Original Meaning

ALTHOUGH THIS PASSAGE recounts another act of deliverance in the desert, it is treated separately from the previous three stories. The concern here is not over food or water in a barren land, but a military exploit. The attack of the Israelites by the Amalekites is the first such military encounter for the recently freed slaves, though it will not be the last. After they leave Sinai and for the remainder of their existence as a nation, wars and battles with the surrounding nations will be commonplace.

The mention of this battle here in the narrative performs a specific theological function. Just as certain elements in the previous passage foreshadow events in Israel’s near future (Sinai and the giving of the law), the battle with the Amalekites foreshadows the ultimate goal toward which God is bringing his newly freed people: the conquest of Canaan. In fact, in Numbers 13–14, the presence of the Amalekites is one of the causes for the Israelites to have doubts about God’s promise to take the land. It is striking that their defeat here in Exodus 17 has no bearing on the people’s perception of their situation two years later.

This story also helps to underscore the lesson the people should have learned from the previous events, that grumbling about Moses and his leadership is not only lacking in trust, it is dangerous. Israel’s real enemies should not be from within, for there are plenty on the outside to worry about. The defeat of the Egyptian army at the sea did not end outside hostility toward Israel. Egypt only tried to prevent their departure. Now the Amalekites are poised to prevent their arrival at Sinai and Canaan. If they succeed, the Exodus may just as well have never happened.

The Amalekites are a mysterious people. They were certainly desert dwellers, but the only information we have about them is from the Old Testament itself.1 We meet them first somewhat abruptly in Genesis 14:7. Later we come upon a certain Amalek, who is said to be the grandson of Esau (36:12, 16). Presumably Amalek is the ancestor of the people named after him.2 In fact, the word translated “Amalekites” in Exodus 17:8, 13, 14, and 16 of the NIV is actually “Amalek”: The Israelites battle “Amalek,” meaning the people, the Amalekites.

But this piece of information does not clear up who these people are. When we meet them in Exodus 17, we only learn of their apparently unprovoked attack on the Israelites. The memory of this brutal attack was ingrained on Israel’s collective memory (Deut. 25:17, 19; cf. Num. 24:20). We meet them a third time as the Israelites are exploring the land of Canaan on what should have been the end of their desert march (Num. 13:29; 14:25, 43, 45). The Amalekites, along with other peoples, discourage the Israelites from seizing the land, which results in a prolonged desert march of an extra thirty-eight years.

The struggles of the Israelites with the Amalekites do not end, however, after crossing the Jordan. They actively stand in their way (Judg. 3:13; 6:3, 33; 7:12; 10:12). They are not defeated until Saul’s campaign recorded in 1 Samuel 15, although David has to finish the job later (1 Sam. 30), since Saul spares “Agag king of the Amalekites” (15:8, 20, 32) and keeps some of the spoils for himself. They are not heard from again apart from a reference to “Haman the Agagite” in Esther 3:1, which likely indicates that Haman was of Amalekite ancestry. We have no more information on who exactly these people were. Nevertheless, the Amalekites were a well-known, recurring threat to Israel’s well-being. The original audience of Exodus 17:8–16 needs no further introduction to these people.

A number of elements of the Exodus story are mentioned here for the first time. In verse 9 Joshua is referred to. It is striking that he appears here so matter-of-factly, as if he is a well-known character by this time. His name appears four times in this brief passage.3 This suggests that he needs no introduction to Israelite readers. As we have seen throughout Exodus, the writer tells the story at times in an abbreviated manner, either because the information is not vital to his interests or because the information is so well known.

Joshua’s appearance here foreshadows the many military encounters the Israelites will have later on, especially during the Conquest. Since Joshua will be leading the Israelites at that time, it is only fitting that he be prominently displayed here. Moses could just as well have, at God’s command, struck the Amalekites with some disease or plague as he did Egypt. He could have climbed the hill with his staff, waved it around a few times, and made the Amalekites go away. But this is not what happens. Rather, Joshua is told to pick some good fighters and meet them in the battlefield. God commands that they now fight, not apart from God to be sure (see vv. 11–12), but that they fight nevertheless. Introduced here is a taste of what will occupy much of Israel’s time and resources until the Babylonian exile—war.

Three other elements in verse 9 are also theologically significant: “Tomorrow” Moses will climb a “hill” with “the staff of God in [his] hand.” (1) Why wait until “tomorrow”? Throughout Exodus “tomorrow” represents the time in which God will act to punish Israel’s enemies. We saw this in the plague narrative (8:23, 29; 9:5, 18; 10:4). Most recently the word was used in 16:23 with respect to Israel’s gathering of bread on the sixth day in anticipation of the Sabbath. In other words, tomorrow is when something “big” happens.4 That the defeat of the Amalekites is to take place “tomorrow” signals to the reader that this is another redemptive event. It is a plague on another of Israel’s enemies.

(2) This is reinforced by the use of the “staff,” which was present in the plague narrative. Through Moses’ staff God worked great acts to bring Israel out of Egypt, not the least of which was the parting of the sea. The defeat of the Amalekites will be another act of deliverance by the God of the Exodus, and thus it is fitting for the staff to play a role in this.

(3) As “tomorrow” and the “staff” are a look backward, “hill” is a look forward. Within two chapters, Moses will again stand on the top of another “hill,” Mount Sinai, to hear what God will do for his people. Like the hints of the giving of the law we saw in the previous passage, this passage prepares us further for the climactic encounter between God and his people.

In verse 10, we read that Joshua obeys Moses’ command to fight the Amalekites. This is another hint of what is to come. It is precisely Joshua’s obedience that makes him a fitting successor to Moses (see Num. 27:12–23; Deut. 31:14; 34:9). As the Pentateuch progresses, Joshua’s obedience is often contrasted to the disobedience of the Israelites.

Verse 10 also gives another name that has to this point not been mentioned: Hur (see also 24:14, where he is again mentioned along with Aaron). He is the son of Caleb and the grandfather of Bezalel (1 Chron. 2:19–20; this same genealogy is given in Ex. 31:2; 35:30; 38:22).5 If the Hur of Exodus 17 (where no genealogy is given) is the same one referred to later in Exodus and 1 Chronicles, we have another significant foreshadowing in our passage. Bezalel, Hur’s grandson, is one of the builders of the tabernacle, which is the topic for most of Exodus 25–40. His mention here may be hinting at what will dominate most of the second half of the book.

Verses 11–13 recount one of the more unusual events in this book. Moses goes up to the top of the hill and raises his hands. As long as his hands are up, the Israelites prevail in the battle. Whenever they drop from fatigue, the Amalekites gain the upper hand (no pun intended). Finally, to ensure that his hands remain in the correct position, Aaron and Hur hold Moses’ hands up until sunset. This brings total victory to the Israelites.6

Several questions surface in our minds. Most important, the text does not tell us what Moses’ raised hands are supposed to represent. Does he raise them in prayer? This is often assumed to be the case, but why doesn’t the text say so? It is true that the raising of hands is a common Semitic posture for prayer,7 but why are no words spoken? Exodus 9:29 can be adduced in support of the prayer explanation (“When I have gone out of the city, I will spread out my hands in prayer to the LORD”), but why does 9:29 mention prayer whereas 17:11 does not? Furthermore, if it is prayer, why does the course of battle shift whenever his hands drop? Are we to understand that the act of praying only occurs when hands are raised? This seems unlikely.

Some commentaries suggest this is some sort of “magical” feat performed by Moses, perhaps some power emanating from the staff.8 Others assign to Moses’ gesture a psychological explanation, that his raised hands are a sign of encouragement to the troops. Neither explanation seems satisfying. Nowhere else do we find a hint of “magic” in Moses’ acts on behalf of the people. The psychological explanation seems too desperate. But can a better explanation be found? To be frank, no proposed explanation is problem-free. This problem is a classic example of what interpreters run into when attempting to explain a cryptic text.9

But let me give several thoughts to keep in mind as we continue the age-old discussion of the meaning of this story. (1) As with the other “abrupt” elements of this passage (e.g., the mention of Joshua and Hur), we should assume that the ancient Israelites understood what this meant. Of course, this does not help us, but at least the solutions we pose should be more or less in keeping with what ancient readers may have been able to accept.

(2) The important thing to keep in mind is not necessarily what Moses does but the result it has. Moses’ strange act focuses our attention not so much on the battlefield but on the hill. Is it not somewhat striking that the battle itself is not referred to, only the result? The hill is where the battle is truly won. It is not the case that God earlier defeated the Egyptian army but now the Israelites must muster troops on their own against the Amalekites. The battle is God’s here too. They must remember this as they engage more and more frequently in battles with other peoples.

(3) This next point is more subtle. This is not the first time Moses raises his hands to heaven before God acts on behalf of his people. We have already seen this with respect to the hail (9:22), the locusts (10:12), and the parting of the sea (14:16). In fact, hail and locusts are plagues that are also announced as to occur “tomorrow” (9:18; 10:4; cf. 17:9 here). I suggest that this incident should be seen, at least in some sense, as analogous to the power of God displayed in the plagues. Since the raising of Moses’ staff was crucial in Israel’s departure from Egypt, it is fitting that the Amalekites, Israel’s new enemy, be defeated by a similar display of power. This does not, of course, settle the issue of why the battle shifts when Moses drops his hands. Why must Moses keep his hands raised all day? Commentators throughout history have not been bashful about offering suggestions. Perhaps, as others have suggested, it is a lesson in “team play”: The Israelites need to begin working with Moses rather than against him.

Calvin offers a suggestion that, I must admit, I passed over quickly at first. To summarize, he thinks that this represents how God delegates authority to ministers.10 I admit that this can easily be dismissed as reading ecclesiastical structures into the Old Testament. Exodus 17:8–16 should not be adduced as a proof text for the status of the ordained ministry (and I am not convinced Calvin is doing this). But the broader context of this passage puts Calvin’s suggestion in a different light. In the very next chapter we read of the delegation of certain of Moses’ responsibilities, at Jethro’s suggestion, to some of the elders of the community. They are to help Moses when his tasks become too heavy for him. I do not want to push the matter too far, but it is plausible to understand Hur’s and Aaron’s helping of Moses as another foreshadowing of things to come: the division of labor in chapter 18.

There is another important first in verse 14. It is one of only a few places in the Pentateuch where Moses is said to “write.” Here he is to record the battle with the Amalekites. The precise words he writes, however, are not given. Is it the precise content of 17:8–16? If so, should we then presume that he does not write the surrounding material, since no such command to write is given there?11 It is more likely that the actual words Moses writes on the scroll are not available to us. All the writer of Exodus does is refer to the fact that Moses recorded the event somewhere else. Perhaps he does not have access to the words themselves.

Why Moses writes, however, is clearer to discern. It is another foreshadow of Sinai, where Moses will again be instructed to write at God’s command. Moreover, he writes so that Israel will remember what God has done for Israel in the desert (this is also the function of the altar in v. 15). Hence, like Passover and the names Marah, Meribah, and Massah encountered earlier, the focus here is on future generations and their memory of God’s past acts. What the NIV translates “something to be remembered” in verse 14 is a single word in Hebrew, zikkaron (see also Deut. 25:17). Another translation of this word is “memorial.”

In Exodus, zikkaron has already appeared in 12:14 (NIV, “to commemorate”) and 13:9, and it will occur later in 28:12, 29; 30:16; 39:7. The first passage concerns the Feast of Unleavened Bread, which is to be a lasting “memorial” of the Exodus. The latter two passages concern the “memorial stones” to be worn on Aaron’s ephod as he enters the Holy Place in the tabernacle. That the words on the scroll in 17:14 are also a “memorial” suggests, once again, that this passage has both a backward and forward glance. The memory of the Amalekite defeat is connected to other “memorials” the Israelites are to have.

The writer also employs a pun in his use of zikkaron. Whereas the defeat of the Amalekites is to be a memorial, all “memory of Amalek” is to be blotted out. The Hebrew word for “memory” is zeker, from the same root as zikkaron. But this raises a question: When exactly was their memory “blotted out”? For one thing, verse 16 seems to imply the opposite, that not only will their memory not be blotted out but that the struggle between the two peoples will last “from generation to generation,” a Hebrew idiom implying a lengthy period of time. But it seems that it is precisely because the Amalekites will cease to exist that a memorial of some kind is needed, to keep the lesson alive for Israel.

Perhaps the reference is to the events of 1 Samuel 15 and 30. As noted above, in chapter 15 Saul is to destroy completely the Amalekites, but he only does a partial job. In chapter 30, David makes the defeat complete. Already in Deuteronomy 25:17–19 is a clear indication that one of Israel’s prerogatives after they are settled in the land is to finish the Amalekites for good:

Remember what the Amalekites did to you along the way when you came out of Egypt. When you were weary and worn out, they met you on your journey and cut off all who were lagging behind; they had no fear of God. When the LORD your God gives you rest from all the enemies around you in the land he is giving you to possess as an inheritance, you shall blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven. Do not forget!

It seems best to understand the reference to blotting out the Amalekites in Exodus 17:14 as God’s promise of what he will eventually do through Saul and David. Perhaps the events of verses 8–16 do not actually bring an end to these peoples, only their sound defeat and the promise of their inevitable demise.

Another question concerns why God plans such cataclysmic destruction on a relatively insignificant group of desert dwellers. Why not simply beat them at Rephidim and move on without needing to come back later to finish the job? Doesn’t God go a bit overboard here? Perhaps, but might this not be an indication of the special care God gives to his people? One can understand this incident as a clear display of the extent to which God protects his people. Moreover, this is not the first example of God “going ballistic” in the book of Exodus. Egypt, too, met a horrible and irrevocable end. If God treated Egypt the way he did, a people who tried to prevent Israel’s deliverance, should we not also expect God to treat the Amalekites in a similar manner, since these people are trying to prevent their going any further?

Reference to an altar in verse 15 is another foreshadow of later events. Moses is commanded to build another altar in 20:24–26, and he builds one at the foot of Mount Sinai in 24:4. Instructions for building an altar for burnt offerings (27:1–8; 38:1–7) and incense (37:25–28) are also given, and there are frequent references to altars in chapters 29–31, 35, and 38–40. In the final chapter of the book (ch. 40), altars are mentioned no less than nine times, and over a hundred times from Leviticus through Deuteronomy. The altar at Rephidim is the first altar Moses builds, and as such it serves as a hint of the importance altars will take on throughout the remainder of the book and the Pentateuch.

This altar also connects Moses to the past. It was common practice for the patriarchs to set up altars as memorials of some sort (although a name is associated only with the altars mentioned in Gen. 33:20 and 35:7). The purpose of the altar here is not for sacrifice but, in keeping with the meaning of verse 14, a means by which Israel will remember what God has done for them in the desert. Hence, like the writing in the scroll in verse 14 and several other acts in the previous chapters, the view here is once again toward the future.

The name of the altar (v. 15) and the significance attached to that name (v. 16) have generated a fair amount of discussion. The name, “The LORD is my Banner,” seems straightforward enough, but it is not entirely clear what it means. Most likely “banner” is a military term, indicating a signal of some sort or a call to arms. As Houtman puts it, “With his own mouth Moses declares that his battle against Amalek . . . was conducted under YHWH’s aegis.”12 To put it another way, this is divine warrior language, a theme we have seen throughout Exodus, particularly at the Red Sea, and one we will see throughout Israel’s history.

The explanation given to the name, however, is far more cryptic. The NIV has, “For hands were lifted up to the throne of the LORD.” The Hebrew is difficult, particularly the word translated “throne.” The Hebrew is kes, which appears only here in the Old Testament. Most commentators take it as a shortened form of kisseʾ (or kisseh), the common word for “throne.”

Assuming this to be correct, the rest is still not clear. Literally, the Hebrew reads “hand upon/against the throne of Yah.”13 Perhaps “hand” refers to the Amalekites’ show of force against God’s throne, since “hand” in the Old Testament commonly refers to military power. Or perhaps “hand” refers to Moses’ raised hands upon or toward Yahweh’s throne (see vv. 11–13). But if this is the case, why is “hand” singular in verse 16 but plural in verses 12–13?14 In light of the fact that the number of Hebrew nouns should not always be handled woodenly in English, it seems most reasonable to conclude that verse 16 refers to Moses’ outstretched hands that shape the content of the narrative as a whole.

We have, then, in this passage the final dilemma out of which God must deliver his people before their arrival at Mount Sinai. The stories in Exodus are not disconnected stories. They all serve to remind the people of what has gone before and what will soon come to pass. Exodus 15:22–17:16 as a whole reminds Israel of who God is and what he expects of his people. After one more narrative (the appointment of the elders in ch. 18), we finally find the Israelites at God’s holy mountain, where the remainder of the book takes place.

Bridging Contexts

A CRYPTIC PASSAGE. This is a somewhat puzzling passage, and I readily admit it is difficult to know how to handle it properly. As I have suggested elsewhere, it is tempting (and would be easy) to reduce the book of Exodus to a number of moralistic themes. This is particularly the case for this passage. For example, it would be easy to say something like, “God will come to your aid and completely destroy your enemies whenever they attack you,” or, “Remember to thank God when he helps you.”

It is not that such sentiments as these are necessarily “wrong,” but the question is whether this is what the present passage is designed to do. Indeed, it is appropriate to ask whether the Bible at all is made for such a purpose. We can readily see the shortcomings of such an approach. If we distill from this passage that “God will help you in your time of need” and elevate it to a timeless principle applicable to the church, what are we to make of those many other passages suggesting that “sometimes God doesn’t come to your physical aid”?

There is something deeper happening in the Bible than the immediate application of surface “teachings” to our own private circumstances. The whole point of a specifically Christian interpretation of the Old Testament is to see passages such as this ultimately within the context of God’s culminating salvation in Christ. This is not simply a matter of looking for hints of the gospel here (although that is certainly part of it). It is also allowing this passage to surprise us about who God is and allowing that understanding to affect our understanding of the gospel.

A number of things in this passage are worth discussing. Before doing so, however, I would like to mention one Christological approach that has been popular, in varying forms, throughout the history of the church. This line of interpretation has tended to equate specific elements of our passage with supposed New Testament counterparts.15 According to this scheme, Moses’ raised hands foreshadow Christ’s hanging on the cross. The hill on which Moses stands is Golgotha. Hur and Aaron, who help on either side of Moses, represent the two thieves crucified alongside Jesus. Joshua also represents Christ because he chose men to fight as Christ chose disciples to “fight.”

In one sense, such an interpretation seems a bit excessive. A Christological approach to Old Testament interpretation does not mean making one-to-one correspondences between elements of a passage and the New Testament (see the Introduction; this point will become more important below in our discussion of the tabernacle and its furnishings and articles). The process, as I have tried to show up to this point, is more subtle. Nevertheless, the Christian interpreters who have handled this passage in the way outlined above were not fools! They had reasons for doing what they did. At least one of those reasons is the firm conviction that being a Christian in union with the risen Christ should make a difference in how the Old Testament is read. With this I heartily agree, and so I look at such interpretations with an eye toward what I can learn from them rather than simply dismissing them as fanciful.

Another reason that led these interpreters to handle Scripture the way they did was the general interpretive climate in which they lived, that is, what was commonly accepted as good interpretive practice. For example, allegory, although generally scorned in our day, was not only popular and generally accepted throughout the early church and medieval periods, but in some circles represented the pinnacle of biblical interpretation.

But leaving those matters to the side, one of the reasons why I do not favor this type of reading is that it reduces the art of Christological interpretation to a mechanical process, one that requires little reflection and contemplation—sort of a hermeneutical “Where’s Waldo?” Although the ultimate meaning of any Old Testament passage is to bring us to a fuller understanding of the risen Christ and our relationship to him, this is not done by “finding” Jesus in the Old Testament in a superficial way.

This is not to say, however, that the Christological message of any Old Testament passage is necessarily obvious or natural. As the New Testament writers demonstrate again and again, a Christological sense is to be achieved by a thoughtful and creative interaction with what God was revealing about himself at the time the Old Testament passage was first written and how that original message is played out, either directly or indirectly, in Scripture. We see throughout the pages of the New Testament that the bearing of certain Old Testament passages on Christ is not the first thing that might come to mind. Reading the Old Testament as a Christian book requires subtlety and a commitment to the centrality of Christ in interpretation.

In this sense, to say that Moses’ raised hands point to Christ’s raised hands on the cross is both right and wrong, depending on how you understand the phrase “point to.” On the one hand, it is wrong in the “mechanical” sense. Moses’ hands are raised, supposedly high toward heaven. But if we are to be mechanical, let’s be consistent. Christ’s hands were not pointed up but were stretched out on the cross. What is gained by equating the two? Is every Old Testament character who stands on a hill and raises his hands above the waist a foreshadow of Christ? Also, the only things in common between Hur and Aaron and the two thieves are that they are both “two” and that they are on either side of the key figure. But have we really advanced a Christological understanding of 17:8–16 by saying that Hur and Aaron, who support Moses, “point to” two thieves crucified next to Jesus, one of whom mocks him?

On the other hand—and this is the point well worth remembering—we can quickly see some justification for this type of interpretation. Were not Moses’ raised hands on the hill the very thing that brought deliverance to his people? Might the approach taken by early Christian interpreters, as hopelessly naive as it may seem on the surface, actually point toward a subtle and profound theological connection between Moses and Christ? We must still keep in mind what we have seen time and time again throughout the pages of Exodus, and what these early interpreters no doubt saw as well: Christ, in his life, death, and resurrection, truly is a fulfillment of the type of ministry Moses had. This is “fulfillment”—not simply in a literal, predictive-prophetic, one-to-one sense, but in a grand sense. It is a crystallization, clarification, and culmination of the redemptive realities of the ancient Israelites. Hence, we should see Christ here somehow.

But the question still remains: “How exactly are we to see Christ here?” My answer to this question is not just one simple answer. The plain meaning of Scripture is clear enough, but like the God who inspired it, it is also deep and unfathomable. We do not all find the same thing even when we are looking in the same place, and this passage is a good example. Let me suggest that Moses’ raised hands should be seen as another example of Exodus power. His hands and staff are raised here as they were before in several of the plagues and in the parting of the sea.

There are a number of echoes in this passage of what God has done through Moses previously, so it seems straightforward to look at this incident as another example of God’s power saving his people. It is another “Exodus,” to be understood in connection with all that has gone before. Hence, this passage should be understood Christologically in the context of the part it plays in the complex of events in Exodus. But what should we make of the two helpers, Hur and Aaron? Well, do we have to make anything of them? Whatever we do, I do not think they are to be equated with the thieves.16 A Christological reading of any other Old Testament passage does not depend on assigning some element from the Gospels to every detail.

Rather than asking how Christ “fulfills” this or that detail, perhaps we should take a step back and ask questions that this passage raises about the nature of God. Why do raised hands have such an effect on how God directs the course of the battle?17 What do we learn about God, who promises the complete destruction of a desert people for an act that could easily have been punished some other way? What can we learn from the scroll and the altar about what God expects of his people? Perhaps the answers to these questions do not drive us neatly to some “fulfillment” in Christ. They may, however, drive us more deeply in our knowledge of God, which will help us know our Savior in ways we had not expected.

With respect to the raised hands, I am content to stick with the explanation that I have suggested above, but also to allow the mysterious and unexpected elements of this incident to stand as they are. I am often struck in Scripture by how many things defy explanation. Perhaps they are meant to be so. How often do we read a story and say to ourselves, “Why would God behave in such a way?” Despite the explanations we attempt (including my own), the simple fact remains that we are not explicitly told what Moses was doing when he raised his hands. More important, we do not know why the position of his hands had the effect they did.

This for me is the really gnawing element in this passage. If there were an explicit command in this passage from God that Moses should do such and such, at least we could say he was following orders (although this would simply throw the question back on God). Also, it appears as if Moses does not need an explanation. He seems to understand what sort of an effect his actions will have. There is no query on Aaron’s or Hur’s part as to why Moses is raising his hands. They simply see what happens when he lets his hands down and spring into action. In acknowledging some level of puzzlement over this, we join a throng of interpreters who have worked on this passage for well over two millennia.

The Amalekites: prelude to final victory. The complete and seemingly exaggerated destruction of the Amalekites should be seen first in the context of the destruction of the Egyptians. Their utter defeat begs to be compared to what happened to Egypt. This is true even though the Amalekites are not wiped out as the Egyptians were at the sea. We must remember that both the Amalekites and the Egyptians live to fight another day. Both, too, will prove to be a thorn in Israel’s side at other junctures in Israel’s history. The main similarity here is the decisiveness with which both enemies, within two chapters of each other, are defeated.

This is also another example of the divine warrior theme we have encountered elsewhere in Exodus. When God goes to battle against his enemies or the enemies of his people, he takes it personally. We see hints of this already in Genesis with the Flood and the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. Egypt’s death in the sea, as we have seen, is another Flood-like event. The Conquest of the land will entail the complete destruction of the peoples currently inhabiting the land, a point made clear in Deuteronomy 7:1–6.18 Eventually, all God enemies will be utterly destroyed, as we are reminded by the psalmists and prophets (e.g., Ps. 21:10; 94:10; Isa. 34:2; Zech. 12:1–9). These incidents involve us in a larger topic of the “wrath” of God in the Old Testament and how this is to be “balanced” with what appears to many to be a more “open-door policy” in the New Testament.

It is certainly true that God in the Old Testament exhibits wrath. But we must keep two things in mind. (1) God shows his wrath against the nations because they are attempting to get in the way of his redemptive plan. Israel is not just another nation. This tiny people is the vehicle God has chosen through which he will redeem humanity and all of creation. Israel’s redemption is Phase One of that redemptive plan, and thus he guards that plan with jealousy. I admit that this does not solve the problem entirely. For example, why could God not simply bring these other nations along to an increased understanding of himself rather than destroy them? Or why could he not have made the Amalekites favorably disposed toward the Israelites and avoid the conflicts altogether? I do not know. But at the very least we should try to understand God’s “extreme” behavior in the context of redemption as a whole. Sometimes the only way we can accept reasons for why God acts as he does is by faith.

(2) It is false to think of the “God of the Old Testament” (even the term should be repulsive to Christians) as a God of wrath, whereas the God of the New Testament is one of grace and patience. Even a surface reading of the Bible puts such a notion to rest. The Old Testament is replete with evidence of God’s patience and grace with the nations. Moreover, the New Testament is hardly devoid of God’s wrath. His plan to destroy the enemies of his people is no less apparent there. In fact, from a certain perspective the intensity increases. We don’t see the walls of Jericho toppling or godless people dropping like flies. But we do see the power of Satan, the true enemy of God and his people, crumbling daily. God’s warring activity is now directed at him, full blast! The victory has been secured at the resurrection of Christ and will be completed at his second coming.

A number of thoughtful theologians have compared this to the end of the Second World War in Europe. For all intents and purposes, the decisive battle was fought and the war won by the Allies at D-Day, although the final victory did not come until V-Day.19 We are living between D-Day and V-Day. The resurrection assures the final outcome. As Paul puts it, “And having disarmed the powers and authorities, he made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross” (Col. 2:15).

The final victory over God’s enemies is depicted in Revelation. The fall of Babylon is an apocalyptic description not of the destruction of one nation but of all opposition to God, which is spearheaded by Satan. In the final world order described in Revelation 21–22, there will be no place for any opposition to God. All will be made right, and God’s people will live in his presence free from any hostility. Their foes have been utterly vanquished.

Revelation brings up another angle to this theme that should be mentioned, albeit briefly. The nations of Babylon and Egypt (for the latter, see Rev. 11:9) take on a more-than-literal persona. As mentioned above, Babylon represents all opposition to God, that is, the domain of Satan. We find the same thing throughout the intertestamental period, not only with respect to Babylon and Egypt, but Edom and other nations as well. The Amalekites are not mentioned in the New Testament, but it is worth pausing to consider whether we should not think of them in a similar manner.

The Amalekites arrive on the scene at a crucial point in Israel’s history. They come on the scene again in the book of Esther, with a similar agenda in mind, the extermination of the Jewish people.20 So, although there is no explicit New Testament reference to the Amalekites as representing God’s enemies,21 their role in redemptive history is similar to that of the more frequently mentioned countries. I am merely suggesting here that we assign to the Amalekites a similar role. They, along with Babylon and the other nations in their opposition to Israel, are merely prelude to the ultimate battle being waged between the forces of God and those of Satan. They are players in a larger drama. They are early reflexes of a battle that meets its initial defeat at the empty tomb and will meet its final defeat at the Second Coming.

Memorials to the Lord. The final theme to be considered in this section is the role of the altar and the scroll as memorials of God’s redemptive acts. We should note at the outset that the altar Moses builds here is not an altar of sacrifice. It may presage the sacrificial altars that assume a prominent role for the remainder of the Pentateuch, but this is not the function of the altar mentioned in 17:15. Along with others in the Old Testament, this one is a tangible reminder to whoever passes it of what God has done. These nonsacrificial altars were built in response to some appearance, announcement, or act of God, at stages of redemptive significance.

It is likely that already in Genesis 12:6–7 we have an altar built as a reminder, perhaps not so much of what God did but of what he promised to do:

Abram traveled through the land as far as the site of the great tree of Moreh at Shechem. At that time the Canaanites were in the land. The LORD appeared to Abram and said, “To your offspring I will give this land.” So he built an altar there to the LORD, who had appeared to him.

The significance of the altars in Genesis 12:8, 13:4, 18 is likely similar. These are places where Abraham “called on the name of the LORD.” It is doubtful whether sacrifices were offered on these altars, for when sacrifices took place, the Old Testament usually makes this explicit (e.g., 22:9–10). Another altar of note for the patriarchs is the one Isaac builds as a response to God’s appearance to him (26:25). Jacob too builds two altars (33:20; 35:1–7), the first of which has a name (as does that of Ex. 17:15): “El Elohe Israel” (which likely means “El is the God of Israel,” or perhaps “God, the God of Israel”). Genesis 35:7 also cites a name, “El Bethel” (“God of Bethel”; Bethel itself mean “house of God”), though this seems to refer to the area rather than to the altar.

After we read of Moses’ altar in Exodus 17:15, most if not all of the altars from this point on take on a decidedly sacrificial function. It is fair to say, then, that “The LORD is my Banner” is the last in a line of altars that were erected solely as a memorial of God’s redemptive activity (though cf. Josh. 22:34; Judg. 6:24). It should come as no surprise that altars are not prominently mentioned in the New Testament. They appear mainly in descriptions of the Old Testament sacrificial system (1 Cor. 10:18; Heb. 7:13; 9:4) or with respect to practices current in Jesus’ day (Matt. 5:23–24).

No explicit reason is given for why altars as memorials cease in the New Testament, but I suggest it has to do with the transformation of all of Israel’s symbols and practices in light of the resurrection. God has left his final mark in the empty tomb and the indwelling of the Holy Spirit in and among his people. From now on, God is not to be remembered by passing altars of stone in the region of Judea. God’s people will spread his good news throughout every land and people. Moreover, since the purpose of these altars in the Old Testament was to memorialize an event of some redemptive significance, we have the empty tomb as the Christian memorial. It is the act of God on which all subsequent acts are based.

The defeat of the Amalekites is memorialized not only in stone but also on a scroll. As noted above, Exodus 17:14 is the first reference in the Old Testament to writing on a scroll, but it will not be the last. The reasons for such a common practice in the Old Testament is obvious. Ever since the invention of writing, there has been no more efficient and transportable means of communication than writing of some sort, whether on stone, potsherds, scrolls, or, by the second century A.D., codices. If God wants his people to remember something, a good way of doing it is by writing it down, carrying it around, and handing it down to the next generation.

That the apostles maintained this practice of writing down God’s deeds is obvious. The life and ministry of Christ and the acts and writings of some of the apostles are recorded in what Christians have come to call the New Testament. God has always committed to writing moments of redemptive significance.

The significance of both the altar and the scroll in Exodus 17 is that God wants to be remembered and known at some future time when the mere memory of the act itself may grow dim. He therefore provides his people with memorials to keep that memory alive. But this is not simply nostalgia. God has a redemptive plan, in which his people are participants, so he takes steps to assure that who he is and what he has done are always before them. We see, then, that the altar and the scroll perform a similar function to that of the Passover in chapters 12–13 and the Song at the Sea in chapter 15. God’s view is never merely on the present, but also on the future. With every redemptive act, he has future generations in mind. In a manner of speaking, the great memorial left for the church is his Word, which reminds us of who God is and what he has done. It should be our companion until we leave this life and see the culmination of his plan.

Contemporary Significance

THE BATTLES IN our lives. The defeat of the Amalekites is not simply an isolated battle from Israel’s past. It is an early manifestation of a grander and more basic battle, one that comes to a head on the cross and in the empty tomb. It is one battle that is part of a bigger picture. This is the proper perspective from which to apply the defeat of the Amalekites to our lives. The true identity of the enemies of God’s people has finally been unmasked. They are not tribes or nations, kings or princes. They are a spiritual entity, and they have been defeated already. The battle against the “Amalekites” that was to last “from generation to generation” (17:16) has finally come to an end.

This is the good news of the gospel: Christ has triumphed over Satan. As a Christmas hymn (“Break Forth, O Beauteous Heavenly Light”) puts it, “the power of Satan breaking, our peace eternal making.” Yet, as we all know, despite the fact that Satan has lost, the battle rages on every moment we spend on this earth. It is within this grand spiritual perspective that our daily battles must be viewed. Our battles, as Paul said, are against “powers” and “authorities,” against spiritual figures who intend on making us fit for darkness rather than light (Eph. 6:10–12). We are at war daily, so, as good soldiers, we must be on guard.

Against whom do we fight these daily battles? We must be careful here not to label as “spiritual enemies” those that are not. Our enemies are not people whom we happen to find annoying or disrupting, such as mean bosses or politicians we don’t like. Early on in our marriage, my wife and I had a landlady who refused to fix our living room ceiling after it caved in from the weight of downed branches. This was a vexing experience, and it took several weeks before we were able to part company and be compensated for our losses. In the midst of this situation a well-meaning but misguided friend of ours cited Psalm 60:12 as words of encouragement: “With God we will gain the victory, and he will trample down our enemies.”

Now, we may have had a heated disagreement with our landlady about the roof, but this certainly does not qualify her as our “enemy” in a biblical sense. Our enemies are those whose actions have redemptive significance. It is far too easy to pick people with whom we may have some disagreement and fancy that they are our enemies. We do not battle primarily against people who want to cheat us, affect our political system in ways we disagree with, or who want to put shows on television that shouldn’t be there. Many of us should stand up against those types of things, but those who purport such devious views are not the “Amalekites in our lives.”

The real enemies we must guard against are those who can seriously affect our spiritual state, and such enemies (it has been my experience) are rarely easy to label by political, social, and even theological titles. Spiritual warfare is a subtle business. Perhaps this is why Paul admonishes us to put on the armor of God for protection all around, not to fight against earthly forces, but to “take [our] stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms” (Eph. 6:11–12). The weapons he lists are for engaging in spiritual battle: belt of truth, breastplate of righteousness, shield of faith, helmet of salvation, sword of the Spirit (vv. 14–17). Above all is prayer (v. 18). He offers no strategies for gaining social or political influence. These are not the fronts where the battle rages.

Our battle is truly spiritual, and it occurs in the many situations we encounter every day that vie for our attention and attempt to make us less fit for heaven. One of the best books of the twentieth century that I know to plumb the depths of this battle is the popular work by C. S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters. This book is a collection of fictitious letters written by Screwtape, a demon who is a head-tempter, to his nephew Wormwood, a tempter-in-training. The letters give advice from Screwtape for how Wormwood should deal with his “patient,” a man who has recently become a Christian and who is assigned to Wormwood to make him fit for hell.

This little book is full of penetrating insights into the nature of spiritual warfare. I have found particularly helpful Lewis’s grasp of how subtle this battle is. The battle is all around us, and it is waged in many unexpected and barely perceptible ways: the friendships we keep, fear of the future, the words we use with our spouses and children that show our self-centeredness, our avoidance of prayer, the corruption of simple pleasures that God has given us, and so forth.

In other words, the battle does not concern the grand, obvious things that we sometimes think of: the direction our country is headed in or the state of the church at large. How many of our Christian leaders in our own day have focused on these things only to have the shallowness of their own spirituality exposed by some scandal! The true nature of the battle is best seen in the quiet of our own hearts where two powers are fighting for control.

But it is precisely here that we must remember the larger picture. The daily battles to be won must be seen within the context of the cosmic battle that Christ has already won. We see this in principle already in Exodus 17:8–16: The protracted battles between the Israelites and the Amalekites (17:16) must be seen in light of their initial, crushing defeat (17:13) and the fact that their ultimate annihilation is never in doubt (17:14). Again, the analogy of D-Day and V-Day is apt. We battle against spiritual powers today not simply with the belief that victory is in sight, but that the victory has already in principle been truly achieved by Christ, our warrior.22

Living memorials. The application of the altar and the scroll should also be understood ultimately from the point of view of the redemptive significance of the cross and the empty tomb. Of course, we do not go around building altars to memorialize what God has done nor do we record redemptive events in writing. These biblical activities were part of God’s redemptive plan and have come to their final expression in Christ. Hence, we do not mimic these things because we are the recipients, the beneficiaries, of the culmination of God’s redemptive work throughout the Old Testament. Christ has come.

Thus, there are no more altars to be built to remind people of who God is and the steps he has taken to redeem his people. The cross and the empty tomb suffice. And we are living, roaming “memorials” who can attest to the world of God’s goodness in Christ. We are not being “biblical” if we find some modern analogue for the altars that Moses and the patriarchs built. We are truly biblical when we see how what these altars represent—lasting testimonies to God’s acts—find their clearest and most concrete expression in what God has done in Christ.

The same goes for the scroll. The writing that took place in the Old Testament of the events and commands of God, are, in a word, authoritative. They were meant to convey God’s truth for generations to come. Christians today may keep prayer journals or diaries (good practices, in my opinion), but these are not the same thing as writing authoritative words meant to convey the work and nature of God to peoples of all nations and races and through all time.

Let me suggest two ways in which these elements may be applied to our lives. (1) As I just indicated, God has recorded in the Bible the redemptively significant events. Nothing can be added to this. It is up to us to put this scroll of remembrance before ourselves and our children so that we too may come to know better the God we worship. We are to teach it and meditate on it, for it offers us the most valuable lesson of all, that God loves his people and has taken great measures to make them fit for heaven.

(2) Perhaps, too, we can make an application on a more personal level. Like Moses and the patriarchs, we all have moments in our lives when we can look back and clearly see God’s presence. Again, this is not the same thing as when Abraham or Moses saw God’s hand in their lives. They were actors in the unfolding drama of God’s redemptive plan. Their lives were significant from a redemptive-historical point of view whereas ours are not. But this is certainly not to say that God does not work in our lives! We all have “markers” in our lives that attest to God’s presence—“Ebenezers,” to use the biblical term. This word comes from 1 Samuel 7:12: “Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen. He named it Ebenezer, saying, ‘Thus far has the LORD helped us.’” Ebenezer in Hebrew means “stone of help,” and it commemorated God’s help in defeating the Philistines.

So, in the famous hymn “Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing,” we read in the second stanza, “Here I raise mine Ebenezer, Hither by Thy help I’m come.” We, too, have such markers we have set up in our lives to remind us of God’s presence. I can easily look back on a number of circumstances that I had no control over whatsoever and (I suspect precisely for that reason) worked out better than I had ever imagined: the grace God has given me in my family, the inexplicable turn of events that brought me to graduate school and my present teaching position, the many doors that were closed for me that in retrospect desperately needed to stay closed despite my efforts to open them.

As I look back on some of these things, I can see that they are much more than detached memories or warm feelings of times when things went well for me. They are not simply reminiscences but towers of granite in my memory that remind me not of my own accomplishments but of God’s. They, too, are in an extended sense redemptively significant events. That is, they are not random nor do they result in making us better people or more productive members of society. Rather, God designs and uses such events to shape us into creatures that resemble more and more the risen Christ. They are places where God meets us in the desert wanderings of our lives to prepare us for the ultimate goal he has destined us for. They are the “altars” of our lives with names of their own: “I remember the time when God saw to it that we had a decent place to live”; “I remember when God gave me the strength to resist the temptation to fall into sin.”

In fact, there is no time in our lives when God is not working for our good (cf. Rom. 8:28). Every moment we breathe the air of this world is a personal memorial to God’s presence, if we only learn to look at it that way. As I write this it is nearly New Year’s Day 1998, and the local paper has been carrying a story on drunk driving from various perspectives (police check points, bartenders’ responsibilities to check excess drinking, etc.). The latest story is from the perspective of people who have lost family members to drunk drivers in past New Year’s Eves. One comment struck me. It was from a father who lost his only child, a twenty-three-year-old daughter, to a drunken fool behind the wheel of a car. He said, “I have nothing but bitterness in my heart. I will never be happy again.” Any parent can well imagine his heartache.

I shudder to think what my reaction would be in the same situation. I would hope, however, that it would be different. If God is always with us and if every moment is a memorial to his presence, should there not also be some hope that eventually we will see God more clearly even in the most tragic of life’s turns and twists? I do not want to dismiss this father’s agony and anger, but I am trying to look at it from the point of view of the resurrection, which perhaps he does not share. Doesn’t Jesus somehow make a difference, even here—especially here? By contrast, I think of mature Christians I have known who have suffered much and I cannot help but notice the difference. It may take time, but we should eventually reach a point where we can look back and say, “I see God was there, too. I have come to know him more clearly as a result.”

This is not a crutch to make life more bearable. This is staring square in the eye the worst this life has to offer and saying, “God is still with me. This has a higher purpose. Here, too, I raise my Ebenezer.”