

Here, “forty years” is characterized by God’s anger. The manner in which Hebrews cites this portion of Psalm 95 introduces a slight, but theologically powerful change:

Today, if you hear his voice,

do not harden your hearts

as you did in the rebellion,

during the time of testing in the desert,

where your fathers tested and tried me

and for forty years saw what I did.

That is why I was angry with that generation,

and I said, “Their hearts are always going astray,

and they have not known my ways.” (Heb. 3:7–10; italics added)

By inserting one small word, the Greek dio (translated “That is why” in the NIV), the author of Hebrews has introduced a shift in the psalm’s meaning. Now, the “forty years” characterizes the period during which Israel “saw what I did,” and anger is what follows this forty-year period. He does this to make a gripping theological point in his application of this psalm to the life of the church. If the church age is analogous to the forty-year period, it is inappropriate to characterize it as the period of wrath as it was for Israel. Christ has come! The climax of redemptive history is here. This is not a period of wrath, but, as the writer correctly puts it, the period in which we see God’s activity (“for forty years saw what I did”): The lame are healed, the dead are raised, throngs of Jews and Gentiles are worshiping the Savior.

That such an exegetical move on Hebrews’ part is wholly intentional is seen in Hebrews 3:17, where he does refer to the forty-year period as one of anger (“and with whom was he angry for forty years?”). Why does he flip-flop between these two citations of Psalm 95? Because in Hebrews 3:9–10 he is applying the psalm to the church, whereas in 3:17 he is referring to Israel’s desert wandering. Although this author’s use of Psalm 95 may raise a number of issues regarding the appropriate use of the Old Testament in the life of the church, we should not lose sight of the overarching lesson to be learned here. The church is the new Israel as it exists in its own type of desert wandering. Our Egypt of sin and death is behind us. Our Moses, unlike the first Moses, has entered before us into the promised rest, and we are soon to follow.

It was, of course, Joshua and not Moses who brought the Israelites into Canaan. Hence, Christ is the “true” Moses who completes the mission. And by bringing his church into “Canaan,” Christ is not only fulfilling the role of Moses but also that which Joshua performed. In fact, Joshua’s role, according to Hebrews 4:8–11, is merely a prelude to the final rest to be given by the final “Joshua,” who is Christ. So, we are in our desert wanderings. Hence, “Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts” (3:15; 4:7).

Contemporary Significance

THE CHRISTIAN’S DESERT WANDERING. The desert period of the Exodus community is ours as well, but, as we have seen in Hebrews 3:9–10, with a slight twist. This is no period of wrath but one of untold blessing, for we are privy to the “fullness of time,” the climax of God’s redemptive plan. We are in a privileged position of living in the age in which the kingdom of God has indeed already come in Christ, although we still await its final implementation at his second coming. Still, grumbling and complaining as our Israelite ancestors did remains a live option for us. And thus we must make every effort to guard against this in view of the clearer vision we have of God’s goodness that is ours by virtue of the Spirit who dwells in us. Indeed, it is precisely because of the Spirit’s indwelling that we are able to resist.

If all we learn from this passage is “don’t be a grumbler,” we will miss the riches it holds for us as we walk through the desert. The lessons we learn from Exodus 15:22–17:7 must be set in the context of the completed work of Christ, as I have attempted to do in the Bridging Contexts section. What remains is to point out two avenues of Christian application.

(1) We see that the desert is “hostile” territory. As a popular song puts it, “This world is not my home.” This is true. We are merely passing through on a journey. This is not to say that the world is necessarily antithetical to God. This is still God’s world. It belongs to him, and he is still very much in control of his creation, although in ways not always clear to us. Just as the desert posed no barrier for God to act mightily on behalf of his people (he provided water and food), the desert in which we live is fully at God’s disposal as well.

Our view toward the world in which we live should balance the knowledge that it belongs to God, but it is not our final resting place. We should take comfort in the fact that we, even here, are God’s special people, but we should not become too comfortable where we are. We are to trust God fully while we are here (unlike the Israelites) while at the same time not allowing our current circumstances to define ultimate reality. Our gaze must always be not on where we are but on where we are going.

(2) We must be continually on guard against our all-too-common penchant for judging our circumstances by our “stomachs.” This is precisely what the Israelites in the desert were guilty of. We must ask, “Why did they not trust God to help them, especially after all they had seen him do already?” The answer is not simply “lack of faith.” That is far too vague. One must ask why they lacked faith. The reason why they behaved the way they did is actually transparent, not because the text itself makes it explicit but because Israel’s error in the desert is the sin common to us all, and the one from which so many of our sins derive: self-centeredness.

Throughout Exodus we have seen Israel’s inclination for defining their situation in terms of their own perceptions. Whether it is lack of straw for making bricks or the advancing Egyptian army at the shores of the Red Sea, the Israelites did not respond in a way that we would expect people who have witnessed God’s mighty acts to respond.

All around us is the ever-present temptation to see ourselves as the center of the universe. What we see on television in particular trains us to think that our perceived “needs,” whether it be a new toothpaste, a car, razor, beer, deodorant, nice clothes, or whatever, are to be met as quickly as possible. In fact, we are told that we have a right to those things. Nothing is more important than meeting our perceived needs.

The way of the cross is different. We are being trained in righteousness to be able to rid our minds of perceived needs and their immediate gratification and to turn our glance outward (or upward) toward Canaan and the God who is determined to get us there. It is an arduous training process. We are in a hostile environment in which the gospel is attacked, not simply by such superficial avenues as political agendas or New Age theories, but in subtle and simple ways that have always been at the core of human misery. Christians cannot forget—in fact, this must be the center of our self-understanding—that Christ and Christ alone is our bread and water. He is our true need. Unlike what the world offers, he truly fills us up with bread and water that lead to eternal life, not junk food that tastes good for the moment but does us no good whatsoever.

We must not judge our circumstances by how we see them but by how God wants us to see them. He is teaching us to look at the big picture rather than our own narrow, doomed version of that picture. But seeing only our version of things is so natural to us! We were born that way.

I still remember a heated debate at our dinner table some time back between my youngest child (then age four and a half) and my oldest (age ten). Several years earlier we lived in suburban Boston, and one of our favorite family activities was visiting the Public Garden and riding the swan boats (known to children the world over through Robert McClosky’s Make Way for Ducklings). Now, Sophie, my four-and-a-half-year-old, was only one year old when we left the Boston area. She doesn’t remember riding on the boats (or anything else for that matter).

At dinner, my son Erich, the ten-year-old, made the tactical error of reminiscing about the fun all of us had on the swan boats. Sophie, of course, insisted that she never rode them. Erich, having the advantage of a bigger perspective than Sophie, rejoined that she most certainly did ride them, to which Sophie responded in the predictable manner until the whole thing escalated well beyond what my wife and I thought was warranted. Erich’s final threat was to produce pictures of us all smiling on the swan boats.

At this point Sophie responded in a very interesting way. “But Erich, I don’t remember being on the swan boats.” It was clear what she meant by that. Since the event was not within her sphere of perception, it did not happen. Her grasp of the situation defined reality for her. Although we all eventually grow up physically, our spiritual development often lags behind. Christ’s goal for his people is to lead us to greater knowledge of him, which leads to a more sober understanding of our own puny perspectives.

We are Christians called to a higher life, but the things we want, the things we work for and strive after, are often no different from those around us. We accept the needs that our world tells us to have. Our gods are our stomachs, to paraphrase Paul (Phil. 3:19). It is a wonderful breakthrough in Christian maturity when the Lord teaches us to examine these needs to see whether they are from God or not. Many Christians in America struggle with material issues. How many of us have not said things like the following: “I have this sofa, but I would like a nicer one.” “This house is adequate, but we need a bigger one.” “My income allows us to live fine, but if only I made $10,000 more a year, that would make all the difference.”

How difficult it is for us to learn the lesson that Paul himself had to learn (Phil. 4:11–13):

I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.

We go through our own desert experiences honed in on our own lacks and desires, but wholly oblivious to the new creations we are in Christ. After all we have seen God do in our lives, not the least of which is giving us a new life, we still harbor the notion, “But if I only had this or that, then things would be OK.”

There is nothing wrong with praying for a new house or a better income. There is no virtue in being “antimaterialistic”; God gives us all things. But there is that fine line that is sometimes so faint to us, but so thick and clear to God, between seeking the Lord’s guidance in these matters with simple trust, knowing that our perceptions of what we need are not always pure, and seeking these things because we feel that we just cannot be happy without them, that they will meet some deep emotional need. The fact is that they will not meet those needs. If anything, it will make things worse. A free person is one who is content whatever the circumstances, because he or she knows that the big picture is more than the clothes on our back.

Jesus himself addressed this issue in words that are as relevant to us today as they would have been for the Israelites at the beginning of their desert journey (Matt. 6:30–32):

Will [God] not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? So do not worry, saying, “What shall we eat?” or “What shall we drink?” or “What shall we wear?” For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them.

Did the Israelites really think that they were being led out into the desert to die? Apparently, this is what they thought. And it is easy to see why: They did not look past themselves and their own needs, so they turned their frustration toward Moses and God. All they could see was that their needs, right then and there, were not being met. As foolish as their actions may seem to us, my guess is that many of us may have more in common with the Israelites than we like to admit.

The good news, of course, is that Christ does not let go of us during our desert march. He has bought us at a great price and at least he keeps things in perspective for us. To use the language of the desert narrative, he is testing us. Again, this is not an occasional spot check to see if we really mean business. It is Christ knowing full well that, when push comes to shove, we don’t mean business, but he is there to train us to do so. Sometimes I have noticed that he uses our perceived needs as a means for teaching us this lesson. The Lord, by his grace, sometimes allows us to experience the fruit of our own self-centeredness in order to impress on us how fleeting such a focus really is. These times of testing are a great gift from God. He is moving us to a deeper understanding of what life is really about.

For example, it is easy to get caught up in the flow of “upward mobility.” This is not something reserved for yuppies. The love of money is something nearly everyone, in every age (see 1 Tim. 6:6–10) struggles with. Whenever this happens to me, which seems to be quite often lately, it takes a lot of effort to seek the Lord’s guidance to be able to look at the matter clearly.

Not long ago our family was in the throes of a significant decision: whether to move into a nicer house or stay where we are. This decision process began, quite imperceptibly, as a feeling of dissatisfaction with our present situation. This dissatisfaction arose from a mental picture we had of the ideal house we wanted. The question, of course, is where this mental picture came from. I don’t really know, but most likely from subtle, implicit comparisons I have made all my life between what I have and what others have. So, our decision to put the house on the market became an obsession of sorts. It became the center of what we felt we needed to make our lives complete, although I was much too sophisticated to ever let on that this was the case!

As it turns out, the Lord has been using even this mundane situation to test us, that is, to teach us about himself and what it means to be a servant of God. As I write this, it has been over a year since our house first went on the market, and during that time we have learned, slowly but surely, some things about ourselves that we don’t particularly like. Why was I so irritable and so quick to complain to God that “all we want is a house”? More important, we are learning that God has in store for us much more than we imagine. He knows what we need. His goal is to conform us to the image of Christ so that we begin to understand what real needs are, what gives us true, lasting happiness.

I wish I could say that I had a vision or an angel came to me in a dream, telling me what God’s will is, but this is not what happened. Through a series of experiences and observations, as subtle as those false perceptions that started us down that road to begin with, we are beginning to see, to understand, that God cares for us more than we give him credit for. And he shows this care not by giving us what we want, but by using what we want to teach us how to want him more. It is a gift from God to be able to say with one’s whole heart, “I trust the Lord to do what is best.” It is a gift he is willing to give.

When we rise above the din of our self-centered world, we can begin to make a difference in our world to those around us. What message are we passing on to our children if we make it our passion to listen to those grumbling voices inside us that tell us we are not complete unless something is added to us? I cannot help but think that a life of contentment, which is a life that trusts in God, when it is truly lived out, will have a lasting impact on those around us.

It is important for us to be examples of piety to others. Not in a superficial moralistic sense, for that is far too simple, but in the sense that one is so much a servant of God that he or she will go wherever the Lord leads. That trust in God is not fleeting but the bedrock on which life’s everyday decisions are to be made.

Original Meaning

Water at Marah (15:22–27)

THIS FIRST STORY concerns the provision of water at Marah. We are not given all the details of the itinerary (see Num. 33 for more detail), but it seems that three days have passed since the Israelites have crossed the sea. Might this be an echo of the three-day journey mentioned as far back as 3:18? Perhaps the three days have come and gone and, with no festival in sight, the Israelites become despondent. Moreover, for these three days they have had no water. Only a short time earlier they may have been thinking that they would be perfectly happy never to see another drop again. Now, however, the harsh realities of a desert march set in, and they begin to fear that they may die of thirst. Then, when they finally do come to water, they find it is “bitter,” which is the meaning of the Hebrew word Marah.4 Thus, the grumbling against Moses begins: “What are we to drink?”5

Moses responds in a manner familiar to us; he “cries out” (15:25)—the same way the Israelites earlier responded to their oppression in Egypt. God, in turn, responds in a manner reminiscent of the plagues and the Exodus: He performs another water miracle. While some commentaries try to find a correspondence between the type of wood Moses uses and its possible chemical properties and medicinal qualities, such an approach misses the theological point of the narrative. A suitable “natural” explanation is hardly what the narrative intends for us to grasp.

The wood thrown into the water reminds us of the wood of the staff that Moses used to perform the two great water miracles of the departure narrative: the first plague and the parting of the sea. Here we have another example of God’s control over chaotic waters as he had twice done in Egypt. Waters that could have brought death to God’s people behave in a manner contrary to their nature and work for Israel’s good. The connection to the events in Egypt is made explicit in verse 26: If the Israelites obey God’s commands and decrees, they will be spared the diseases that inflicted the Egyptians. The sweetening of the bitter water evokes images of what God did in Egypt, particularly when he turned the “sweet” waters of the Nile into blood. By performing what is essentially the opposite miracle here, God is showing his continued faithfulness to his people despite apparent evidence to the contrary.

What do the “commands” and “decrees” mentioned in verse 26 refer to? What are the Israelites to do in order to avoid the diseases that befell Egypt? Sarna suggests that God gave some laws here that have not been recorded and are now lost to us.6 What makes this comment more startling is the fact that the law does not become an issue until chapter 19, when the Israelites arrive at Sinai. Is it not then that the law is finally given to Israel?

The reference to commands and decrees at this stage in the journey is admittedly vague, but consider these two approaches. (1) We should not assume that Israel had no law until Sinai. This seems especially true in 16:23, where the Sabbath day is mentioned explicitly for the first time in the Old Testament. Although the command to keep the Sabbath is explicitly given only in 20:8–11 (the fourth commandment), this does not mean that God’s will for his people to keep the Sabbath was unheard of until then.

It is reasonable to assume that the Ten Commandments as they are given on Mount Sinai are not new but a reiteration of things that the Israelites (and probably other ancient Near Eastern peoples) already knew. After all, are we to think that the command to honor one’s parents or the prohibitions against stealing, murder, or adultery are unheard of before Sinai? The Israelites most likely have known something of God’s law before Sinai, even though we are not told what they know or how they come to know it. Exodus 15:26 should be similarly understood.

(2) Another approach sees in this reference to commands and decrees a foreshadowing of Sinai. As the water miracle evokes images of the past, the reference to law gives a glimpse of the future. What God is telling his people at this crucial juncture in their young life as a people is: “Stick to me and you will never relive the horrors of Egypt again. If you ignore my law, although you will not return to Egypt physically, you will be treated as they were.” The first thing that Israel does after crossing the sea is to rebel by not trusting in God’s goodness. An Egypt-like fate awaits them if they continue down this course. God’s threat is severe, but it is precisely so at the outset of their relationship together. For the climactic expression of the centrality of obeying God’s commands we must wait until chapters 20–24.

As the reference to commands foreshadows Sinai, the reference to “Elim” foreshadows another climactic event in Israel’s existence: entrance into the Promised Land. I do not see the trek to the fresh springs of Elim as a concession to Israel’s sinfulness, as Calvin sees it.7 It is rather another glimpse of what is to come, the lush land of Canaan, the land God promised to the patriarchs and which he has prepared for his people. The numbers twelve and seventy should probably be seen as numbers of completion: The Israelites have plenty of springs for water (perhaps one for each tribe) and palm trees for shade. Elim is a reversal of the desert environment and a foretaste of things to come.

Bridging Contexts

GOD’S PEOPLE IN THE DESERT. The desert is a difficult time for the Israelites. It is easy to condemn them as faithless, but I suspect that many of us would not have fared much better. Life was hard in Egypt, but it must seem harder still in the uncharted desert through which they are traveling. It is not an easy place for them to live, not only because of their harsh surroundings, but also because their only recourse in a barren land is to trust God completely. And if the Bible teaches us anything about human nature, it is that total trust and obedience are rare even in the most godly person.

The desert is a theme that comes up repeatedly in the Bible. The present passage sets up certain parameters within which we are to look at this theme. At least three prominent elements play off of each other and give definition to the way in which the desert is presented: grumbling, God’s gracious provision in response to that grumbling, and God’s testing of his people. These three are not to be isolated from one another but help give this passage its shape.

(1) Exodus 15:22–17:7 is, if anything, a story of Israel’s grumbling (complaining, quarreling) against God. Complaint is not always a bad thing in the Old Testament. For example, many of the psalms are complaints by God’s people who wonder why God has abandoned them (see Ps. 64:1; 142:1; cf. also Hab. 2:1). But the complaining here is different. It is rebellious complaining, not such as we see in the psalms, where the psalmist is truly at the end of his rope and calls to God precisely because he has some faith in him (however tenuous it may be at the time). Here, however, the desert community grumbles or murmurs to a third party against God (or God’s chosen leader) because of lack of faith. At the first sign of difficulty or perceived inequity on God’s part, they turn away from him with an attitude of contempt. God does not chide his children for honest doubts, but this is not what is meant by “grumbling” here.

The grumbling we see in 15:22–17:7 is, somewhat stunningly, revisited in Numbers 11:1–35, where the Israelites again complain for lack of food. They are tired of manna and want meat to eat. Although the events of that chapter are similar to those in Exodus 16, Numbers 11 is not merely a retelling of those same events. That complaint happens shortly after the Israelites leave Mount Sinai (10:11), two years after they have left Egypt. The events of Exodus 16 occur in the second month after they have left Egypt, that is, two years before Numbers 11.

In Numbers 11, therefore, we have a second series of complaints against God. This chapter assumes that manna has been in steady supply for those two years, but that quail was only intermittent at best (a point not explicitly made in Ex. 16). The people want meat, which is just what God gives them once again. But this time it is no gracious provision but a punishment. They will have enough meat to eat—more than enough. Soon it will come out of their nostrils and they will hate the very sight of it (Num. 11:20). We have moved on to another level of meaning with respect to the desert theme: It is starting to become a place of punishment rather than a gracious supply of food and water, a place where God shows his care for his people.

This dimension of the desert theme reaches a climax of sorts in Numbers 14, 16, and 17. With chapter 14 we are still only about two years into the desert journey.18 Here the grumbling of God’s people reaches a level where God reacts in a way that would have been unthinkable in the Exodus narrative. All those twenty years old or older will not be permitted to enter the land. They will be made to wander in the desert until the last rebel is dead (14:26–31). Surely we have hit the low point in Israel’s once victorious march to Canaan. By human standards, the entire plan seems to be hanging by a frayed thread.

(2) But this is not the case. Exodus 15:22–17:7 also testifies to God’s gracious provision for his people despite their lack of trust. It would be wrong to think of the desert, even as it is presented in Numbers, as an unexpected twist in God’s plan to bring his people to Canaan. It is not a time when God temporarily loses his control over the events. The story about Elim in 15:27 is in part designed to rid us of that notion. God shows his control and power over the desert. It, too, is “his country,” and his people are as safe there as anywhere else. It is the place where God comes to his people to provide for them.

(3) God also tests his people in the desert. The word “test” no doubt conjures up images in our minds of pop quizzes or IRS audits, but this is not what the concept means in the Old Testament. God is not a professor looking to “fail” his people at the first wrong answer. He is not putting them in an unbearable situation because he is looking for an excuse to do them in. These are his people, after all, whom he has redeemed from Egypt. The desert tests are not trials for the Israelites to prove that they are somehow “worthy” of God. Such thinking misunderstands not only the Exodus narrative but the theology of the Old Testament. God does not redeem Israel from Egypt for any reason other than his own sense of fidelity to the promise he made to the patriarchs. It is not that the Israelites are now “good enough” to be worthy of his attention.

The purpose of the desert tests are succinctly summarized in Exodus 20:20: “Moses said to the people, ‘Do not be afraid. God has come to test you, so that the fear of God will be with you to keep you from sinning.’” God tests his people for their benefit, not for his own. It is through passing and failing these tests that God’s people learn the nature of the obedience that he requires of them. Exodus 15:22–17:7 records the first series of tests that the Israelites are to go through, and we should note the nature that this testing takes on: (a) “Pay attention to his commands and keep all his decrees” (15:26); (b) trust God daily by gathering only what you need (16:4, 16); and (c) keep the Sabbath (16:5, 24–30).

These are apparently vital lessons for God’s people to learn at this stage of their journey (both physical and spiritual). It is not so much that God is testing them to see whether they will keep the Sabbath, for example. On a certain level of the narrative that is part of it, but there is a deeper lesson being taught. God wants to produce in his people a deepening relationship with him as their covenant God so that they will better understand the importance of keeping the Sabbath, the other commands, and the need to trust him daily. In other words, they are being taught how to obey God. This is what it means for God to test his people. The problem is not so much that the Israelites “fail” the test, but that they turn around and put God to the test (17:7).

By testing the Israelites, God is teaching them. This is why at this initial stage in their journey he responds to their complaint not with fire (see Num. 11:1–3) but with the gracious provision of water and food. We should not lose sight that God responds to the Israelites in Exodus 15:22–17:7 with barely a hint of retribution. His only harsh words in this passage are in 16:28, which are certainly threatening, but this is all we hear of him. God’s anger, to put it another way, is not the focus.

But this forbearance on God’s part seems to come to an end in the book of Numbers. Now he does not just speak stern words but enacts punishments as well. The desert has taken on a very different feel. Whereas it was once a place where Israel could see God’s care for them, it is now a place of his wrath. A victory march has become a death march—or nearly so, were it not for the grace of God, which once again rises to the occasion. For they do not all die. A core is left: Joshua, Caleb, and all those under the age of twenty at the time of the rebellion at Kadesh in Numbers 14. What was to be a brief journey through a barren land has become a trial by fire, a process of purification wherein God’s people are being prepared to enter the land at last.

Subsequent reflections in the Bible on the desert period reflect the transition we see from Exodus to Numbers. A number of passages in the Old Testament describe the desert in a positive way, as the place where God came to meet his people and escort them to Canaan, the place where God demonstrated to all his special care for his special people:

There [in the desert] you saw how the LORD your God carried you, as a father carries his son, all the way you went until you reached this place. (Deut. 1:31)

Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her. (Hos. 2:14)

For forty years you sustained them in the desert; they lacked nothing, their clothes did not wear out nor did their feet become swollen. (Neh. 9:21)

These passages speak of the desert period as one in which God showed his love for his people, as a father for his child and as a husband for his bride.19 The desert was a positive place where God’s love for Israel was the focus.

Such an understanding of the desert is also carried through in Isaiah with respect to the departure from Babylon. As we have noted in other chapters, the departure from Babylon is a second Exodus for God’s people. Isaiah typically depicts the desert as a place of refuge, where God will meet his people and bring them back home. It is not a hostile place but the way back to Canaan, with God marching alongside of them:

A voice of one calling:

“In the desert prepare

the way for the LORD;

make straight in the wilderness

a highway for our God.” (Isa. 40:3)

See, I am doing a new thing!

Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the desert

and streams in the wasteland.

The wild animals honor me,

the jackals and the owls,

because I provide water in the desert

and streams in the wasteland,

to give drink to my people, my chosen,

the people I formed for myself

that they may proclaim my praise. (43:19–21)

Other Old Testament passages, however, have a different view of the desert, a view more in line with that given in Numbers. The element that is highlighted in these passages is Israel’s rebellion in the desert despite God’s care for them. The desert is used as a constant reminder and object lesson for God’s people not to harden their hearts:

He split the rocks in the desert

and gave them water as abundant as the seas;

he brought streams out of a rocky crag

and made water flow down like rivers.

But they continued to sin against him,

rebelling in the desert against the Most High.

They willfully put God to the test

by demanding the food they craved.

They spoke against God, saying,

“Can God spread a table in the desert?

When he struck the rock, water gushed out,

and streams flowed abundantly.

But can he also give us food?

Can he supply meat for his people?”

When the LORD heard them, he was very angry. . . . (Ps. 78:15–21; see also v. 40)

In the desert they gave in to their craving;

in the wasteland they put God to the test. (Ps. 106:14)20

Certainly the reason why the Old Testament itself reflects such diverse opinion on the characterization of the desert period is due to the diversity in the Pentateuch itself. Thus, a dual lesson is to be learned: comfort and trust in God’s blessing, and punishment in the face of constant rebellion. Israel’s desert experience had both.

Both of these summaries of the desert experience are also reflected in the New Testament. There are a number of echoes of the Exodus experience in the Gospel of John, some of which have already been mentioned in other contexts in this commentary. Particularly relevant here is the feeding of the five thousand (6:1–15) and Jesus as the “bread of life” (6:25–59).

The feeding of the five thousand can be understood on a number of different levels. One of those levels is as a provision of food similar to the manna incident. Here Christ miraculously provides food for a mass of people who have been following him. There is even a “test” involved (John 6:6). By providing bread and meat (like manna and quail?), Jesus is not just filling their stomachs but teaching them about who he is. He is their source of life, who will take care of them as they wander through life. This is not just a random trick Jesus has pulled, like the magicians of Pharaoh’s court, to show the people how powerful he is. It is rather a display of power and love as God had done for Israel centuries earlier. Thus, by learning this lesson, the people will know that they are not “to work for food that spoils [like manna left overnight], but for food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you” (6:27).

Jesus’ “bread of life” speech is even more explicit. The crowd that has witnessed the feeding miracle are intent on following him. They find him and begin to discuss with him what God requires of them. Jesus tells them that they are “to believe in the one he has sent” (John 6:29). But the people require a sign to prove to them that Jesus is worthy of such attention. After all, as they argue in verse 31, Moses gave his people a sign, bread from heaven. What is Jesus’ proof? Jesus responds (vv. 32–33):

I tell you the truth, it is not Moses who has given you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is he who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.

The benefits to those who “eat” this bread from heaven are greater than for those who ate the manna: They will never hunger nor thirst again, and they will be raised up at the last day (vv. 35, 40).

But how does the crowd respond? They grumble (John 6:41, 43). Even some of the disciples grumble to the point where they stop following him (vv. 61–66). How ironic! Jesus, the true bread, has come and the people respond by grumbling. Whereas the Israelites grumbled because they had no bread, the crowd grumbles because they do. Even though this bread far exceeds anyone’s expectations—it gives eternal life, not simply filling one’s stomach to live another day—they will have none of it. But it is the only means by which they have any hope to live. In the same way as the manna was the only food to keep the Israelites alive another day, Christ, the bread from heaven, is now the only way to life eternal. We may also presume in Jesus’ use of this desert story that he saw a ready analogy between the Israelites in their desert wandering and the people of his day, a point to which we will return shortly.

The desert motif in John may be traced further to include John 7:37–39. Jesus has already introduced the notion of “thirst” in 6:35, which reflects the miraculous giving of water in Exodus 15:22–27 and 17:1–7. He is the bread and the water of Israel’s desert experience. This is made more explicit in John 7:37–39.

On the last and greatest day of the Feast, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, “If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.” By this he meant the Spirit, whom those who believed in him were later to receive. Up to that time the Spirit had not been given, since Jesus had not yet been glorified.

What is particularly interesting here is the equation of the “living water” with the Spirit given at Pentecost. Paul likewise speaks of the manna as “spiritual food” in 1 Corinthians 10:3, which doesn’t mean “food for spiritual people” but food that is of the Spirit. This is also what Revelation 2:17 seems to be pointing toward, although in a more directly eschatological sense (“To him who overcomes, I will give some of the hidden manna”). This, then, gives us a proper perspective from which to apply the desert motif to our lives (see below).

Other New Testament passages highlight the negative side of the desert experience. One of those is 1 Corinthians 10:5–11:

Nevertheless, God was not pleased with most of them; their bodies were scattered over the desert.

Now these things occurred as examples to keep us from setting our hearts on evil things as they did. Do not be idolaters, as some of them were; as it is written: “The people sat down to eat and drink and got up to indulge in pagan revelry.” We should not commit sexual immorality, as some of them did—and in one day twenty-three thousand of them died. We should not test the Lord, as some of them did—and were killed by snakes. And do not grumble, as some of them did—and were killed by the destroying angel.

These things happened to them as examples and were written down as warnings for us, on whom the fulfillment of the ages has come.

The lesson to be learned from Israel’s rebellions in the desert is that the church should not follow their example. In view of Christ’s coming, such grumbling is unthinkable. It seems obvious that for Paul’s admonition to be effective, one must assume a certain analogy between Israel and the church. Specifically, for Israel’s desert experience to be a fitting warning for the church, Paul understands the church to be in some sort of “desert” setting too.

This analogy is precisely what we find explicated in greater detail in Hebrews 3:1–4:11. This is a complex passage, but the main contours are plain. Hebrews 3:1–6 provide the basis for understanding the subsequent citation of Psalm 95:7–11. The writer of this book explains that Jesus is a new Moses and that, therefore, Jesus’ people, the church, are the “new Israel.”

With this in mind the writer proceeds to expound Psalm 95:7–11 in Hebrews 3:7–4:11. In its original context, Psalm 95 is a warning to Israel not to rebel as the Exodus community had done. This psalm explicitly draws on the events of the desert wanderings.21 It was during their period of desert wandering that Israel rebelled.

The point is this: In order for the rebellions of Israel’s desert wanderings to provide the basis for a warning to the church (see esp. Heb. 3:12–19), the writer must understand the church to be in an analogous period of desert wandering. If we look at this passage through 4:11, the analogy extends further: Both Israel and the church have been led out of oppression of some sort by a divinely appointed leader. The goal of that Exodus was to bring God’s people to their final rest. For Israel this rest was the land of Canaan; for the church it is a spiritual and eternal rest.

But in the meantime, both communities are in an extended period of desert wandering. For the church, it is not just individual Christian lives that are “in the desert.” The entire church age is analogous to the forty-year period of our Israelite ancestors. We who have been redeemed through the death and resurrection of Christ, our Moses, are on the way to our final rest. While we are on that journey, the Old Testament warnings pertaining to Israel’s desert wandering apply to us as well.

There is one significant difference, however, between the church’s desert and Israel’s, and Hebrews’ citation of Psalm 95 brings this out nicely.22 The relevant portion is 95:7b–10a:

Today, if you hear his voice,

do not harden your hearts

as you did at Meribah,

as you did that day at Massah in the desert,

where your fathers tested and tried me,

though they had seen what I did.

For forty years I was angry with that generation. (italics added)

Here, “forty years” is characterized by God’s anger. The manner in which Hebrews cites this portion of Psalm 95 introduces a slight, but theologically powerful change:

Today, if you hear his voice,

do not harden your hearts

as you did in the rebellion,

during the time of testing in the desert,

where your fathers tested and tried me

and for forty years saw what I did.

That is why I was angry with that generation,

and I said, “Their hearts are always going astray,

and they have not known my ways.” (Heb. 3:7–10; italics added)

By inserting one small word, the Greek dio (translated “That is why” in the NIV), the author of Hebrews has introduced a shift in the psalm’s meaning. Now, the “forty years” characterizes the period during which Israel “saw what I did,” and anger is what follows this forty-year period. He does this to make a gripping theological point in his application of this psalm to the life of the church. If the church age is analogous to the forty-year period, it is inappropriate to characterize it as the period of wrath as it was for Israel. Christ has come! The climax of redemptive history is here. This is not a period of wrath, but, as the writer correctly puts it, the period in which we see God’s activity (“for forty years saw what I did”): The lame are healed, the dead are raised, throngs of Jews and Gentiles are worshiping the Savior.

That such an exegetical move on Hebrews’ part is wholly intentional is seen in Hebrews 3:17, where he does refer to the forty-year period as one of anger (“and with whom was he angry for forty years?”). Why does he flip-flop between these two citations of Psalm 95? Because in Hebrews 3:9–10 he is applying the psalm to the church, whereas in 3:17 he is referring to Israel’s desert wandering. Although this author’s use of Psalm 95 may raise a number of issues regarding the appropriate use of the Old Testament in the life of the church, we should not lose sight of the overarching lesson to be learned here. The church is the new Israel as it exists in its own type of desert wandering. Our Egypt of sin and death is behind us. Our Moses, unlike the first Moses, has entered before us into the promised rest, and we are soon to follow.

It was, of course, Joshua and not Moses who brought the Israelites into Canaan. Hence, Christ is the “true” Moses who completes the mission. And by bringing his church into “Canaan,” Christ is not only fulfilling the role of Moses but also that which Joshua performed. In fact, Joshua’s role, according to Hebrews 4:8–11, is merely a prelude to the final rest to be given by the final “Joshua,” who is Christ. So, we are in our desert wanderings. Hence, “Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts” (3:15; 4:7).

Contemporary Significance

THE CHRISTIAN’S DESERT WANDERING. The desert period of the Exodus community is ours as well, but, as we have seen in Hebrews 3:9–10, with a slight twist. This is no period of wrath but one of untold blessing, for we are privy to the “fullness of time,” the climax of God’s redemptive plan. We are in a privileged position of living in the age in which the kingdom of God has indeed already come in Christ, although we still await its final implementation at his second coming. Still, grumbling and complaining as our Israelite ancestors did remains a live option for us. And thus we must make every effort to guard against this in view of the clearer vision we have of God’s goodness that is ours by virtue of the Spirit who dwells in us. Indeed, it is precisely because of the Spirit’s indwelling that we are able to resist.

If all we learn from this passage is “don’t be a grumbler,” we will miss the riches it holds for us as we walk through the desert. The lessons we learn from Exodus 15:22–17:7 must be set in the context of the completed work of Christ, as I have attempted to do in the Bridging Contexts section. What remains is to point out two avenues of Christian application.

(1) We see that the desert is “hostile” territory. As a popular song puts it, “This world is not my home.” This is true. We are merely passing through on a journey. This is not to say that the world is necessarily antithetical to God. This is still God’s world. It belongs to him, and he is still very much in control of his creation, although in ways not always clear to us. Just as the desert posed no barrier for God to act mightily on behalf of his people (he provided water and food), the desert in which we live is fully at God’s disposal as well.

Our view toward the world in which we live should balance the knowledge that it belongs to God, but it is not our final resting place. We should take comfort in the fact that we, even here, are God’s special people, but we should not become too comfortable where we are. We are to trust God fully while we are here (unlike the Israelites) while at the same time not allowing our current circumstances to define ultimate reality. Our gaze must always be not on where we are but on where we are going.

(2) We must be continually on guard against our all-too-common penchant for judging our circumstances by our “stomachs.” This is precisely what the Israelites in the desert were guilty of. We must ask, “Why did they not trust God to help them, especially after all they had seen him do already?” The answer is not simply “lack of faith.” That is far too vague. One must ask why they lacked faith. The reason why they behaved the way they did is actually transparent, not because the text itself makes it explicit but because Israel’s error in the desert is the sin common to us all, and the one from which so many of our sins derive: self-centeredness.

Throughout Exodus we have seen Israel’s inclination for defining their situation in terms of their own perceptions. Whether it is lack of straw for making bricks or the advancing Egyptian army at the shores of the Red Sea, the Israelites did not respond in a way that we would expect people who have witnessed God’s mighty acts to respond.

All around us is the ever-present temptation to see ourselves as the center of the universe. What we see on television in particular trains us to think that our perceived “needs,” whether it be a new toothpaste, a car, razor, beer, deodorant, nice clothes, or whatever, are to be met as quickly as possible. In fact, we are told that we have a right to those things. Nothing is more important than meeting our perceived needs.

The way of the cross is different. We are being trained in righteousness to be able to rid our minds of perceived needs and their immediate gratification and to turn our glance outward (or upward) toward Canaan and the God who is determined to get us there. It is an arduous training process. We are in a hostile environment in which the gospel is attacked, not simply by such superficial avenues as political agendas or New Age theories, but in subtle and simple ways that have always been at the core of human misery. Christians cannot forget—in fact, this must be the center of our self-understanding—that Christ and Christ alone is our bread and water. He is our true need. Unlike what the world offers, he truly fills us up with bread and water that lead to eternal life, not junk food that tastes good for the moment but does us no good whatsoever.

We must not judge our circumstances by how we see them but by how God wants us to see them. He is teaching us to look at the big picture rather than our own narrow, doomed version of that picture. But seeing only our version of things is so natural to us! We were born that way.

I still remember a heated debate at our dinner table some time back between my youngest child (then age four and a half) and my oldest (age ten). Several years earlier we lived in suburban Boston, and one of our favorite family activities was visiting the Public Garden and riding the swan boats (known to children the world over through Robert McClosky’s Make Way for Ducklings). Now, Sophie, my four-and-a-half-year-old, was only one year old when we left the Boston area. She doesn’t remember riding on the boats (or anything else for that matter).

At dinner, my son Erich, the ten-year-old, made the tactical error of reminiscing about the fun all of us had on the swan boats. Sophie, of course, insisted that she never rode them. Erich, having the advantage of a bigger perspective than Sophie, rejoined that she most certainly did ride them, to which Sophie responded in the predictable manner until the whole thing escalated well beyond what my wife and I thought was warranted. Erich’s final threat was to produce pictures of us all smiling on the swan boats.

At this point Sophie responded in a very interesting way. “But Erich, I don’t remember being on the swan boats.” It was clear what she meant by that. Since the event was not within her sphere of perception, it did not happen. Her grasp of the situation defined reality for her. Although we all eventually grow up physically, our spiritual development often lags behind. Christ’s goal for his people is to lead us to greater knowledge of him, which leads to a more sober understanding of our own puny perspectives.

We are Christians called to a higher life, but the things we want, the things we work for and strive after, are often no different from those around us. We accept the needs that our world tells us to have. Our gods are our stomachs, to paraphrase Paul (Phil. 3:19). It is a wonderful breakthrough in Christian maturity when the Lord teaches us to examine these needs to see whether they are from God or not. Many Christians in America struggle with material issues. How many of us have not said things like the following: “I have this sofa, but I would like a nicer one.” “This house is adequate, but we need a bigger one.” “My income allows us to live fine, but if only I made $10,000 more a year, that would make all the difference.”

How difficult it is for us to learn the lesson that Paul himself had to learn (Phil. 4:11–13):

I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.

We go through our own desert experiences honed in on our own lacks and desires, but wholly oblivious to the new creations we are in Christ. After all we have seen God do in our lives, not the least of which is giving us a new life, we still harbor the notion, “But if I only had this or that, then things would be OK.”

There is nothing wrong with praying for a new house or a better income. There is no virtue in being “antimaterialistic”; God gives us all things. But there is that fine line that is sometimes so faint to us, but so thick and clear to God, between seeking the Lord’s guidance in these matters with simple trust, knowing that our perceptions of what we need are not always pure, and seeking these things because we feel that we just cannot be happy without them, that they will meet some deep emotional need. The fact is that they will not meet those needs. If anything, it will make things worse. A free person is one who is content whatever the circumstances, because he or she knows that the big picture is more than the clothes on our back.

Jesus himself addressed this issue in words that are as relevant to us today as they would have been for the Israelites at the beginning of their desert journey (Matt. 6:30–32):

Will [God] not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? So do not worry, saying, “What shall we eat?” or “What shall we drink?” or “What shall we wear?” For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them.

Did the Israelites really think that they were being led out into the desert to die? Apparently, this is what they thought. And it is easy to see why: They did not look past themselves and their own needs, so they turned their frustration toward Moses and God. All they could see was that their needs, right then and there, were not being met. As foolish as their actions may seem to us, my guess is that many of us may have more in common with the Israelites than we like to admit.

The good news, of course, is that Christ does not let go of us during our desert march. He has bought us at a great price and at least he keeps things in perspective for us. To use the language of the desert narrative, he is testing us. Again, this is not an occasional spot check to see if we really mean business. It is Christ knowing full well that, when push comes to shove, we don’t mean business, but he is there to train us to do so. Sometimes I have noticed that he uses our perceived needs as a means for teaching us this lesson. The Lord, by his grace, sometimes allows us to experience the fruit of our own self-centeredness in order to impress on us how fleeting such a focus really is. These times of testing are a great gift from God. He is moving us to a deeper understanding of what life is really about.

For example, it is easy to get caught up in the flow of “upward mobility.” This is not something reserved for yuppies. The love of money is something nearly everyone, in every age (see 1 Tim. 6:6–10) struggles with. Whenever this happens to me, which seems to be quite often lately, it takes a lot of effort to seek the Lord’s guidance to be able to look at the matter clearly.

Not long ago our family was in the throes of a significant decision: whether to move into a nicer house or stay where we are. This decision process began, quite imperceptibly, as a feeling of dissatisfaction with our present situation. This dissatisfaction arose from a mental picture we had of the ideal house we wanted. The question, of course, is where this mental picture came from. I don’t really know, but most likely from subtle, implicit comparisons I have made all my life between what I have and what others have. So, our decision to put the house on the market became an obsession of sorts. It became the center of what we felt we needed to make our lives complete, although I was much too sophisticated to ever let on that this was the case!

As it turns out, the Lord has been using even this mundane situation to test us, that is, to teach us about himself and what it means to be a servant of God. As I write this, it has been over a year since our house first went on the market, and during that time we have learned, slowly but surely, some things about ourselves that we don’t particularly like. Why was I so irritable and so quick to complain to God that “all we want is a house”? More important, we are learning that God has in store for us much more than we imagine. He knows what we need. His goal is to conform us to the image of Christ so that we begin to understand what real needs are, what gives us true, lasting happiness.

I wish I could say that I had a vision or an angel came to me in a dream, telling me what God’s will is, but this is not what happened. Through a series of experiences and observations, as subtle as those false perceptions that started us down that road to begin with, we are beginning to see, to understand, that God cares for us more than we give him credit for. And he shows this care not by giving us what we want, but by using what we want to teach us how to want him more. It is a gift from God to be able to say with one’s whole heart, “I trust the Lord to do what is best.” It is a gift he is willing to give.

When we rise above the din of our self-centered world, we can begin to make a difference in our world to those around us. What message are we passing on to our children if we make it our passion to listen to those grumbling voices inside us that tell us we are not complete unless something is added to us? I cannot help but think that a life of contentment, which is a life that trusts in God, when it is truly lived out, will have a lasting impact on those around us.

It is important for us to be examples of piety to others. Not in a superficial moralistic sense, for that is far too simple, but in the sense that one is so much a servant of God that he or she will go wherever the Lord leads. That trust in God is not fleeting but the bedrock on which life’s everyday decisions are to be made.