Original Meaning

THIS SECTION OF Exodus is punctuated by two famous stories: the golden calf (ch. 32) and Moses’ radiant face (34:29–35). The former is the quintessential example of rebellion in the Old Testament; the latter is somewhat firmly pressed on our Christian consciousness because of Paul’s reference to it in 2 Corinthians 3:7–18.

Chapters 32–34 cannot be separated without affecting the integrity of the whole. To chop up this narrative into smaller units—however convenient—will only disrupt the message they are intended to convey: rebellion, mediation, and restoration. Hence, we must proceed as we have with the plagues, law, and the tabernacle by dealing with a large amount of material in one block.

The rapid pace with which we move from the final instructions for the tabernacle (31:18) to the rebellion at the foot of the mountain (ch. 32) is almost numbing. The reader is not at all prepared for what is about to transpire. There is a brief notation of Moses’ delay in coming down the mountain (32:1a), and suddenly we find ourselves caught up in an event that could threaten to unravel God’s entire plan. There is no deliberation, no plotting, no indication as to what actually motivates the Israelites to do what they did. All we read is that they see that Moses has been delayed and so they gather around Aaron to make their request.1

Aaron fashions a calf out of gold, and the Israelites proclaim it to be the god that brought them out of Egypt. This amounts to an attempt to undo what has just taken place in the preceding thirty-one chapters: the Exodus, the covenant, and the initiation of God’s presence in the tabernacle. In fact, with respect to the last point, that this rebellion is placed in the middle of the tabernacle section suggests it is a rebellion against what the tabernacle represents, or perhaps the message of Exodus as a whole that culminates in the tabernacle. In any event, for one brief but horrifying moment, God almost gives them what they seem to want, were it not for Moses’ mediation.

Our own familiarity with the story may lead us to the hasty conclusion that this is nothing less than a gross act of rebellion, a move to reject the God of Israel and join up with the pagan gods of the surrounding peoples. There is, of course, truth to this, but more seems to be going on here. We must remember that Moses is the only means of contact that the Israelites have with God. In fact, if we look back at 20:19, it was at Israel’s own request that Moses act as a buffer: “Speak to us yourself and we will listen. But do not have God speak to us or we will die.” But now Moses is taking a long time to return from his meeting with God. In light of this, it is possible to read the story not as an act of godless rebellion, but as an act of panic on the part of a people who fear they have lost their contact with God.2

There is more to Israel’s act, however, than simply missing Moses and panicking at the thought of being disconnected to God. They approach Aaron and refer to Moses as “this fellow Moses,” a phrase that in both Hebrew and English certainly communicates a sense of derision and contempt. It may well be that their reaction is a mixture of some panic and a contempt for Moses. We have already seen such contempt in Exodus and will see it again later in the Pentateuch. Perhaps the contempt here is a result of the delay. It is like a child waiting to be picked up from school. The parent is over an hour late. The child panics, becomes worried, and then just gets angry, taking it out on the parent when he or she arrives.

However we explain their motives, the Israelites will later be punished by God for what they are about to do. This root problem is what we have seen earlier in 14:10–14: a lack of trust in God. By making the golden calf, the Israelites adopt a pagan representation of their God, who had already demonstrated in no uncertain terms his mastery over the pagan gods of Egypt.

Aaron responds to this threatening situation in a way that, perhaps, we can hardly blame him for. He tells the people to take off their gold earrings, which he will then use to form an idol in the shape of a calf. In light of the repeated references to gold in the tabernacle section, it is hard not to see the connection. By building the calf out of gold the people want what the tabernacle was intended to do—provide a concrete point of contact between the people and God.

The choice of a calf is not arbitrary. It was a common idol image in the ancient Near East.3 It is commonly accepted by Old Testament scholars today that the ancients did not equate an idol with the god, but it was some sort of earthly representation of that god. Specifically, it was thought that calves or bulls functioned as pedestals for the gods seated or standing over them. In this sense, the calf is analogous to the ark (the fact that both are made of gold strengthens this connection).

This is important to remember because it is unlikely that the calf itself is being declared “god” by the Israelites, as if they actually think that it has brought them out of Egypt. Rather, like the ark, it is the place above which God is enthroned, thus ensuring his presence with them. The calf is thus a pagan representation of the true God. Put otherwise, the Israelites are not saying that this calf and not Yahweh brought them out of Egypt, but that Yahweh’s presence is now associated with this piece of gold. By making the golden calf, Israel has broken not the first commandment but the second.

Aaron asks for gold and the people respond willingly, an act that parallels nicely the freewill offering the people will make for the tabernacle. It is becoming more clear that the calf represents an alternate point of contact between God and his people. But what does it mean for the Israelites to say, “These are your gods, O Israel”? What does it mean to call one calf “gods”? We can look at this issue grammatically. The Hebrew word for “God” and “gods” is the same, ʾ ^elohim. The form is grammatically plural, and whether the sense of the word is singular or plural depends on the surrounding context. What adds to the confusion is that the pronoun “these” and the verb “brought you up” are also plural. In this case, therefore, because of the plural pronoun and verb, ʾ ^elohim seems to suggest a plurality of gods.4

Such a statement may have been as odd for ancient readers as for us. Perhaps it is intended to make us stop and think what a terrible thing is happening. As Sarna suggests, “The plural usage may be a scribal device to emphasize the unacceptable nature of the object.”5 In other words, the biblical writer is accentuating the Israelites’ sin. What they are doing is horrible. It is not just idolatry, one of the standard practices of pagan religion, but polytheism as well!

Moreover, the Israelites claim that “these gods” are the ones who have “brought [them] up out of Egypt.” Again, I do not think this means that they are claiming that this calf and not Yahweh has been responsible for their deliverance, only that this calf is the earthly representation of Yahweh. But this does not make the offense any less severe! We must remember how the Ten Commandments begins: “I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt” (20:2). Israel’s act here is more than simply idolatry. By constructing a calf of gold and claiming that this pagan symbol can in any way be remotely associated with their deliverance from Egypt, the Israelites are in effect turning the Exodus experience on its head. They are going back to the first words God spoke on the mountain, the heart of the law in Exodus, and saying, “No, we see things differently.” It is hard to imagine a worse thing they could have done.

To put it another way, by building the calf and reciting what was earlier said in Exodus 20:2, Israel is fashioning a new, false religion according to the pattern of what God revealed to them earlier. This continues in the following verses. In verse 5 Aaron builds an altar, a parallel to the altar that will be built for the tabernacle. He proclaims that there will be a “festival to the LORD” (ḥag layhwb) the next day (cf. the same or similar expression in 10:9; 12:14; 13:6). Throughout Exodus we read the refrain that Israel is to leave Egypt to hold a festival to the Lord. That festival is the Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread. But the Israelites at the foot of Mount Sinai turn it into something else.

At least two of the phrases in verse 6 are reminiscent of what we have seen in chapter 24, which is a celebration of the confirmation of the covenant God made with the Israelites. In 24:4–5 Moses rises early and sacrifices burnt and fellowship offerings. The similar wording in 32:6 suggests that the festival here is a reversal—indeed, a perversion—of the true celebration of chapter 24. Israel’s actions are systematically, step by step, undoing what has been done.

The same goes for the eating and drinking mentioned at the end of 32:6. Remember that this is what the leaders of Israel did in 24:11 after they were given a brief glimpse of God himself. Now the Israelites, who were not given that earlier glimpse, fashion themselves as being “in God’s presence” and partake of a covenant meal of their own. An added twist is that they also engage in what the NIV translates as “revelry.” The Hebrew word is ṣaḥeq, which in a number of places has connotations of sexual activity (see Gen. 26:8; 39:14, 17). To say the least, this is not the festival Israel was intended to celebrate at the foot of God’s holy mountain.

God reports the activities of the Israelites in verses 1–6 to Moses (vv. 7–10). By referring to the Israelites as “your people” (i.e., Moses’ people), we see already an ominous hint of what is to come. Israel is no longer “my [God’s] people.” Up to this point in Exodus God has been zealous to refer to Israel as “my people” or even “my firstborn son” (4:22), but here he has had enough. They have “become corrupt” (v. 7). They have been “quick to turn away” (v. 8). The drama of Israel’s sudden turnabout after all that has happened to them, after all they have seen, should leave our heads shaking. In verse 9 God continues to use derisive language to speak of Israel, referring to them as “these people,” a phrase that brings to mind the Israelites’ reference to Moses as “this fellow” (v. 1).

God’s solution is to have his “anger . . . burn against them” (v. 10) and start over with Moses: “Then I will make you [Moses] into a great nation.” The devastation of Israel’s actions cannot be stated more clearly. God’s words here reiterate the promise to the patriarchs that we have seen again and again in the course of the book. The Exodus is about God’s keeping a promise to the patriarchs—a theological impetus that has driven the march out of Egypt and the trek to the Promised Land. By saying what he does to Moses, God is in effect going back to Genesis 12 and posing Moses as a new Abraham. God is threatening to wipe out the Israelites and to start over again.

But this is not where the story ends. Moses comes through. Rebellion is followed by mediation. Earlier in Exodus Moses argued with God out of his own selfish, almost petty motives (3:11–4:17). Now, however, he argues with God on behalf of the people—he has learned to put their interests first. He does this by reminding God that rejecting Israel at this point will have widespread implications. He reminds the Lord, perhaps gently, that Israel is “your people, whom you brought out of Egypt” (v. 11, italics added). He reminds God of the very things that God himself regularly enjoins the Israelites to remember, that God delivered Israel with “great power and a mighty hand.” He also reminds the Lord that his own honor is at stake. Had he not just finished dismantling the Egyptian army and their gods? Will he now turn around and give these very same enemies a reason to rejoice in Yahweh’s defeat? Never!

Moses bases his argument ultimately on the very element that God seems to have discounted in the previous verses: the promise to the patriarchs (v. 13). In fact, Moses quotes God’s own words to Abraham, that he promised to make Abraham’s descendants as numerous as the stars and give them the Promised Land (see Gen. 12:7; 15:5).

Moses’ argument has the desired outcome. God turns from his anger and does not bring about the threatened disaster (v. 14). What can we say about this change of heart? It certainly seems that Moses, through argument and pleading, has been able to get God to alter his plans. To put it in plain English, Moses gets God to change his mind. There is really no other way to read this, and we should not try to avoid it.

This may, it is true, introduce a problem or two in our own thinking about the nature of God. As the standard line of thinking goes, if God can be convinced to act in a way he has originally intended not to act, then we cannot think of him as sovereign in any true sense. He is just merely “powerful” but not all-knowing. The portrait of God presented here in 32:11–14 seems to have more in common with the capriciousness of Greek and Roman gods, prone to fits of anger and who must be appeased, than to the steady, sovereign Creator of the universe.

How can God’s sovereignty be reconciled to the fact that he here changes his mind? In thinking this through one should keep in mind that this is a true dilemma. God is not merely acting in verse 10 when he says that he will destroy Israel. He is not goading Moses into pleading with him. He means it. As far as we know, God’s intention is to destroy Israel.

I suggest that we should look at this in the broadest context possible. The Bible gives us a varied portrait of the nature of God. At times we seem to be peering into heaven itself. At other times, the Bible presents God in human pictures. The dialogue of verses 11–14 is more in keeping with the latter category than the former. The reason for this here seems to be that the writer is focusing his attention on Moses’ role as intercessor, not on the inner workings of God’s psyche (as if that is ever the topic in the Bible!). Moses has finally begun to grow into the role he so adamantly rejected when he first met God on Mount Horeb.

However we seek to understand this interchange, Moses’ pleading works. He then turns to go down the mountain with the two tablets in his hands, which have God’s writing on both the front and back. The author mentions this in order to prepare the reader for the devastation of the breaking of these tablets (v. 19). Moses will smash something very sacred.

On his way down the mountain, Moses meets up with Joshua (v. 17), which is where we expect to find him (cf. 24:13). Joshua is unaware of what is happening in the camp below. Moses knows, of course, but Joshua has been given no advanced warning. He surmises, on the basis of the sounds that he hears, that there must be war in the camp—a conclusion perhaps expected of a military leader. Moses informs Joshua of what is actually happening (32:18):

It is not the sound of victory,

it is not the sound of defeat;

it is the sound of singing that I hear.

No, Joshua, this is not war. It is neither victory nor peace. It is “singing.” What kind of singing could it be that it would have been mistaken by a warrior for battle sounds?!

Moses’ description of the type of sound he hears is significant. We should not, on the basis of this description, envision a group of people singing raucous songs down below, wine goblets swaying back and forth. “Singing” is probably an allusion to the singing Israel did after the victory at the sea (the same root [ʿanah] is used in this verse and in 15:21). As we have seen, the Israelites have already taken certain steps to fashion their new cultic trappings to imitate what they have experienced by God’s hand. Here is another example. The Israelites look to the calf and say, as it were, “These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of Egypt—you are the ones who defeated Pharaoh and his army in the sea.” As in their celebration of God’s victory over the Egyptians in chapter 15, their celebration of this “god of the Exodus” is complete with singing. The parody is becoming more obvious.

Moses reacts to what he sees in the camp by throwing the tablets to the ground, breaking them to pieces. Moreover, his “anger burns” against the people (v. 19; cf. the similar reference to God’s anger in v. 10). But whereas Moses successfully appeased God’s wrath, Moses, upon actually seeing the depth to which his people have sunk, does not follow his own advice.

The breaking of the tablets is more than just a graphic, even impulsive, depiction of intense anger. Like so much of this narrative, it is symbolic. By smashing the tablets on which is written the law—by God’s finger, no less—the law is symbolically undone. Moses’ act says to the Israelites that if they are not prepared to obey the law, they do not deserve to have it.

This would not bring a sense of relief to them, as if now they are finally rid of the burden of God’s law. Rather, this shocks them into a clearer understanding of just what it is they have done. True, they may have been able to imitate the portions of their Exodus experience, albeit wholly inadequately, by making the calf and proclaiming it to be the god of the Exodus. They may have used gold to imitate the splendor of the ark and the tabernacle, and they may have appointed Aaron priest of their new religion. But one thing they have not been able to duplicate, which is essential to the Exodus experience, is the law. Their actions are wholly contrary to that law. The smashing of the tablets, with one resounding crash, tells the Israelites below that the party is over. Their attempt to create a religion of their own design has failed.

One curious element concerns the grinding of the golden calf into powder, mixing it with water, and making the Israelites drink it. This is obviously some sort of ritual that the text itself does not explain, but that to the original audience was clear enough. A number of commentators point out the similarity between verse 20 and the following Ugaritic text that describes the goddess Anat’s treatment of the god Mot:6

She seizes Motu,7 son of ’Ilu:

with a knife she splits him,

with a winnowing-fork she winnows him.

with fire she burns him,

with grindstones she pulverizes him,

in the field she sows him.

This text provides a helpful background for what we read in 32:20. Pulverizing something into powder and scattering it implies “total annihilation.”8 True, the two texts are in no way to be understood as exact parallels. Anat kills an enemy and grinds him into power; Moses smashes the golden calf and grinds it into powder. Anat scatters the powder in a field; Moses mixes it with water.

Why are the Israelites made to drink the concoction, and what does that mean? The Ugaritic parallel gives us no help here. It may be helpful, however, to bring Numbers 5:12–31 into the discussion. This section describes an elaborate ceremony whereby a woman suspected of adultery is made to drink a mixture of water and dust from the tabernacle in order to determine her guilt or innocence. Even though Exodus 32 does not draw on this ceremony, it may well be the significance of the act described here.

In verses 27–28 the Levites kill three thousand men. Why just this number, and who is unfortunate enough to be counted among that number? Taking our cue again from Numbers 5:12–31, it may be that the guilty parties are exposed by the drinking ceremony, thus enabling the Levites to know whom to kill.9 How ironic that the law they have rejected is now the means by which their guilt is ascertained. They may have rejected the law, but they cannot escape its power.

Verses 21–24 record a confrontation between Moses and Aaron that appears somewhat pathetic and almost comical on the surface: “What did these people do to you, that you led them into such great sin?” Moses suggests that Aaron’s actions are a way of getting back at the Israelites, whom he calls “these people” (again a derisive term). Perhaps the question is sarcastic: “Aaron, you know better! You are the high priest! The only way I can see you doing something so stupid, to commit such a ‘great sin,’10 is that ‘these people’ did something to you first!”

Aaron responds by trying to appease Moses’ anger, as Moses did earlier with God. Aaron more or less reports things as they happened. He even tells Moses that, yes, he told the Israelites to take off their gold jewelry. What he does not tell Moses, however, is that he had a hand in the actual making of the calf. He claims there that all he did was throw the gold into the fire and “out came this calf” (v. 24).

There are two ways of looking at Aaron’s response. Either this answer is so lame that it serves no other purpose than to portray Aaron as a weasel and to expose the utter madness of the act, or it has a more serious meaning. I am strongly inclined toward the former, not only because Aaron’s answer does indeed appear ridiculous (a circular argument, I know), but also because Moses himself gives no response, as if to say that he will not even dignify it with an answer.

H. Brichto, however, feels the latter option has greater merit.11 To him, Aaron’s answer is not a lame excuse but a claim that the event is a miracle. Moses’ silence, therefore, is an indication that he accepts the story, not that he rejects it. The fact that it is a miracle, however, does not legitimate the idol, but serves “to demonstrate that faithlessness to His will is unreasonable even when reason itself is called into question by the occurrence of a miracle.”12

Brichto’s argument is worthy of serious consideration, though I am still more inclined to think of Aaron’s words as an attempt to divest himself of any blame. Aaron is in effect saying, “Hey, don’t look at me. I don’t know how it got there.” What convinces me of this interpretation is that Aaron has changed the story, deliberately concealing the fact that he fashioned the calf with a tool (v. 4). Note also the writer’s comment that Aaron let the people “get out of control” (v. 25), which suggests that he (the writer) does not buy the story.

In the wake of this disaster, it is the Levites who rally to Moses’ side. They are the ones who will exact punishment. The narrative seems to imply that Moses issues a general call for volunteers, but only the Levites—all of them—respond. Are we to conclude that no one else from any of the other tribes is “for the LORD”? It seems so, at least if we press the matter literally. Yet we have seen throughout Exodus the writer’s use of hyperbole. Such a device is never used randomly but purposefully. The purpose here is to accent the faithfulness, amid the chaos of rebellion, of the Levites, to whom God has charged the maintenance of the tabernacle. The fact that all the Levites come forward indicates that God’s house is still in order. The rebellion is grievous and serious, but it is not the final word. The guilty parties will be put to death—and by those responsible for maintaining order in the community, the Levites.

The death penalty here is not extreme, at least in the context of Exodus. We should recall that the instructions for the tabernacle must be carried out in detail on pain of death. No less can be expected for those whose actions attempt to overturn the covenant itself. Thus, after the grisly sentence is carried out, the Levites are in effect rewarded for their faithful service. They are “set apart to the LORD” (v. 29). This is an unmistakable echo of the setting apart of the priests in 28:41, where the same Hebrew idiom is used for consecration: “fill your hand.”

The next day Moses announces his intention to go up the mountain to make atonement for the people (32:30). The text implies two levels of guilt in the making of the golden calf. The “more guilty” party, perhaps those directly or extensively involved, have been put to death by the Levites. The rest of the Israelites are apparently also guilty in some sense, otherwise atonement would not have to be made; but they are not so guilty as to deserve death along with the three thousand. Perhaps the remaining Israelites are guilty by virtue of the notion of “collective guilt” so prevalent in the Old Testament, or perhaps because they engage in the revelry but to a lesser extent. Still, it is hard to avoid the clear implication of verse 31 that those remaining after the Levite purge are guilty of having made “gods of gold.”

Most commentators see a connection between Moses’ atonement for the people and the ark.13 The Hebrew root for both atonement and the cover of the ark is kpr. As the high priest would enter the tabernacle and make atonement for the people, Moses once again ascends Mount Sinai, the prototabernacle, to do the same.

In his attempt to make atonement by pleading for the life of his people, Moses’ argument essentially amounts to “take me instead.” He has certainly changed from his first encounter with God on Mount Horeb. He is neither timid nor reluctant to be the mediator between God and his people, and he is showing his commitment to the task by his willingness to pay the ultimate price. To be blotted out of the book of life is not asking to be eternally condemned (as we might be tempted to think), but to die (see Isa. 4:3; Jer. 22:30; Ezek. 13:9; cf. Ps. 69:28). This stands to reason from the context, for death was precisely the penalty inflicted on the three thousand. The Lord responds by rejecting Moses’ offer (Ex. 32:33). Sinners, not the guiltless, will be blotted out—for now at least.

That is the only explanation God gives. The Lord then tells Moses to continue on the journey with the angel leading them (v. 34). The guilt of the people, however, will not be swept under the rug; in time they will be punished. It seems that a compromise of sorts has been reached between God and Moses. The mediator has negotiated a solution that will guarantee Israel’s existence and keep God close by them, but God still reserves his right to punish later on.

The timing and form of this punishment is indicated in verse 35: “The LORD struck the people with a plague.” We do not know what type of plague, but it is obviously not a destruction on the grand scale that might be inferred from the previous verses. We do not know how many or even if anyone died. What is most interesting about verse 35 is the syntax. The NIV presents one valid option: “And the LORD struck the people with a plague because of what they did with the calf Aaron made.” The Hebrew allows for another option: “And the LORD struck the people with a plague because they made (ʿsh) the calf that Aaron made (ʿsh).” Both the people and Aaron are said to “make” the calf. But how can the people make the calf that Aaron made? I suggest that the ambiguity is intentional. It lays blame equally on both Aaron and the people.

The story continues with tension and suspense (33:1–6). It seems as though things have been patched up between God and his people. He tells them to “leave this place” (i.e., “Mount Horeb,” v. 6) and continue on their journey to the Promised Land. The angel will go before them and drive out the inhabitants of the land. The opening verses of this passage reiterate the earlier promise to Moses in 3:8, which is itself a reiteration of God’s recurring promise to the patriarchs. All seems well and good.

Nevertheless there is a problem. God announces that he himself will not be going with them (33:3). Perhaps we see hints of this already in verse 1, where God refers to Israel as “the people you [Moses] brought up out of Egypt” rather than “my people I brought up out of Egypt.” Note also verse 2, where God promises to send “an angel” rather than “the angel.”14

This hinting gives way to the blunt announcement in verse 3: “I will not go with you.” The significance of this turn of events cannot be stressed too highly. The whole purpose of the Exodus was for God and his people to be together. God’s presence with them will be firmly established in the proposed tabernacle. By saying “go ahead, but you’re going without me,” the events of the previous thirty-one chapters are being undone. This is not merely a setback; it means the end of the road.

The reason God gives for not going with them is twofold: They are a stiffnecked, stubborn people, and God is afraid he “might destroy [them] on the way.” Again, we see a very “human” portrait of God. The Lord does not know how he might react at some point in the journey; he does not seem to trust himself to control his anger. Thus, it is better that he not go at all. We should resist the temptation to gloss over this description of God. This is God’s Word and this is how he is described. We should not dismiss it on the basis of what we “know” God to be like. As we have seen above, the writer is not concerned to reveal to us the absolute, abstract essence of God, but God in the context of his dealings with his people.

The people’s response is appropriate. They mourn, and as a posture of mourning, they do not adorn themselves in any ornaments (perhaps jewelry), and what ornaments they do wear they strip off. We are left not really knowing what will happen to Moses or the Israelites. It is a tension that will be maintained and developed further in 34:6–7. But for now, the worst is over. Moses intercedes for the people and God is appeased. There is a collective sigh of relief, but the relationship has not yet been fully restored.

The relevance of verses 7–11, which refer to the tent that Moses pitches outside the camp, is a source of bafflement. Commentators regularly point out how strange this section is in the context of what has just transpired.15 Certainly, the significance of this passage is not easy to discern. What, if anything, does it contribute to the flow of the story?

There are two ways of approaching this question. (1) It may be, as Fretheim suggests, that these verses are a lull in the action, intended to augment the tension with which the previous section ended.16 Hence, it is unnecessary to ponder the possible logical connection of this section to its surrounding context.

(2) Others argue, however, that this passage does indeed follow logically from the golden calf narrative. I side with this latter approach. Although this brief episode serves to create a dramatic tension of sorts, it does more. God has just threatened to break off communication with his people. The tabernacle that is to be built, instructions for which were given over seven chapters, no longer seems certain of being completed. The fact that Moses pitches a tent and calls it a “tent of meeting” is no accident. It should be understood as an alternate “tabernacle” in which at least Moses can have access to God.17 The people do not have such access; this tent is pitched “some distance away” (v. 7). The cloud accompanies Moses alone, not the people (v. 9). The people simply watch from home and worship as Moses enters.

It is the events of chapter 32 that prompt the action of 33:7–11. The people have nearly driven God to the point of no return. God must now “connect” to the people at a distance, in a simple tent, with Moses alone in the vicinity. Still, the fact that any step is taken to restore the relationship is a source of encouragement. The fact that a temporary tent of meeting is set up and that God does meet with Moses as a representative of the people signals to the reader that God has not entirely abandoned Israel. This so-called “tent of meeting” will soon give way to the splendor of the tabernacle, the true Tent of Meeting. The cloud will soon descend to guide the entire camp.

In the tent the Lord speaks to Moses “face to face” (v. 11), no doubt an expression of intimacy and not to be understood literally.18 This statement is not merely intended to make some disconnected comment about Moses’ status before God. It is meant to give the proper setting for the deeply personal conversation that follows. For this reason, I am not convinced that verses 7–11 describe a recurring event, which is how the NIV interprets it: “Moses used to take a tent . . . whenever Moses went out . . . whenever the people saw . . . the LORD would speak to Moses” (italics added). I do admit, though, that the NIV’s translation is possible.19

But verses 10–11 can also indicate a single action and can be translated:

So the people saw the pillar of cloud standing at the entrance to the tent; they all stood and worshiped, each at the entrance to his tent. Then the LORD spoke to Moses face to face, as a man speaks with his friend. Then Moses returned to the camp, but his young aide Joshua son of Nun did not leave the tent.

If this translation is accepted, verses 12–23 recount the conversation between Moses and God implied in verse 11. If the translation in the NIV is accepted, a stronger case is made for verses 7–11 being essentially a lull in the action and no more.

The conversation between God and Moses begins with the latter issuing a challenge. “You have been telling me, ‘Lead these people,’ but you have not let me know whom you will send with me.” What is Moses asking for here? Does he want to know who will go before them and lead, such as the angel? Perhaps. But Moses may also be asking, “I know you want me to lead, but which people are going out with me?” The Hebrew verb šlḥ (send) has elsewhere in Exodus referred to the people God is sending out of Egypt (e.g., 5:1). In other words, Moses wants to know who will be left after the purge of 33:5? Whom will Moses be leading out? Are there any Israelites left who are still deserving of that honor?

Such an understanding of 33:12 provides a different perspective from which to read the conversation to follow. When Moses continues, “You have said, ‘I know you by name and you have found favor with me,’”20 he seems to be saying, “I know how special I am to you, but what about everybody else?” Moses does not want to make the journey alone. He sees no honor in being the only one to reach Canaan. So, he reminds God in verse 13, “Remember that this nation is your people.”

In this respect, God’s response in verse 14 can be seen as somewhat of a veiled denial to Moses’ pleading: “My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.” In other words, we have here the answer to what God was pondering in verse 5. He has made his decision: The people will be left behind. This is what God means when he says he will go with you: It is Moses alone (the Hebrew word “you” is singular). It is he who will be given rest. Rest should not be understood psychologically, as if God is promising that Moses’ mind will be put to ease.21 It is an expression used in the Pentateuch (Deut. 3:20; 12:10; 25:10) for entering the land and receiving rest from engaging enemies in war.22 Hence, what God seems to be saying to Moses, albeit subtly, is, “Don’t worry Moses. I’ll be with you.”

This perspective also helps makes sense of verses 15–17. Moses responds by asking that God’s Presence go up “with us,” meaning all the people, not just Moses. He is not giving in. If in verse 14 God was promising that his presence would be with all the people (taking the singular “you” as a plural, which is certainly possible in Hebrew), why does Moses keep pressing the point in verse 15? Why would he ask for the very thing that God has just conceded? It makes more sense to read verse 14 as referring to Moses alone and verse 15 to be Moses’ gentle retort.

In other words, the argument of verses 12–16 serves the singular purpose of ensuring that the people will not be left behind. The clincher for Moses is verse 16, which, like 32:11–14, is an appeal to God’s reputation among the people of the world: If God’s Presence is not with us, the people, then no one will know that Moses and the people are special.

The argument concludes by God’s promising to do as Moses asked (v. 17). Why? Because he is “pleased” with Moses and knows him “by name.” God will be present with the people for Moses’ sake. Once again, Moses has succeeded in moving God to compassion.

The following verses (vv. 18–23), where Moses asks to see God’s glory, must be understood within this context.23 This is not simply to satisfy his curiosity or some deep spiritual longing. He is in effect asking God for some demonstration of the promise he has just made. He is asking God to “put it in writing.”

God’s response to Moses’ request is a bit unexpected. Moses asks to see God’s glory, by which is meant no doubt some visible sign of God’s presence with his people. Earlier (e.g., 16:10; 24:16), God’s glory took the form of the cloud. In 24:17 it was the fire. But here God says that he will cause all his “goodness” to pass in front of Moses. What does this mean? Sarna suggests that it carries covenantal overtones.24 That is, having God’s goodness pass in front25 implies that the covenant between God and the people is being reestablished.

Moreover, God again proclaims his name, “the LORD,” to Moses. This is an allusion to the initial encounter in 3:14–15, where God first proclaimed his name to Moses. The fact that God here reiterates the key phrase from the beginning of his call to Moses suggests that after the disaster of chapter 32, God is willing to start over, and Moses is once again called upon to lead his people. In chapter 3 God revealed himself in a striking manner, the burning bush. Now Moses receives another revelation of God’s presence (33:21–23). In both passages, the divine name Yahweh is proclaimed. This episode amounts, then, to another call narrative. After the worship of the golden calf threatened to undo God’s work, God renews his promise to bring the people to the Promised Land under Moses’ leadership. The parallels between this covenant renewal and the previous initiation of that covenant will be seen more clearly in 34:1–7.

The meaning of God’s words in 33:19b are not clear in the context. What does it mean that his “mercy” and “compassion” are at his will? Does this connect at all to the surrounding words? Is this nothing more than a statement of God’s arbitrariness, to have compassion on whomever he wills? Although a definitive answer to these questions eludes us, I suggest it is a comment on the Exodus in general. We must resist the temptation to read this statement in terms of personal salvation. The reference here is to the Israelites, those on whom the Lord has had mercy and compassion. It is a summary of what God has done for Israel in bringing them out of Egypt, an act of pure mercy.

Finding the relevance of 33:20 in this context is not easy. It makes sense, however, if we equate what Moses means in verse 18 by “glory” with what God means in verse 20 by “face.” Moses asks to see God’s glory. God says, however, that he will show Moses his goodness and proclaim his name. His face, however, he cannot see. Moses’ request is to a certain extent denied, and for his own good. To see God’s face/glory means death.

But this explanation is hard to square with verses 21–23, where God intends to do precisely what he has just said he will not do. He will place Moses in a cleft in a rock and cover him with his hand while his “glory passes by.” Moses will indeed see God’s glory but only the back, not the face. Apparently God has compromised his denial of 33:20. The purpose of this theophany, as suggested above, is to draw more clearly the parallel between Moses’ commission in chapter 3 and his “recommission” here in chapter 33.

Verse 23 is a captivating image. God is “there” in some tangible form, passing by in front of Moses. The anthropomorphism is apparent, but we should not conclude, on the basis that God does not have a body, that Moses does not see anything. He most certainly does see something, something that God himself refers to as his back. This is not to imply that God appears to Moses in bodily form, only that he sees something. If we dwell on what precisely Moses sees, we lose sight of the point of the story as a whole. No one knows what it means to speak of God’s hand, back, and face, but perhaps this is precisely what is intended. God’s appearance is a mystery, a mystery that even Moses himself is able to see only partially.

This is the most elevated glimpse of God Moses has ever had and will have. This is not the burning bush, which prompted Moses’ curiosity to take a closer look. This is not a series of disasters, as we saw in the plagues and the parting of the sea. This is not the miraculous giving of manna and quail. Moses has gotten to know the God of Abraham much better since then. He has seen his mighty power and has come to understand better what God intends to do with his people. Their relationship has deepened, and so, too, the degree to which God reveals himself to Moses. So, unlike the relatively “tame” theophany of chapter 3, Moses now catches a glimpse of God that, if God were to remove his hand, would bring death even to him.

As with the theophanies in Exodus 3 and 24, this one serves a similar function. It is a boost of God’s presence for the task that lies ahead. In chapter 3 Moses’ encounter with God prepares him for return to Egypt and for leading the people out. In chapter 24 the leaders of Israel are permitted a glimpse of God’s throne and feet, thus reinforcing their authority for the journey ahead. Now, after the disaster of chapter 32, when all seems lost, Moses is recommissioned with a seriousness not seen in the previous theophanies. His authority as God’s chosen leader is thus emphasized amid the near disqualification of the people. It is safe to say that such a heightened vision of God is required, considering the circumstances.

The beginning of chapter 34 reinforces that the covenant between God and Israel is reestablished after the golden calf incident. Once again, Moses will have tablets of stone with the words of God’s law written on them. The covenant that was nearly annulled with the breaking of the first set is reinstated. The only difference between these tablets and those mentioned previously is that Moses himself must chisel them out (34:1, 4). The other set simply seemed to be given to him by God (24:12; 31:18; 32:16). The fact that Moses has to chisel them may indicate God’s displeasure with him at having smashed them (32:19).

In any event, Moses is once again to travel up the mountain to receive God’s law, which calls to mind the first trip, which began in 20:21 and lasted for the next eleven chapters. As in 19:13, all others, even animals, are to keep their distance from the mountain. Moses’ second reception of the law is patterned after the first.26 The parallels with previous episodes continue in verses 5–6: Moses ascends and the cloud once again comes down where he is; the name of God (Yahweh) is proclaimed and Moses witnesses a theophany.

In 34:6–7 we find the resolution of the golden calf episode. We would be remiss not to see these verses as the fulfillment of what God said he would do in 33:19–23. He said he would pass in front of Moses, proclaim his name, and speak about mercy and compassion (33:19). Here in 34:6–7 God proclaims his name—the double repetition of the divine name (“the LORD, the LORD”) lending emphasis to what is about to take place.27 As we noted in chapter 3, “the LORD” (Yahweh) is God’s “salvation name.” This is precisely what he is once again committing himself to do for Israel, even after the events of chapter 32. Moreover, the Lord is “the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness, maintaining love to thousands, and forgiving wickedness, rebellion and sin.”28

This list of attributes is true not only of God’s behavior in chapter 34, but throughout Exodus. The reason he brought Israel out of Egypt in the first place is because he is gracious. That attitude is now rekindled toward his people in the aftermath of the golden calf incident.29

Still, in light of the rebellion, this litany includes elements that are motivated by and applicable only to the present context. God emphatically states that he is patient with his people and willing to forgive. But forgiveness does not mean overlooking their sin, nor will he leave the guilty unpunished. In fact, in accordance with the penalty for breaking the second commandment (20:5; see comments there), idolatry requires the penalty to extend to the “third and fourth generation” (34:7).

Moses’ response in verses 8–9 seems strange. He appears to be petitioning God for what he has just granted.30 After all, the word of forgiveness certainly implies that God is going to continue with his original plan to bring Israel not only out of Egypt but into Canaan. Are Moses’ words superfluous here? I do not want to overread this passage, but Moses’ plea is not simply a waste of words. It seems best to read this verse in the same way as Moses’ request in 33:18. Despite God’s words of forgiveness, Moses wants some added evidence or proof that God will go with his people. He wants God to “document” in some way his intentions.

Perhaps Moses has some doubts. It is not too much to suggest that he may not be exemplifying a strong faith here. We know from how Moses’ life ends that his lack of faith and his disobedience will disqualify him from entering Canaan. This may also help explain an interesting detail, that Moses avoids using the divine name Yahweh and uses rather the Hebrew word ʾ ^adonay, translated “Lord” in the NIV (rather than “LORD,” which stands for Yahweh). Moses uses this word three other times in Exodus, in each case when expressing some doubt as to his mission (4:10, 13; 5:22).31

God responds to Moses’ doubt not by reprimanding him but by giving him what he wants, some sign of his continued presence with his people. He will make “a covenant” with the people (34:10). To put it more accurately, he will renew the covenant. What follows in verses 11–28 is essentially a repetition of a number of things we have seen in previous sections of Exodus—in the Passover section (vv. 18–20, 25), Ten Commandments (vv. 14, 17, 21), and the Book of the Covenant (vv. 22–24, 26).32 Even the reference to “wonders” in 34:10, although referring to what God “will do” for Israel, calls to mind the wonders of the plagues and the crossing of the Red Sea (see 3:20; 15:11, the only other occurrences of the root plʾ, in Exodus).

Such tedious repetition is not clumsy writing, nor is it designed to bore the reader. Rather, it virtually forces the reader to understand what is happening as a renewal of the covenant. The repetition of the laws in 34:10–28, including references to the Exodus and Conquest33 and the command to Moses to “write” (vv. 27–28), is a synopsis of the main events of the Exodus as a whole. In renewing the covenant, the substance of the original covenant is reiterated. The message is clear: Despite Israel’s sin, God is moving forward with the plan.

As before (24:18), Moses stays on the mountain for forty days and nights, although this time we read that he neither eats bread nor drinks water (34:27–28). This indicates that “he was lifted above the everyday plane of life and tangibly approached the Divine sphere,” an experience that certainly helps us understand the change in Moses’ appearance described in verses 29–35.34 After receiving the synopsis of the law, Moses writes it on the tablets he chiseled and makes his way back down the mountain.

This time, however, he is not greeted with the sound of “singing.” Instead, the people are afraid. Why? Because Moses’ face has become radiant (34:30). Moses is God’s chosen mediator. The lack of respect the people had toward him in chapter 32 will not be repeated. Although the reason why Moses’ face shines is not made explicit in the text, it is probably to impress on the people that God’s authority and presence rest unequivocally with Moses. Thus, the people’s response is appropriate: fear. It is only after Moses assures the leaders that there is nothing to fear that the people come near and hear him speak (vv. 31–32). A little fear is good for them. They must relearn what they first experienced in chapter 19: Being at the foot of the mountain is serious business. They are receiving God’s law.

How is Moses’ face radiant. Is it a brilliant light? A soft glow? Does he have a halo in the popular sense? What contributes to this uncertainty is the Hebrew verb qaran in 34:29, translated “radiant” in the NIV. This verb only occurs four times in the Hebrew Old Testament, three times in this passage and in Psalm 69:31. In the latter, it is a verbal noun and means “horn,” which is the meaning of the cognate noun qeren. Because of the close affinity between qeren, whose meaning is certain, and the verb qaran, some medieval artists depicted Moses as having horns!35

In actuality, the reference is likely to some sort of glow. Note Habakkuk 3:4, where the same noun clearly refers to “rays” of light. Moreover, illumination is known from Mesopotamian sources to indicate “a characteristic attribute of divinity,” typically evinced in kings as a sign of their legitimate authority.36 This seems to be what is happening in 34:29–35. Moses’ glow is actually an afterglow from being in God’s presence. As Cassuto remarks, “something of the Divine glory remained with him.”37

What, then, are we to make of the veil? Its purpose is to cover Moses’ face in the presence of the people after he enters “the LORD’s presence” (v. 34). The veil is not needed when he speaks with God; but when he speaks to the people, Moses’ radiant face causes the same frightful reaction. Within the broader context of Exodus, we may think of Moses’ veil functioning in a similar way to the veil or curtain in the tabernacle. Just as the people could not enter the Most Holy Place to behold God’s glory, now they cannot behold the glory of God reflected in Moses. He has, therefore, become the embodiment of the tabernacle; his role as mediator has reached a level and depth not yet attained.38 We should also presume, even though the veil is not mentioned again, that this state of affairs lasts until Moses’ death.39

It is only after the covenant has been renewed and the relationship between God and his people has been repaired that the plans for building the tabernacle can be carried through to completion. For the remainder of the book, there is not a hint of this near disaster. As noted in the previous section, the story of rebellion and restoration is immediately preceded and succeeded by the regulations concerning the Sabbath (31:12–17; 35:1–3). This is not a haphazard arrangement. The fact that the action picks up after the rebellion in the same place as before the rebellion means that Moses’ intercession has been completely successful. The people are totally restored. The subsequent silence concerning this event adds to this notion. Forgiveness is complete.

The main thrust of chapters 32–34 now becomes clear. It is not so much a story of rebellion as it is a story of God’s forgiveness and Moses’ role in making this happen. It is in these chapters that Moses’ role as intercessor, as mediator of the covenant, reaches its zenith. If we wish to point to the episode that makes Moses truly special, that makes him deserving of all the honor, attention, and respect he has received through the ages, it is his shielding an ungrateful people from the end they most certainly deserve, even if it means taking their place and bearing the full weight, horror, and ignominy of God’s anger. The world will not see the likes of this again for many generations.

Bridging Contexts

GOD’S MEDIATOR. Things were going along so well for the Israelites, and then this had to happen. Why? What does this episode tell us about God’s people? More important, what does it tell us about God himself and how he deals with his people?

One Christian interpretive tradition has held that this story of the golden calf shows that the law and the sacrificial system (the tabernacle) simply do not work. No sooner are they given than the Israelites turn around and rebel. This is little more than a caricature, however. The story is in no way intended to communicate that the law doesn’t work. If anything, it shows that the Israelites don’t work! Rebellion so soon after the giving of the law is not an indication of the law’s ineffectiveness. The law and the sacrificial system are good and holy. They reflect a heavenly pattern. They are from God. The problem is with the people.

Nor do we have here a portrait of a vengeful, stern-faced God, who continually needs to be persuaded not to wipe out his people. The God described here is not one who is prone to turn on his people at any moment, so they had better walk on eggshells. Reflect for a moment on chapters 1–31. Israel’s deliverance from Egypt is a response to a promise God made to the patriarchs. The defeat of the Egyptian army in the sea and the triumphal march out of Egypt and up to Mount Sinai are the climactic moment in the realization of that promise. Something big is happening here.

Remember too that the Exodus is an act of re-creation. The allusions to creation throughout this story (plagues, parting of the sea, the law, and the tabernacle) all signal that the generation coming out of Egypt is privy to something unique, something that should have disarmed them of any thought of rebellion. In seeing the Exodus as an act of re-creation, we must see chapter 32 in the same light. If the preceding chapters connect Israel’s deliverance to creation, their sin represents the “Fall” of God’s people once again. As T. Fretheim puts it, “The garden scene [of chs. 25–31] become a tangled mess. . . . It is Genesis 3 all over again.”40

To understand the intensity of God’s reaction, we must keep this broad perspective in mind. We must look at the degree to which God has revealed himself in the preceding chapters, not just to Moses but to the people. In a manner of speaking, God has been pouring his heart out. He hand-picked a man to act as deliverer and mediator. He opened up the powers of heaven against the Egyptians. He brought heaven to earth for them in the form of the law and the tabernacle. Yet, no sooner does he do these things than the people, not God, become fickle. This is not only a story of the people’s rebellion against God, but of their rejection of something God has been planning and working out since the time of Abraham. It is a rejection of God himself.

That is why God is extremely angry with his people, and understandably so. It is not an arbitrary anger; God is not lashing out. God’s intense anger even against his own people indicates not how angry this powerful God can become with these puny humans, but how severe a sin Israel’s act is. God’s anger, in other words, has purpose and focus. His people shall be no more. His promise to the patriarchs will be kept, but he threatens to start the process all over again with Moses. What needs explaining in this story is not God’s anger but the fact that he turns from his anger at Moses’ pleading. This is what moves the story forward and brings it to a resolution in chapter 34. It is also what brings us to chapters 35–40 and the completion of the tabernacle. Without Moses, the tabernacle would get no further than the architect’s plans, cast aside on a drawing room floor. But Moses comes to the rescue—and changes God’s mind.

How are we to understand the nature of Moses’ intercession? We read in 32:30 that he approaches God to “make atonement” for the sin of the people. Atonement is the purpose of the tabernacle and priestly role in offering sacrifices. By making atonement for the people, Moses, even before the tabernacle is built, acts out the purpose for which it is intended—to keep the people connected to God. He acts, in other words, as the high priest atoning for the people’s sins.

How specifically does he intend to make atonement? Is it through sacrifice, the manner prescribed by God himself? Yes and no. In the span of a few verses we see a hint of that toward which the Old Testament sacrificial system eventually leads. Moses offers a sacrifice—himself. If God will not forgive the people on the basis of Moses’ pleading, then perhaps he will make Moses the focal point of his anger, thus sparing the people. By being blotted out of the book of life, perhaps he can bring life to his people. The death of one will bring life to the many.

The Christological dimension of this interchange between God and Moses is obvious, but by no means superficial. Exodus 32:30–32 offers an early indication of what is necessary to make proper atonement for sin—not the sacrifice of an animal, but of a person. In fact, the sacrificial system of the Old Testament as a whole is a precursor to what true atonement is supposed to look like. Moses’ offer is not simply a flash forward to the time of Christ. Rather, at the very inception of the sacrificial system, it is a glimpse into the heart of the heavenly reality to which the earthly sacrificial system points.

Christ fulfills the sacrificial system, to be sure, but there is so much more to it than that. We think too quickly of the Old Testament sacrifices as being imperfect, partial representations, temporary measures, if you will, of what eventually comes to completion in Christ. There is, of course, truth to this. This section, however, gives us another angle: The manner in which the Old Testament is to be fulfilled—personal sacrifice—is something already embedded in the Old Testament sacrificial system itself. In other words, the atoning death of Christ did not undo the law but brought it to its final and ultimate expression.

So far there is little here that catches us off guard. But let us not forget that God rejects Moses’ offer to be a substitute (32:33–34)! “Only the guilty can be punished, Moses. What do you mean by simply stepping in and taking the people’s place?” Moses’ death will not make things right because his actions did not make things wrong in the first place. God says he cannot simply transfer the people’s guilt onto one man. Guilt stays with the person who sins and who must pay the price.

Thus, God rejects Moses’ offer. But he does so not because he doesn’t like the idea. After all, such an offer is the heart of the gospel. Rather, he rejects the offer because Moses is not suited to carry it out. Moses does not have the capital to see it through to the end. He is by no stretch pure and blameless, as the Pentateuch will elsewhere bear out (Num. 20:12). The substitute must be one without blemish or fault, like the sacrificial animals of the Old Testament. It must be someone who is able to bear the burden of another’s guilt.

When we read in 32:33–34 that only the guilty will be punished, the substitutionary death of Christ does not represent a change in God’s game plan. This is the great mystery of the death of Christ. He was guilty. Our sins were put on him and conversely taken off of us. He was worthy of bearing our guilt because he himself was without guilt. Although this is beyond our ability to understand, it is rooted in the Old Testament itself.

Moses’ intercessory work is not a one-shot deal. In fact, he is persistent. We see him at work again in 33:12–23, where the subject is who will accompany Moses into Canaan. It seems that God intends to take only Moses (see also 32:10). But Moses will not take no for an answer. The people must come too. This dialogue ends with a promise by God to show his back to Moses. Then a third time Moses intercedes to ensure God’s presence with his people (34:8–9). Moses is thorough, to say the least. He acts as a man determined to do the job right. He is faithful to the people under his charge even though they have shown in no uncertain terms that they will turn against him with little provocation.

We read in Hebrews 7:25 that Christ “always lives to intercede” for his people. Moses, too, seems to “live to intercede” in Exodus 32–34. He is there at every turn. Christ’s intercession on our behalf is likewise continual and relentless. We do not know what form his heavenly intercession takes, what the dialogue between Christ and the Father looks like, but we know it is perfectly effective. The significant difference between Christ’s intercession and that of Moses, as noted above, is that God accepts his Son as a substitute for his people’s sin.

One final comparison can be made between Moses’ intercession and that of Christ. Moses is in some sense imbued with a “dose of God” (cf. the radiance he displays after coming down from the mountain). He reflects God’s glory to the people because he himself has beheld God’s glory. It is this experience that will lend crucial support to his authority among the people.

The difference between Moses and Christ is that Moses both sees and reflects God’s glory imperfectly. I am not being too hard on Moses. The intimacy he enjoyed with God was unique in the Old Testament. But the fullness of God’s glory did dwell in Christ. Note Hebrews 1:3: “The Son is the radiance of God’s glory.” Christ reflected God’s glory to his people fully because he beheld the glory of the Father fully—a fullness best expressed in Christ’s own words, “I and the Father are one” (John 10:30). Moses would never have dared say that.

The human portrayal of God. Before we leave this Bridging Contexts section, we ought to reflect on the human portrait of God in Exodus. The give and take between Moses and God in chapters 32–34 is an exchange that must be taken into account as we formulate our notions of what the God of Exodus is like.

If a poll were taken of seminary students, perhaps pastors as well (i.e., those with formal theological education), and if the question asked was, “What is God like?” my strong suspicion is that many of the following attributes of God would be mentioned: omniscient, omnipotent, sovereign, unchanging, eternal, creator, and so forth. Few would add to the list such things as: prone to change his mind, argues with his people, can be frustrated, can regret past actions. Yet all of these latter attributes are just as scripturally defensible.

Too often, it seems to me, despite our biblical literacy, we think of how God ought to be rather than how he has actually revealed himself. The biblical portrait of God is varied, and I do not deny that God is indeed all of those wonderful attributes we read about in systematic theologies. But what of those other attributes, those less-marketable qualities of God, that never seem to make their way into our systematic theologies but which find constant biblical substantiation? We should not focus on the God behind the scenes and thereby lose sight of the God of the scenes, the God presented to us in Scripture. Scripture itself is what God has inspired to teach his people what he is like. What he says about himself must be taken into account.

Some implications of this for today will be taken up in the following section. For now, however, it is enough to draw attention to the way in which God is presented in Exodus. He is high, exalted, and mighty. He is also near and approachable. Indeed, he wants to be approached.

Contemporary Significance

IS THE GOD of Exodus 32–34 the Christian God? Is the God of Exodus 32–34 someone we recognize? To put it another way, as terrible as this may sound, is this God one that we feel “comfortable” with? Of course, whether we feel comfortable with this God is beside the point. But with all we as Christians know about the grace of God and his forgiveness, isn’t there part of us that reads Exodus 32–34 and finds a God strangely at odds with the gospel? The God we know from the New Testament would certainly have either accepted Moses’ offer or provided an alternate way of forgiving his people. But that God actually threatens to wipe them out, needs to be convinced not to act in anger, and then relents at the last minute only to carry through with some punishment, gives one pause to consider whether the God portrayed here is actually relevant to contemporary Christian living.

I maintain that this section of Exodus certainly is relevant, but not in the sense that it tells us how God acts now. Applying the Bible does not mean that we simply transport the action of this story into our contemporary setting. Rather, Exodus 32 is relevant today because in it we see how God does not act now. This is not to drive a wedge between the Testaments and to proclaim the story passé. It is rather to understand this one story in the context of the whole. In other words, Exodus 32–34 is not to be applied in any conventional sense of the word. We do not read the story, make a mental image of God being angry, and then imagine him acting similarly in contemporary settings of our choosing. Rather, it is to help us to see what God is like, what he expects, and how Christ completes the picture. In doing so the significance of the story is not rejected but properly understood.

There are two pitfalls to be avoided in understanding the golden calf story. (1) It does not apply to the world as a whole. A sex shop opens up down the street; the school board votes 5 to 2 to distribute condoms in junior high school; movies rated PG 13 are beginning to look more like R and R-rated movies are beginning to look like soft porn; people all around us are advocating new and strange gods, personal gods, any god but the Christian God. The proper Christian reaction to these phenomena in our society is not to call down God’s wrath on the revelry below. We are not to look to Exodus 32 and think, “This is how God handles debauchery in any and every time.”

As we have seen in a number of other places in Exodus, this is a book written for Israelites and about Israelites. Its application is not for anyone except God’s people. We saw this with the Ten Commandments. It is a misapplication to think that the law given to God’s people should be used as a standard by which to judge unbelievers. Likewise, the golden calf story does not show us how God deals with pagans caught up in their own raucous behavior. It does not show the world that he is a God of wrath, ready to strike at a moment’s notice against sin. Rather, it is a story of God’s reaction to how his people behave in the face of all that he has shown them.

The story, therefore, cannot be applied today to whatever contemporary cause we happen to be displeased with. Levites slaying their brothers with swords does not give justification for Christians today going on a crusade against some public sin. The message of the story is not, “No compromise! God does not tolerate sin, so neither will we!” The fact that God still punishes the people despite Moses’ pleadings to forgive does not mean that we can have an aggressive zero-tolerance for our sinful neighbors, coworkers, or relatives.

(2) Inasmuch as Exodus 32–34 does not apply to the world at large, neither does it apply to the church, at least not in the sense of inserting ourselves into the role of Israel and saying, “God will punish us too if we rebel.” God is not ready to pounce on us the moment we slip up. Although the line of application is to be drawn from Israel to the church, this episode does not translate over to the church’s life.

We must keep in mind at least one key theological difference between Exodus 32–34 and the church. Israel’s sin at the foot of Mount Sinai occurs before there is any official means of sin atonement. The tabernacle has not yet been built, and the priestly system has not yet been inaugurated. At this point these things have only been planned for. This is why Moses himself needs to step in and say, “I will go up to the LORD; perhaps I can make atonement for your sin.” For Israel, the official means of atoning for sin is still in the future. For the church, the final, complete, once-for-all atonement for sin has happened. The means of atonement Moses offered, substituting himself for his people, which God did not accept, is what Christ was able to do!

This is why we cannot and should not import Exodus 32–34 as a model for how God roots out sin in the church. This story is not inspiration for us to search out the “golden calves of our lives” lest God be angry with us. God is not angry with the church, not because the church is faultless, but because his anger has been completely spent on Christ, the substitute. This is not to say that God is now soft on sin. Exodus 32–34 does show us how intolerant God is of sin in his people.41 But the gospel shows us that God’s ultimate punishment for such sin was carried by his Son precisely so that we will not have to.

To put it another way, the good news of the gospel is that Exodus 32–34 does not apply to us today! It is not the nature of God that has changed. Rather, a Mediator has come, by God’s design, one “who had no sin to be sin for us” (2 Cor. 5:21). What was hinted at by Moses’ rejected offer has happened with a crushing finality that even Moses could not have anticipated. This perspective is not to minimize the story of the golden calf but to see it as Christians ought, in light of the empty tomb.

Apart from the matter of mediation there is another element of Exodus 32–34 that lends itself to contemporary significance, namely, the human portrait of God. I want my own view of God to be shaped by what Scripture says. This is not easy to do. We form ideas in our own heads about what God is like—sometimes these ideas are based on Scripture, sometimes on our own musings—and once formed, these ideas are difficult to re-form.

Western culture tends to be somewhat analytical, to take things apart and see how they work. We are even a suspicious people. We want to unmask things to see what they are really like. Perhaps we approach our knowledge of God in a similar way. God is the Creator, and to be Creator is a sign of ultimate power and authority. No one is higher than God, no one is more powerful. The pages of the Old Testament present a picture of God, however, that does not deal exclusively with such properties. As we have noted above, the God of the Old Testament is one who is engaged in human activity on a human level.

In Exodus 32–34, God is engaged in a debate with Moses over how to handle the Israelites. This is not like the debate they had earlier in Exodus, where God announces to Moses that he will lead the people out of Egypt and patiently listens to Moses’ complaints. The purpose of the debate in Exodus 32–34 is not to convince Moses of anything, but God! He is the one who nearly goes too far and has to be brought back to his senses! Why does the Old Testament present God in this way? What are we to derive from it?

If we reflect on our common Christian experience, we will notice that this is how we relate to God. Our picture of him is unavoidably human. Think of prayer. Whenever we ask God to do anything, anything at all, we are engaging him in a conversation that assumes at the outset that our pleadings will have the desired effect of changing his mind. “Oh Lord, please let it not rain tomorrow so our picnic won’t have to be canceled.” “Father, if it is your will, please let the job interview go well.”

Implicit in these two requests is the fact that God has not yet made up his mind, that his will can be shaped somehow. Now, if I were asked, I would have to say that God is bigger than our small requests. He is not swayed every moment to change his mind by the daily inundation of human prayers. But when we actually pray, none of this enters our mind. We simply come to God in the only way we know how, as people. We engage God on a human level. Indeed, we assume that he can be engaged in this way.

Even Jesus in Gethsemane prayed a very “human” prayer: “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will” (Matt. 26:39). “If it is possible.” Didn’t Jesus know better? Didn’t he know all about God’s omnipotence? Jesus, caught as he was in the throes of agony and even despair (“overwhelmed with sorrow,” cf. 26:38), pleads with God. True, he resigns himself to God’s will and plan, as indeed we all must when we pray; yet Jesus still asks God, if at all possible, to take the cup from him. It strikes me as significant that Jesus does not pray: “Father, you and I are one. I know your will and I follow it obediently. Give me the strength not to question what you have planned for me. You are sovereign and omnipotent.” No. Jesus prays, “If it is possible.”

Jesus’ human way of praying is an extension of the fact that he is human himself. In a sense, presenting God as human in such passages as Exodus 32–34 is no different from presenting God as human in Christ. When we get down to it, at any and every level, we can do nothing other than think of God and relate to him in strictly human terms. We can take some stabs at what he is “really” like by using words like omnipotent or omniscient, and these things are what makes God nonhuman. These are true attributes of God. But when push comes to shove, when the discussion leaves the abstract level, we look to God as our Father, our Friend, our King—all human images (images he himself sanctions throughout Scripture)—and we relate to him on that basis.

The human portrait of God is one that fits well with our everyday experience. More important, this is how God has chosen to reveal himself. We should not try to get behind that portrait to something more “accurate,” more like what we “know” God is “really” like. We must look at what God says about himself and take it to heart. And we are encouraged that when we pray and plead with him, we know that he is in fact listening, that what we say matters. How else can we say that we have a relationship with God?

Paul’s application of Exodus 34:29–35. One final matter concerning the application of Exodus 32–34 brings us to 2 Corinthians 3:7–18. This is a passage of obvious relevance, since Paul refers to the incident described in Exodus 34:29–35. The most relevant section begins at 2 Corinthians 3:12. Moses’ ministry was fading but was accompanied by glory. The gospel, however, has surpassing glory (vv. 9–11). What Christians have access to (more accurately, what Christians have been given access to) is a cause to be bold (v. 12). Why? Because we, unlike Moses, do not put a veil over our faces (v. 13). We should not pass over Paul’s remark too quickly. He says, “We are not like Moses.” The point of comparison is between Moses and the church.

How then does this Exodus story apply? It is by way of contrast. Paul points out that the reason Moses wore the veil is so that the Israelites would not see the glory as it faded away. The fading glory of Moses is like the fading glory of the law (2 Cor. 3:14–16). The law’s glory was true but temporary. Paul argues that the Jews’ refusal in his day to see the fading glory of the law was due to the “veil” over their own hearts that prevented them from seeing the law for what it was, temporary.

The heart of the matter is found in verse 18. Christians reflect the Lord’s glory with “unveiled faces.” We, like Moses, see glory. This is why we, too, reflect glory. The difference is that the glory we reflect does not fade away, so that we do not need to wear a veil. And our glory does not fade away because, unlike Moses, we “are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory” (italics added).

To put this another way, Paul looks at the Exodus episode not from the people’s point of view but from that of Moses. It is odd, to say the least, that Paul’s understanding of the significance of the veil is not explicit, or even implied, in Exodus. In fact, the purpose of the veil in Exodus seems to be to prevent the people from seeing the full glow of the radiance: They were afraid when Moses spoke to them with his radiant face, and thereafter he wore the veil. Moses then took it off again only when he was in private audience with God in the tabernacle.

Paul, however, is drawing the analogy between Moses and the church and so he looks at this story from Moses’ perspective. He sees Moses’ recurring meetings with God as an indication that he needed repeated exposure to glory. One shot was not good enough. As the glory faded, the veil would be worn and Moses had to go back for another “dose” of God’s glory. But we are not like that. For us a veil need not be worn because our glory does not fade—for we are in Christ.

As is typically the case, Paul sets out the reality of the Christian’s status and then draws practical conclusions from this. He does this in 2 Corinthians 4:1–18. Since we are a part of this wonderful turn of events, we do not lose heart (v. 1), meaning we have the courage to persevere in any and every circumstance (see also vv. 8–18). We, therefore, are bold to live out the gospel in word and deed plainly to all those around us. And if they do not understand what we are doing, it is because the gospel is “veiled” to them; their sinful hearts do not allow them to see the glory of Christ that we are being transformed to reflect. The practical issue Paul is grappling with is similar to that which confronted Moses: “Will they listen to what I tell them?” (2 Cor. 4:2–6).

If anything, Paul’s application of Exodus 34:29–35 reinforces the notion developed above that this Old Testament episode is applied to the Christian life by way of contrast. It is not the case that this episode and Exodus 32–34 are irrelevant, but that their relevance must be properly perceived—in light of the “surpassing glory” (2 Cor. 3:10) of the cross and the empty tomb.