Exodus 4:18–31

Original Meaning

Moses’ Departure (4:18–23)

SOMETIME AFTER MOSES left the Lord’s presence on Mount Horeb (most likely immediately thereafter), he asks his father-in-law, Jethro,1 for permission to leave. In doing so, he is probably simply showing respect to one who showed him hospitality when he sorely needed it (2:20) and who gave him his daughter in marriage. What is curious, however, is the precise nature of the request he makes. Had he simply said, “Let me go back to my own people in Egypt,” there would be no problem. One could conclude that, for whatever reason, Moses is simply choosing not to go into any great detail about why he wants to leave.

But Moses does provide a motive for leaving his father-in-law’s family: “to see if any of them [his countrymen] are still alive.” The problem, of course, is that this is not why God has told Moses to go back to Egypt in 3:1–4:17. He is to go back in order to bring the Israelites out of Egypt, not merely to see how they are doing. Moses’ statement to Jethro is similar to what we have seen in 3:18, where Moses is commanded by God to tell Pharaoh that the Israelites are to go on a three-day trip into the desert, when in fact God intends nothing of the sort (see comments on 3:18). What is the big secret? What is keeping Moses from laying it all out on the table?

Perhaps 4:18 can be understood in the context of Moses’ self-doubt in the preceding section. We must remember that Moses did not leave his initial encounter with the Lord brimming with self-confidence. All we know is that he is reprimanded for his last of five challenges to God and that he leaves Mount Horeb with staff in hand (4:13–17). Sometimes our English Bibles can be misleading. Ancient texts had no chapter or verse divisions or section headings.2 We should not drive an artificial wedge between verses 17 and 18, as if verse 18 is starting something new. Although we cannot be dogmatic here, reading difficult statements such as this in their immediate contexts is a fruitful place to begin reflection.

In this case, Moses may be somewhat embarrassed at the thought of what Jethro’s incredulous reaction might be if he claims to have had a conversation with God in a burning bush, telling him that he is to humble the powers of Egypt. Perhaps blurting this out would cause more problems than it is worth.3 Some things are better left unsaid. Perhaps this, too, is why Moses cannot simply ask Jethro to leave without giving him some excuse. If he simply asks to leave without giving a reason, Jethro will undoubtedly ask why, which will oblige Moses to produce some excuse on the spot and may make Jethro suspicious. However morally questionable this might be for us, in the final analysis it probably serves to expedite Moses’ mission. Our intention should not be to sanitize Moses’ statement to Jethro, and the rationale offered here is not aimed in that direction. But neither can we simply brush it aside. We must try to explain statements such as this by assuming that it serves some meaningful purpose here.

Another approach to this problem is theological rather than psychological. Houtman points out that 4:18 is similar to 2:11 in that both passages refer to Moses going out to see his countrymen.4 As discussed above, 2:11 foreshadows the Exodus: Moses goes out to see the mistreatment of his people and attempts to deliver them. In 4:18, Moses intends to go back to Egypt to see how his countrymen are doing; this is a further development of 2:11.

The main difference here, however, is that Moses is now going with God. He has met the Lord on Mount Horeb and has been commissioned for the great task. What Moses meant to do in 2:11 in a narrow, myopic sense, God now begins to unfold. Whereas Moses had earlier left Egypt (symbolically) to see his countrymen’s plight, Moses now returns to Egypt, back to his countrymen, to do something about it. But this time he will not react as brashly as he did earlier. Now he is going with God. Moses’ statement that he wants to go see his countrymen is, on the surface of things at least, at best a partial truth. In the context of the Exodus narrative as a whole, however, it serves a subtle yet powerful theological purpose. Verse 18 begins to escort the reader further into the narrative flow of events that will climax in Israel’s release from captivity.

Verse 19 also raises some questions. (1) Why does the Lord give Moses the command to leave Midian after he has apparently already resolved to do so in verse 18? Doesn’t verse 19 logically precede verse 18? (2) Verse 19 seems to imply that since Pharaoh and the others who wanted to kill him are now dead, it is now safe for Moses to return. Why would the Creator of heaven and earth, who is about to dismantle the forces of Egypt, have to wait until the previous Pharaoh is dead before he moves in with a display of his might?

(1) Again, we are confronted with questions that offer no easy answers. We should not, of course, overestimate the importance of some of these issues, but neither should we ignore the tension that problems such as these create. We should also be aware that we are not the first to see incongruities in the narrative, for careful readers of the Bible have been thinking and writing about these things for a long time. Thus, it would be a bit foolish to think that we can arrive at definitive solutions in the pages of this or any other commentary. As we engage the biblical text, we are doing nothing less than entering into the interpretive process that has gripped Christians (and in the case of the Old Testament, Jews as well) for centuries.

What we can do, however, is engage the text on an intimate level and try to understand the purpose of this verse in this context. Our concern should not always be to “solve the problem” but to allow what we think is a “problem” to shape our understanding of the text as a whole. One approach to understanding the position of verse 19 after verse 18 is reflected in the NIV: “Now the LORD had said to Moses.” Unlike English, the Hebrew language has no pluperfect tense. Typically, the verb here would simply be translated “said” rather than “had said.” But the pluperfect is an acceptable translation, provided the context allows it, which is certainly what we see here. By saying “had said,” the NIV is actually interpreting verse 19 as being chronologically prior to verse 18. When understood in this way, the contextual order of verses 18 and 19 should not be equated with the chronological order.5

(2) The other issue is the apparent necessity of Pharaoh and his leaders to die first before the Lord sends Moses back. But, like verse 18, sensitivity to the theological thrust of this verse sheds light on the subject. Note how verse 19 echoes the deliverance from Egypt of the following chapters. When Moses left Egypt, he was a wanted man: Pharaoh and presumably his officials (hence the plural “all the men” in v. 19) were seeking to kill him. But now those who intended him harm are themselves dead. Later in the book, the Egyptians who seek to harm the Israelites meet their own demise in the Red Sea. In this sense, verse 19 is not saying, “OK, Moses, it’s safe for you to come back.” This would make very little sense in the context of God’s measured, controlled, sovereign display of power throughout the book. Rather, it is an announcement to Moses that the first installment of the Exodus has commenced. Those who enslaved the Israelites are dead—the process has begun.

The interpretive challenges in verse 20 concern Moses’ family and where they lived while the deliverance was going on. First of all, Moses is said to leave with his wife and sons, but 2:22 has mentioned only the birth of Gershom. His other son, Eliezer, is not mentioned until 18:4. Of course, as we have seen elsewhere in the book, Exodus and biblical narratives in general tend to be somewhat laconic. Original readers likely would not have been troubled by the abrupt mention of more than one son when only Gershom’s birth had been mentioned. The original readers knew who Moses was, who his wife was, and that he had two sons. The likely reason why only Gershom’s name was mentioned in chapter 2 is because the etymology of his name served the writer’s theological purpose in that context: He wished to highlight Moses’ sojourning in a foreign land (see 2:22). What is more curious is not the mention of “sons” here in light of 2:22, but the mention of only one son just below in that most vexing of passages, 4:24–26, to which we will turn in a moment.

A more pressing matter is the destination of Moses’ wife and sons. In one sense, the sentence gives the clear impression that Moses puts his family on a donkey in order that they may accompany him to Egypt. The problem here is that Moses’ family is nowhere mentioned explicitly as arriving in Egypt with Moses. In fact, they are never heard from again until 18:2–7, which describes Moses’ reunion with his family after the departure from Egypt. Exodus 18:2 is explicit in telling us that Moses had previously sent his family away to live with Jethro, presumably to keep his loved ones out of harm’s way. The only way to reconcile this explicit state of affairs with 4:20 is either to assume that Moses took his family with him to Egypt but sent them away later, or that 4:20 describes Moses leaving them behind.

The former option assumes something that is not expressed in the text, whereas the latter option, apart from itself not being explicit in 4:20, actually seems to disrupt the sense of the verse. Moreover, leaving his family in Midian is not the same as sending them away, as we read in 18:2. Readers who know nothing of 18:2–7 would take 4:20 to mean that Moses goes back to Egypt with his family. Critical commentators typically argue, partly on the basis of inconsistencies such as this, that the book of Exodus preserves variant, originally separate traditions of Moses and his family that cannot be reconciled. Although a straightforward solution to this matter is not obvious, the ambiguities of 4:20 do not, in my opinion, lend themselves to such an approach. Terseness seems to be a stock characteristic of Old Testament narratives. The fact that something may not make sense to us does not mean that it made no sense to the original readers. Where Moses’ family went in 4:20 or how they might have gotten to Midian is not something the narrative is pleased to disclose.6

What we are told at the end of verse 20, however, is that Moses is dutiful in bringing his staff with him. The writer brings the narrative back to its focus: Moses is going to Egypt to deliver the Israelites by God’s mighty deeds. God gives Moses one last charge: He is to perform the signs before Pharaoh (v. 21). This is the first mention in Exodus that Moses is to perform the signs before Pharaoh. Up to this point, we are led to expect that the signs are for the purpose of convincing the Israelites of Moses’ commission. True, in 3:19 it is hinted that God will perform wonders before the Egyptians, but 4:21 implies that the wonders in question are those performed in 4:1–9, and these wonders are clearly directed at Israelite unbelief.

So, is this a new announcement, that now the wonders are to be performed before Pharaoh? Perhaps this is a new twist, an introduction of the identity of Moses’ true adversary. Although Israelite disbelief is a theme that appears throughout the Pentateuch, the clear conflict in the subsequent chapters of Exodus involves Egyptian opposition more than Israelite. What we have in verse 21, as we have seen in verses 18–20, is another indication that the true conflict is about to begin. Moses’ focus is now redirected toward the ultimate enemy.7

Verse 21 also introduces an inherent theme in Exodus that raises serious questions about God’s justice and the freedom of the human will. Moses is to perform the signs before Pharaoh, but God will actually keep Pharaoh from heeding the signs—he will harden Pharaoh’s heart (i.e., make him stubborn). There is little one can do to make this verse say something different. It seems that God is not playing fairly. This is not the place to rehearse the centuries-old debate between free will and predestination. Our focus is more narrow—the immediate context and the book of Exodus as a whole. What is clear is that, for whatever reason, God will prevent Pharaoh from acting in such a way as to save his own neck and the neck of his kingdom.

We should understand verse 21 as another hint of the deliverance from Egypt. Here, God is revealing to Moses the mysteries of his plan of attack. As this passage progresses, we are allowed to peer further and further into the plan that God has for dealing with Israel’s enemy. In 3:19, all we are told is that God is aware that Pharaoh will react stubbornly. In fact, 3:19 seems to contradict 4:21. In 3:19, God says that he knows Pharaoh will resist “unless a mighty hand compels him.” In other words, according to 3:19, it will not be until God displays his power that Pharaoh will relent. But in 4:21, God will make Pharaoh resist those very mighty acts that in 3:19 are supposed to break Pharaoh’s will. The point is clear: In 3:19, Pharaoh’s resistance seems to be his own doing; in 4:21, it is the will of God. This is the real tension of the narrative. It is not simply that God will harden Pharaoh’s heart, but that the cause of Pharaoh’s hardness is said to come from two sources.

Allowing us here to peer into the inner workings of God’s plan serves to introduce the back-and-forth of God’s role in the hardening of Pharaoh’s heart that will surface repeatedly in the subsequent chapters. I understand 4:21 not to contradict 3:19, but to take 3:19 to another level, one that is ultimately unfathomable by our standards. The verbal connection between 3:19 and 4:21 is lost in the NIV. In 3:19, a “mighty hand” is needed to compel Pharaoh to acquiesce. In 4:21, God will “harden” Pharaoh’s heart. Both “mighty” and “harden” are formed from the Hebrew root ḥzq. This overlap is striking. On the one hand, in 3:19 it is God’s ḥzq that will serve to convince Pharaoh to release the Israelites; this is what finally happens after the death of the firstborn. But in 4:21 it is God’s ḥzq that will prevent Pharaoh from heeding Moses’ demand to release the Israelites. This is essentially what happens throughout the first nine plagues. Pharaoh is God’s plaything. God will do as he wishes to the king. God will not only act mightily and sovereignly in delivering Israel, he will also dictate Pharaoh’s response.

The obvious point of all this should not be lost: The deliverance of Israel from Egypt is entirely God’s doing and under his complete control. The impending Exodus is a play in which God is author, producer, director, and principal actor. The purpose of 4:21, then, is not to introduce some abstract philosophical notion of God’s sovereignty. Rather, it is further confirmation of what we have seen earlier in chapter 4, that God is with Moses and with Israel. Now we begin to see just how pervasive his presence truly is. The words of comfort we read in 2:23–25 take on a new dimension. God’s apparent absence in chapter 1 and the announcement in 2:23–25 of his impending activity gives way to a greater revelation of what God’s role is in the deliverance of his beloved people. Not only is Israel’s fate in God’s hands but Egypt’s as well.

Verses 22–23 conclude the Lord’s final talk to Moses before beginning his mission. Here, the Lord tells Moses what he is to say to Pharaoh—the first fulfillment of God’s promise to be “with Moses’ mouth” (4:12, see comments).8 These verses are important in the context of the deliverance story that concludes in chapter 15. Israel is not simply one nation among others; rather, Israel is God’s firstborn son. This nation of slaves and outcasts is special to God, and God wants Moses to make sure that Pharaoh knows it. Israel has a privileged status among the nations.9 As God’s son, Israel has an obligation to serve him and him alone: “Let my son go, so he may worship me.” God’s demand for Israel’s release is not simply for Israel to be free from service to Egypt, but for Israel to serve the Lord.

The reason for Israel’s release goes beyond vague notions of “freedom from oppression.” Rather, God’s son is now to enter into a close father-son relationship with God. Since Israel is God’s firstborn son, the appropriate punishment against Egypt for harming Israel is for God to harm Egypt’s firstborn son. Verse 23 is an explicit allusion to the tenth plague, where God kills Egypt’s firstborn sons, which is what finally persuades Pharaoh to release the Israelites. These verses, then, recount the Exodus by bringing us to the very end of Israelite captivity: the death of the firstborn and departure from Egypt. Verses 18–23 as a whole are a climax to the preceding chapters and serve as a bridge connecting these chapters to the powerful deeds that follow.

Bridging Contexts

“THIS IS MY SON, whom I love” (Matt. 3:17). That God refers to Israel as his “firstborn son” in 4:22 is no throw-away line or mere expression of sentimentality. Rather, it gets at the heart of the special relationship that God has with his people. This statement is a powerful summary of how close God truly is to his people; the Exodus is the expression of the father’s love for his son. Sonship language is not restricted to 4:22. Elsewhere in the Old Testament sonship language is used generally in two ways: to describe Israel’s relationship to God (as we see in 4:22) and to describe the relationship between God and Israel’s king. The theological thrusts of both these images ultimately converge on the love of God for his firstborn Son, Christ, and the love he has for Christ’s church.

Israel is God’s son, not only according to 4:22 but also according to such passages as Jeremiah 3:19; 31:9 and Hosea 11:1. These passages remind us that being God’s son means not only enjoying a privileged relationship with God but also living up to the responsibilities that this relationship entails. These passages remind us that being a son is a high calling. In the context of the book of Exodus as a whole, we know that Israel the son is not always faithful to the Father. Israel’s periodic rebellions are especially grievous to God precisely because of the intimacy between them as expressed in 4:22.

As all parents know, children can give parents both inexpressible joy and grievous suffering and heartache. Jeremiah is a prophet called by God to deal head-on with Israel’s rebelliousness, which eventually brought the punishment of the Exile on them. God called Israel as his own, but they continued to go their own way. The Lord says (Jer. 3:19):

How gladly would I treat you like sons

and give you a desirable land,

the most beautiful inheritance of any nation.

I thought you would call “Father”

and not turn away from me following me.

God’s feelings of both anger and heartbreak are evident. A son should not treat his father with such contempt, particularly this Father who had shown so dramatically time and time again how much he loves his son.18 When a son is unfaithful, he is punished. In the case of Jeremiah it is the exile to Babylon. Yet the punishment is not permanent; there is a restoration of the relationship between Father and son. The period of captivity ends and Israel returns to her home.

They will come with weeping;

they will pray as I bring them back.

I will lead them beside streams of water

on a level path where they will not stumble,

because I am Israel’s father,

and Ephraim is my firstborn son. (Jer. 31:9)

God restores Israel to himself because Israel is his firstborn son. As most of us can attest, the family relationship brings out in us intense emotions, both love and anger, even hate. We become angry and punish our children, but not long afterward they are sitting in our laps while we wipe away the last lingering tears. Israel’s relationship to God is similar. His wrath is severe when Israel rebels, but his faithfulness and fatherly love rise as sure as the sun.

God’s faithfulness to his son Israel is also expressed in Hosea 11:1–11, a passage particularly important since it is cited in Matthew 2:15. Hosea recounts how God delivered his son Israel from Egyptian slavery: “When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Egypt I called my son” (Hos. 11:1; the sonship language seems to recall Ex. 4:22). Part of Hosea’s point is to highlight Israel’s rebellion despite God’s deliverance from Egypt (Hos. 11:2–7). Verses 5–7 even suggest that Israel will return to Egypt because of their disobedience. But here, too, as we have seen in Jeremiah, punishment is not the final word between father and son. There is always restoration. The Lord resolves that he cannot leave his children alone: “How can I give you up, Ephraim? How can I hand you over, Israel?” (v. 8). God will not leave them but will lead them back to their homes (v. 11). Though they are sinful, he will forgive them and bring them home.

The link between Israel as God’s son and Christ as God’s Son seems obvious, but the connection between them is more than merely lexical, as a reading of Matthew 2:15 brings out.19 The point here is that Matthew identifies Israel with Christ—both are God’s son. This is the motive behind the somewhat unexpected (by our exegetical standards, at any rate) appeal to Hosea 11:1 as being fulfilled in Jesus’ coming out of Egypt after the death of Herod. Christ is the Son of God; better, he is the true Son of God. What applied to Israel the son only proleptically is fulfilled (this is Matthew’s word) in the life of Christ, the Son. Christ is the ultimate embodiment of the true intimacy between the Father and his people. Christ is the new Israel.

Moreover, we should not lost sight of the context of Hosea 11. Israel is God’s son, but because of utter rebellion, Israel is threatened with exile. Yet God cannot punish the Israelites for long; he brings them back and restores them (v. 11). Israel is sinful, but the Father forgives his son. Christ, however, is truly God’s Son. His intimacy with the Father far exceeds that of Old Testament Israel because his will is perfectly in harmony with the Father’s. Unlike Israel, Christ is without sin. Yet he is the one who will one day bear the full brunt of God’s anger. Historical Israel is sinful but forgiven. Christ, the new Israel, is without sin but receives no mercy. He is the object of God’s wrath. By drawing the analogy between Christ and Israel, Matthew is also drawing out the great distinction between the two. Christ fulfills the ideal of a wholly perfect, obedient son: “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased” (Matt. 3:17).

The church, made up of both Jews and Gentiles, is now heir to God’s promises to Israel. But the church appropriates these promises only in light of the work of Christ. We are God’s son, the new Israel, only because Christ is God’s Son first. The church is God’s son by virtue of its relationship to Christ, the true Son. That relationship is repeatedly described by Paul as “in Christ.” As mentioned throughout this commentary, Christians are united with Christ (Rom. 6:5). With respect to the Old Testament, this means that Christians should read passages such as Exodus 4:22 in light of the person and work of Christ, who first fulfilled this passage. Old Testament sonship language should be applied to the church Christologically.

Another way of putting this is to say that Christ is the representative of his people. A similar representative role is played by Old Testament kings with respect to their people. Israel is God’s son, but so is the king. The classic passage here is Psalm 2. This psalm describes the anointing and installation of an Israelite king. In verse 7 the Lord says, “You are my Son; today I have become your Father.”20 The king is God’s son (or better, he “becomes” God’s son at his installation). It should be no surprise that this psalm is cited several times in the New Testament to refer to Christ (Acts 4:25–26; 13:33; Heb. 1:5; 5:5; Rev. 2:27; 19:15). Although the king of Israel is God’s son, that title finds its ultimate expression in the true Son of God and King of his people. This is not to say that the author of Psalm 2 knew that his words would apply fully to Christ. Rather, in light of Christ’s coming the New Testament authors could begin reading the Old Testament as a book that spoke ultimately of the risen Lord. Christ fulfills both the Israelite and kingly ideal of sonship. He is the true King; he is fully obedient to the Father.

Such an understanding of the church’s position as son serves as the proper basis for viewing ourselves as God’s people. We, too, are God’s “son.” We enjoy that special relationship with him as did the ancient Israelites. But however intimate that relationship may have been between God and Israel, it is more intense between God and the church because the church is intimately united to the true Son. Christ is not simply the Father’s firstborn son, he is “the firstborn among many brothers” (Rom. 8:29; cf. Col. 1:15, 18). Christ came so that those who believe in him can share in that sonship, be a part of God’s family. We are, to use John’s language, “born again” or “born from above.”21 Our new birth puts us in God’s family, which has significant implications for how we view our Christian lives (cf. below).

The potter and the clay. By any standard, the way in which Pharaoh is treated in 4:21 is startling. In the final analysis, all of us, regardless of theological persuasion, are left to ponder the seeming injustice, or at least the profound mystery, of God’s hardening Pharaoh’s heart. It could be suggested that such hardening must be “balanced” with 3:19, where the hardening of Pharaoh’s heart is his own doing. Yet this does not alleviate the problem. Frankly, it would be easier to make sense of God’s justice if he controlled Pharaoh’s reaction throughout as he does in 4:22 and not just once in a while. But what we see is Egypt’s king as a toy on a string that God can pick up and manipulate now and then as he pleases.

The role that God takes in directing human affairs is an issue that comes up from time to time in Scripture. The tension created in our minds between God’s sovereignty and human freedom is a tension that not only we but biblical authors themselves struggle with. It is not the place here to engage the debate between predestination and free will or to provide a list of proof texts to defend any particular position. The Esau and Jacob narrative, where God chooses to love Jacob but hate Esau, is familiar enough.22 We also have the famous “potter/clay” passages in Isaiah 29 and 45 and Jeremiah 18. These passages offer an added dimension to the discussion. Whereas Exodus 4 and the Esau narrative refer to God’s directing the actions of non-Israelites (although this is not technically true of Esau), Isaiah and Jeremiah speak of God’s directing Israel’s fortunes as a potter shapes clay. The issue is brought closer to home.

In Romans 9, Paul deals with the matter of God’s sovereign choice and brings into his discussion the passages mentioned above, including Pharaoh’s hard heart (he cites Ex. 9:16). As Christian readers of the Old Testament, we must direct our attention to Paul’s words if we hope to understand how God’s sovereignty plays out in our lives. We will not attempt to unravel the mysteries of this chapter in Romans that have for centuries inspired both awe toward God and contempt for Paul. Still, the heart of Paul’s argument is expressed in Romans 9:19–21, where he addresses, with his usual pointedness and energy, the central problem:

One of you will say to me: “Then why does God still blame us? For who resists his will?” But who are you, O man, to talk back to God? “Shall what is formed say to him who formed it, ‘Why did you make me like this?’” Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for noble purposes and some for common use?

It is perhaps best to respect Paul’s inspired words without reducing to an abstract principle or sanitized theological proposition the struggle that his readers (and he too?) must have felt. The specific issue that gave rise to Romans 9 is the inclusion of the Gentiles into God’s family and the rejection of some Jews (those who do not believe in Christ; see esp. the citation of Old Testament passages in vv. 25–29). The ultimate answer to God’s apparent lack of consistency in judging people is given by Paul: God can do as he pleases.

I sometimes wonder whether the tension in Scripture between free will and predestination is not there for a purpose. Perhaps it is not a riddle to be solved (i.e., “Which is the ‘correct’ view?”). Its purpose may be to remind us of how distant our thoughts are from the Lord’s. How God deals with the world and with his people is ultimately far beyond our reckoning. It could not be otherwise. Already in the opening chapters of Exodus this tension is introduced: “Pharaoh won’t let you go unless I show my power; I will harden Pharaoh’s heart so that he won’t respond properly to my display of power.” No one can read these words and not feel his or her mental categories about God and life shaken a bit. The sovereign Lord does as he wills.

Related to this notion of sovereignty is the sonship theme discussed above. God is sovereign and does as he wills, but this is not an abstract, baseless kind of sovereignty. What drives God is the love he has as father for a son. This may be seen, for example, in Isaiah 64:8:

Yet, O LORD, you are our Father.

We are the clay, you are the potter;

we are all the work of your hand.

God’s role as potter is not to be divorced from his role as Father; “potter” does not mean “tyrant.” Rather, he does as he wills as a father acting for the good of his children.

Let us think for a moment of how parents treat their children. How often is the charge leveled against us by our children, “That’s not fair”? I hear this all the time from my own children, and try as I might, I can never get them to understand the old parental stand-by line: “I’m doing it for your own good.” But it is absolutely true! In Exodus 4:18–31, such a scenario seems to be played out on the way at the lodging place (vv. 24–26). Although I have no intention of sweeping away the tensions and ambiguities of this passage, I contend that God’s “attack” actually affords Moses an opportunity to correct his mistake. Had God wanted to bring swift retribution on Moses, he could have, but he didn’t. In this regard it is tempting to read verse 24 as an indication that God was not fully committed to bringing about Moses’ demise: The Hebrew literally says, “He sought (baqaš) to kill him” rather than the NIV’s “he was about to kill him.”23 Hence, 4:24–26 may be more a story of a lesson learned, father to son, than a narrowly aborted attempt by a capricious God to kill Moses.

But there is something missing in drawing together God’s role as potter and father. Can the two be brought together so easily? Saying that God is both potter and father to Moses or Israel is one thing, but what of Pharaoh? Certainly God is not father to him. When we grow angry with our children and punish them, they do not cease being our children. We do not drive them off or kill them. Moreover, we certainly don’t punish children outside of our family. But this is precisely what God seems to be doing. His role as potter goes beyond his fatherly treatment of his family Israel; he is sovereign over all creation.

This is precisely what troubles us so, and we arrive back at the beginning of the problem. How can we understand a God who does as he pleases, at times apparently completely out of sync with the rules of conduct that we take for granted every day? For Christians, focusing our attention on how God is our potter/father is perhaps the most concrete way of addressing the issue. It is not given to Christians to fathom the depths of the mind of God. Perhaps we should be less concerned with how God’s sovereignty works in general and more concerned with how it relates to us. In the end we may finally have the mind of Paul (Rom. 11:33–36):

Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!

How unsearchable his judgments,

and his paths beyond tracing out!

“Who has known the mind of the Lord?

Or who has been his counselor?”

“Who has ever given to God,

that God should repay him?”

For from him and through him and to him are all things.

To him be the glory forever! Amen.

Contemporary Significance

GOD IS OUR FATHER. That we are God’s children and he is our Father is not something to be taken for granted. As John writes, “How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God” (1 John 3:1). It is truly a wonderful thing that God is our Father. Many in our world today, however, think of it as a burden. For some, fatherhood is thought to be not only an oppressive notion that is offensive to women, but the notion of God as Father is a mere product of ancient Israel’s social (patriarchal) setting and has little value for present-day reality. Rather than an indication of how God loves his people, “father” has become a hated symbol for some or an abstract academic term for others.

Part of the problem that some today have with referring to God as Father and thinking of themselves as children of God is that they have endured painful and horrible experiences with their own fathers. While I was in graduate school, I met a woman in the photocopying room (where it seems I spent most of my graduate years!). She was at an adjoining copier. I decided to strike up a conversation with her: “What are you working on?” She turned to me with a look of both preoccupation and a bit of agitation. She proceeded to tell me that she was working on a passage in one of the Gospels (I can’t remember the details), which, she argued, indicated that God cannot and should not be referred to as “Father,” since people who have suffered abuse by their fathers would be unable to relate positively to this image. Part of me wanted to debate her. Another part of me, however, was more patient. The Holy Spirit muzzled me, and I listened to what she was saying. It turned out that she was abused by her father. It stands to reason that she would have some barriers to overcome if she were to think of God as her Father.

Despite the reality of her terrible experiences, however, there is something vital that is missing in her way of thinking. She has not caught on to the wonder of God as her Father. True, her earthly father violated the sacred trust between a father and his child. The mistake this woman made, however, was in projecting these failures onto God as Father. Rather than measuring God by what her earthly father had done, she should be measuring her earthly father by the character of her heavenly Father—a standard by which an earthly father would have come up damnably short.

I am not suggesting that this would have been easy for her at this point in her life, but it is certainly the place to start. She should not reject the notion of God as Father because of the behavior of her earthly father. She should look to the biblical picture of God the Father as her inspiration for what the father-daughter relationship can really mean. She would see perhaps, in time, that God as Father is a good thing and not something to be avoided. She would learn that the fatherhood of God is precisely that element that is designed to bring us closer to God rather than repel us from him.

Our world is sinful; we distort what is good. But the Bible presents us with an image of God’s fatherhood that is intended to transcend our experiences and transform our minds and hearts (Rom. 12:2). Perhaps one day this woman, who has suffered much, will learn that as a child of the heavenly Father she is loved by the Father with a love that is pure, holy, and ever faithful. She will learn that her heavenly Father zealously guards and cares for his children, that her heavenly Father is precisely the refuge she should run to in her struggles rather than avoid.

Being a son, as we have seen, entails certain responsibilities in addition to privileges. As children of earthly parents, we are taught to obey and respect our elders. There is, in a word, a relationship between parent and child; it is a two-way street. This is also what we find in our relationship to God the Father. We come into the family of God by being born anew by his grace, or to use Paul’s image, we are adopted (Rom. 8:15, 23).

Once we are claimed as God’s own—in other words, once we enter into that relationship—we begin to bear greater and greater responsibility within that relationship. Like parents of earthly children, we do not expect a three-year-old to assume the obligations of a ten-year-old. Nevertheless, any child, at least after a certain age, is expected to be a cooperative and contributing member of the family. This notion of responsibility lies behind the biblical idea of covenant responsibility. Israel is redeemed from Egypt. Following upon that historical act, God impresses on them the necessity to serve him and him alone.

Liberation theology. In recent years a popular theological movement, both in American and Latin American countries, has been “liberation theology.” This is no mere academic movement. In fact, most Americans who are tuned in to their culture can see occasional, albeit veiled, references to it. Although there are differing nuances of liberation theology (varying from theologian to theologian or from issue to issue), what they all have in common is the notion that God is, without qualification, on the side of the oppressed and that relief from oppression is the true goal of all Christian work. Appeal is commonly made to the Exodus as support: The Israelites were enslaved by an oppressive political force, and God came to destroy this force and set his people free. Now, most everyone agrees that God is not for oppression, nor does he approve of injustice, whether political, cultural, judicial, or private. In fact, liberation theology has been a healthy reminder to evangelicals that God is not simply concerned with matters of personal piety, but also with broader societal sins.

What liberation theologians tend to neglect, however, is the theological context in which the Exodus occurs. (1) The assumption is often made that, according to Exodus, God is always on the side of the oppressed. But the focus of the book of Exodus is the oppression of Israel, God’s firstborn son. There is an element of truth to their assertion, since elsewhere God cautions the Israelites not to oppress aliens living among them (e.g., Ex. 23:9); that is, God seems to show concern for more than just Israelite oppression. Nevertheless, Exodus is not a story of how God hates oppression and will go to great lengths to deliver the oppressed. Rather, it is a story of how great the Father’s love is for the son. In other words, Israel is not redeemed simply because it is oppressed, but because Israel is God’s firstborn son.

(2) Looking back at Exodus 1, the ultimate sin of Pharaoh is not so much in enslaving the Israelites. Although this is truly a terrible thing and provides the final motivation for deliverance, Pharaoh’s ultimate sin is in working against the creation mandate (see comments under Ex. 1). Pharaoh’s sin is only peripherally against Israel; the truly offended party is God.

(3) Liberation theology tends to overlook the real purpose for which Israel was delivered. Moses does not say, “Let my people go,” but “Let my people go, so that they may worship me in the desert” (7:16).24 As Jon Levenson puts it, the Exodus is more a story of “repatriation than emancipation. . . . It is a movement from one form of servitude to another.”25 The point of the Exodus is lost when we reduce it to a story of liberation from slavery, as if it can be applied to any oppressed people who wish “freedom.”26 The point of the Exodus is not freedom. It is about God’s calling his own people back to him in order that they might enter into a relationship, one in which Father and children are obligated to each other.

The limitation on Israelite slavery is owing to YHWH’s prior claim upon them: He, and none other, is their master, and the “jealous God” will share their service with no one else. To speak of this subtle and paradoxical theology as one of “liberation” is to miss the paradox that lies at the heart of the Exodus: Israel’s liberation from degrading bondage is a function of their subjugation to YHWH their God. The Exodus is not only a road out of Egypt; it is also a road to Mount Sinai.27

This understanding of the purpose of the Exodus is not only the proper backdrop from which to understand current theological trends, but also the proper framework in which to view our Christian lives. An issue with which every Christian struggles is the relationship between grace and works. On the one extreme (although I must admit that I have met few people like this), you have those who say that since we are saved by grace, it doesn’t matter what we do. Grace is what saves us; hence, it is what keeps us saved. Since we do not become Christians by our works, our works are also irrelevant to the Christian life. Although passages such as Romans 5:1–11 and Ephesians 2:8–10 may be (wrongly) appealed to in support of such thinking, it clearly ignores Paul’s own warnings against having this mindset (Rom. 6:1–23). The other extreme is to accentuate the need for good works to such a degree that the grace of God is lost sight of. Here, James is often called upon in support (e.g., James 1:23–25; 2:14–26).

Both extremes miss the message of Exodus and the gospel. Works are most certainly not irrelevant to the Christian life. We are all obliged by God to bear the fruit of the Spirit (Gal. 5:22–26). The New Testament letters as a whole are concerned to encourage and admonish believers with respect to proper conduct precisely in view of the fact that they have been saved by grace. Grace and works are not antithetical; the latter flows from the former. When God calls us to be his sons and daughters, he calls us to be obedient children whose actions exemplify the reality of the presence of God’s grace in our lives.

Conversely, and this is probably the area that more Christians struggle with, we should not so maximize the importance of works that we forget God’s grace, which is the proper basis from which to view our works. Here Romans 5:9–10 is truly a comfort to us:

Since we have now been justified by his blood, how much more shall we be saved from God’s wrath through him! For if, when we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life!

We are saved by grace, and now that we are saved, the risen Christ, the firstborn among many brothers and sisters (Rom. 8:29), continues to be at work in us. As James says, “faith without deeds is dead” (James 2:26). But our deeds are performed within the context of the Father-child relationship with God, a relationship we have had secured for us by virtue of our relationship to Christ, the true Son of God. This has significant ramifications for how we view the Christian life. We do not simply work, we work in Christ. We do not labor only for Christ, but in Christ and by his power.

The point is that we need not be paralyzed by whether we have done enough today or whether our works are good enough. In one sense they are never good enough. But in another, more important sense, we labor not on our own but in Christ. This gives us a measure of security—not complacency, but comfort knowing that, as we read in Romans 5, God continues to be on our side after we have been brought into his family. Our ultimate security is to be found in the work of Christ on the cross and in the empty tomb, and not on how we have performed today. This is not because performance is irrelevant, but because the just penalty for the shortcomings of our actions or our failure to act has been put on Christ’s shoulders, not ours. In short, we labor not so that God will be pleased with us. That was dealt with on the cross. Rather, God is pleased with us. We labor now because we are in God’s family.

I hear so often how well-intentioned Christians feel guilty for not having their devotions that morning, or that their devotions were not long enough or sincere enough. Guilt gets a bad rap in our day, and Christians are absolutely correct in pointing out that guilt is a proper feeling to have when one is disobedient to God. Yet for Christians, our guilt for not “doing” what we ought needs to be tempered by a knowledge that we are God’s children and he is our Father. If my children do something wrong, I want them to feel guilty, but I do not want them to be paralyzed with guilt. Nor do I want them to be guilty about silly things. They need to learn which things are worthy of guilt and which are not.

But most important, I want my children to realize that no matter what they have done, no matter how much guilt they feel, and however much that guilt may affect the nature of our relationship for the time being, it will never sever that most essential tie: I am their father, they are my children. That will never change. They will never stop being my children, no matter what they do. My wife and I try hard to provide a home environment where that knowledge forms the basis from which they view their own actions as members of our family. However gracious we are to our children, we know that the God of the Exodus is, in Christ, more gracious still with us.

Why bother trying? God tips his hand in Exodus 4:18–31. He is in control of the process. He shows this by how he treats Pharaoh: At times Pharaoh hardens his own heart, at other times God does it for him. Certainly, God’s complete sovereignty in bringing Israel out of Egypt is meant to convey a sense of security that the Israelites would have. God will treat Israel’s enemies as he pleases. Israel has nothing to fear concerning this great nation that once held them under its thumb. The problem, however, is the apparent capriciousness of God. Why is he not consistent in his dealings? Moreover, it is not too difficult to project God’s dealings with Pharaoh onto other things. Will God also deal as “sovereignly” with his own people? Is this not the point of the potter/clay passages, particularly as they are drawn into Paul’s argument in Romans 9:19–21?

We have before us in Exodus hints of the recurring problem in Scripture called by various names: election, predestination, or divine sovereignty. This problem crosses the boundaries erected by the various theological camps. No Christian will deny that God can and does do as he pleases. Yet no Christian, however committed to notions of God’s absolute direction of even the most minute details of affairs, can escape the tension between God’s sovereignty and the repeated biblical admonitions and warnings to walk in God’s ways. If God is as sovereign as Exodus 4:22 seems to imply, the question is naturally raised: “Why should I bother to try? If everything is under God’s ‘control,’ what is there left for me to do?”

As mentioned above, there are few theological issues that inspire as much heated debate as the relationship between sovereignty and free will. For some, predestination is the key that unlocks the victorious Christian life. For others, it is a destructive doctrine that robs the Christian life of any force or meaning. Few remain neutral. If readers are hoping to find a solution to this problem in these few sentences, they need read no further, for they will be disappointed. What I will attempt, however, is to draw out a few salient items that may help to put the issue in a more concrete context for Christians who endeavor to live godly lives.

(1) We must remember that election, or sovereignty, is never an abstract notion. Common arguments against election that I have heard include, “I guess God predestined what kind of tie I would put on today,” or, “Are you trying to tell me that God predestined that crack in the sidewalk and that I would trip over that crack!?” As the old joke goes: What did the Calvinist say after he fell down the stairs? “I’m glad that’s over with!”28 Of course, most of these objections are not meant to be taken wholly seriously, but the basic thrust remains: How does God’s sovereignty actually, practically, play out in the details of our lives?

This is a question that the Bible does not address. The Bible is not concerned to reveal fully the mysteries of God’s dealings with his creation. The notion of God’s sovereignty in the Bible is always connected specifically to one issue: the deliverance of God’s people. Although this raises a host of other concerns (e.g., are we saved by God’s choice without any input on our own?), understanding the salvation context of sovereignty at least puts us on the proper starting point for discussing the issue and how it might affect our lives. Burdening our hearts and minds with abstract implications of sovereignty, something the Bible itself does not entertain, will unnecessarily detract us from the focus the Bible gives to the issue.

(2) However uncomfortable we all feel from time to time with election and its implications, we must remember that the biblical writers do not seem to share that feeling of discomfort. Though the issue is mysterious, it is not presented as a burden in the Bible. This is not to say that it is easily accepted. Paul’s protracted argument in Romans 9 may indicate that not only his readers but perhaps Paul himself felt the need to engage the issue more closely. For Paul, the end result of any such internal struggle with sovereignty results in praise (11:33–36). For Job, it ends in humility (Job 42:1–6). Sovereignty is a blessing rather than a hindrance. I am not saying that understanding how sovereignty works is a blessing, but that it is a blessing regardless of how little we understand.

The Lord holds us in his arms. He is the truly loving Father who cares for us, his children in Christ. Can we really hope for anything better than this? What recourse do we have? Partial sovereignty? It is good to be under the Lord’s care. What such an understanding of sovereignty engenders in us is actually a sense of freedom, the knowledge that we are God’s children and that we are somehow under his sovereign gaze—no matter what. Sovereignty means that in our everyday lives, we can go forth and act boldly without fear that our constant missteps or imperfections will catch the Lord by surprise and tear us away from him.

(3) However much we try to make sense of sovereignty and incorporate it into our theological systems (as I have just tried to do!), we must remember that it is ultimately a great and humbling mystery. To understand how it works is to peer into the heart of God. I remember so little of my college years, which is no one’s fault but my own, but one conversation stands out in my mind. An older classmate and I were discussing the issue of sovereignty and free will and I said, “At the very least we have to accept the basic notion that either one or the other is true. Both cannot be right.” My wiser friend responded, “Why?” I blurted out a comment or two about God needing to be logically consistent, or something like that, but that response seemed as shallow then as it does now. We should not forget the tension that Exodus and other portions of Scripture set up. We should not assume that God conforms to our ways of thinking.

Is this not a recurring theme in the Bible that God’s ways are not our ways? Perhaps part of the value of the tension between predestination and free will is not found in solving the problem, as if it is a riddle God put in Scripture to occupy our intellectual energy, but in our standing back in awe of a God who is so much greater than we can understand. The hope is that we would go forth with this knowledge (or better, lack of knowledge) and live humble lives, trusting in the Lord all the more because of the depth of the riches of his wisdom and knowledge.

Original Meaning

The Circumcision of Moses’ Son (4:24–26)

THE FLOW OF verses 18–23 seems to be rudely interrupted by verses 24–26. Anyone familiar with the legion of interpretive challenges that surround this next passage and the oppressive amount of scholarly activity it has generated will be relieved to know that they will not be treated here in as much detail as they might otherwise deserve. Why? (1) There is little anyone can say about this brief passage that has not already been treated (too) thoroughly elsewhere.10 (2) After the dust clears and the debate subsides, few definitive conclusions can be drawn.

Some of the difficulties of this passage are obscured by the translation of the NIV. The following translation attempts to preserve the ambiguity of the Hebrew and thus helps us better to appreciate the problems:

Now, at the lodging place along the way, the Lord met him and sought to kill him. So Zipporah took a flint knife, cut off the foreskin of her son, and touched his “feet.”11 She said, “You are a bridegroom of blood to me.” So he let him alone. (At that time she said “bridegroom of blood,” referring to circumcision.)

There are a number of ambiguities that beset this passage in the Hebrew that no English translation can adequately capture, but even this translation (other translations are possible) points out several ambiguities that cry out for explanation. Who is it that the Lord wants to kill? Assuming it is Moses, why would the Lord want to kill him after he just gave him the command to go? Why is Zipporah able to appreciate the gravity of the situation and, more important, know exactly how to alleviate it? If the object of God’s anger is Moses, why does Zipporah circumcise her son? Which son was it (more than one is mentioned in v. 20)? Whose “feet” does she touch with the foreskin? Who let whom alone? And what does “bridegroom of blood” mean?12

Again, answering each of these questions (there are more) will not detain us. Nevertheless, we are obliged to make some sense of this section, since it is here for a purpose. Without wading through the interpretive muck and mire, let me suggest that these verses presage the importance of circumcision in 12:43–49.13 We are able to make several fairly safe assumptions: (1) The object of God’s wrath is Moses; no one really disputes this, and it makes the most sense in the context. (2) God is probably angry with Moses because his son (or perhaps both he and his son) is not circumcised. In any event, circumcision has something to do with it. (3) Zipporah’s14 circumcision of her son appeases God’s wrath and causes him to relent.

We have seen above how verses 18–23 introduce us to how God’s plan of deliverance will be worked out in the following chapters; they are a foreshadowing of the events to come. If we look at verses 24–26 in the same way, we can begin (and only begin!) to make some sense of them. Verses 18–23 tell us what God is going to do to Egypt in the subsequent chapters; verses 24–26 tell us something about God and Israel. The importance of circumcision (and Passover) in 12:43–49 can be seen in how it is so stressed on the eve of the Exodus. Of all the things that the Israelites need to hear before their departure, why is so much time spent pointing out the necessity of circumcision, a rite that won’t even become relevant until well after their departure?

What we see in 4:24–26 is the zeal with which the Lord guards this most important rite. We must remember that circumcision as a sign of God’s covenant was commanded of the patriarch Abraham (Gen. 17:1–27). Throughout the opening chapters of Exodus we have noted the importance God attaches to the patriarchs, particularly in connection with God’s name (Ex. 3:15–16; 4:5). It is in his connection to the patriarchs that God is to be known, and it is for the sake of the patriarchs that God will deliver Israel (2:24). Yet this connection to the patriarchs also imposes a covenant obligation on Moses and the Israelites. They have been delivered by the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. They are, therefore, to observe the command given to them: Circumcise your male children.

In the same way, then, that verses 18–23 presage Egypt’s consequences for not obeying the Lord, verses 24–26 presage Israel’s consequences for not obeying the command to circumcise. This is apparently such a serious concern that the Lord is willing to kill Moses, whom he had just taken so much time to convince of his role in God’s plan. Moses can argue, pout, whine, and hold his breath about going to Egypt and God will deal patiently with him—but circumcision is another matter. Failure to circumcise meets with swift punishment. The story of God’s attack “at a lodging place” symbolizes Israel’s and Moses’ subsequent rebellions and God’s just anger, followed by propitiation. Were there less ambiguity in this passage, or if explicit reference to this passage had been made elsewhere in Exodus, more definitive statements could be made. But as it stands, the best we can do is take some of the clues and trace the trajectory of this passage within the context of the Exodus narrative.