It was 5:00 a.m., and I was hungry. The house was still dark, with every soul still fast asleep, as I should have been. Mustering all the resources I had at my 3-year-old disposal, I found my way to the kitchen, clambered up the bench, and procured the first edible snack I could find—a loaf of raisin toast. Ordinarily, as I knew, raisin toast was reserved for special Sabbath breakfast treats—to be enjoyed in moderation.
On this occasion I was incredulous at my chance discovery. The opportunity to enjoy raisin toast with reckless abandon, unsupervised, was too good to be true. I was barely into my second slice when my older brother entered, quizzical to find me perched on the floor in the kitchen, making steady progress through this monstrous loaf.
“What are you doing?”
Silence. Furtive glances were exchanged in a moment of unspoken understanding.
He sidled up to me, and before long we both found ourselves partaking of the delectable treat. The loaf having been conquered, each of us found our way back to our respective beds, hoping our parents would be none the wiser to our predawn mischief.
The stomachaches we developed later that morning were enough to foil our well-laid plans. My mother was sharp in delivering her rebuke.
“What were you thinking?” she exclaimed.
“And you!” she said, directing her attention to my brother. “You should have set a better example. This shouldn’t have happened on your watch.”
That thought has lingered with me for years. Even though I was squarely responsible for instigating the raisin raid, it was accounted to him as disobedience to have mirrored an inaccurate picture of what he knew to be the household standard.
Paragons
Adventism is a culture of stories. I grew up listening to tapes of animated Bible stories in the car, received countless illustrated pioneer storybooks as birthday gifts, and heard my fair share of testimonies from itinerant missionaries. Adventist heritage is enriched by tales of esteemed men and women whose faith pioneered this movement. The concept of spiritual paragons, then, as in Numbers 13-14, is familiar to us. Our denomination’s representative governance resembles the selection of the 12 spies, presumably men of good repute from each of the tribes. This fosters healthy respect for elected representatives and the spiritual leadership they model.
The concept of mentorship and discipleship is certainly biblical. Having been fashioned in the likeness of God, we were designed to mirror the divine (Gen. 1:26, 27). Human nature, however, finds it easier to ascribe this image to designated earthly spiritual representatives as the best approximation of godliness in our given context. We often focus too easily on the messenger instead of the message. Perhaps it stems from an intuitive deference to the wisdom of experience or the convenience of having someone else present digestible spiritual concepts for us to consume instead of wrestling through these tensions for ourselves. Some among us hold a personal list of favorite preachers dear, many of which would fill churches three times over as soon as word gets out that they are speaking for a particular service. A spiritual paragon’s influence is gravitational, yet eloquent oratory doesn’t necessarily beget spirit-filled counsel.
Like many who were raised Adventist, I’ve seen many peers leave the faith because of experiences of mentors, “mirrors” they looked up to, who have fallen morally, spiritually, or both. The disillusionment is starkly more discombobulating when our favorite mirrors shatter—when it involves those who led us to Jesus. Disappointing as it is, isolated high-profile moral failings are more easily attributable to lapses of judgment. But when you’re outnumbered two to 10, as were Joshua and Caleb, it would be natural to question whether you’re the one needing a shift in perspective.
A Different Spirit
So what was it that made Joshua and Caleb of a “different spirit” (Num. 14:24)?
The journey itself was a curious mission, for it was not as if God didn’t already know what it would take for them to defeat Jericho. He could have prescribed specific combat instructions from the get-go since He had already promised Canaan to His people. I wonder whether there was a type of learned helplessness that fueled the 10 faithless spies’ report. They may have mistaken their mission as being to determine if they should enter Canaan, rather than how to step forward.
Consciously or otherwise, our love for what is known can supersede our love for the truth and the change it demands in our lives.
Throughout their sojourn from Egypt there were instances during which God’s miraculous deliverance arrived in situations of similar despair. The Red Sea parted, famine ensued, but God provided. Each time, God miraculously solved their problems. It’s possible that they mused God would come through again in their hour of need, since this challenge was similarly insurmountable.
Had the Israelites dissected reputation from report, the incongruence of the 10 spies’ testimony would have been clear. They knew well that this was their promised inheritance (Joshua 14:9), and a scenario in which Canaan remained undefeated while Israel wandered countless more years was not tenable. The 10 spies had “distorted the truth in order to sustain their baleful influence,”[1] characterizing the Canaanites as cannibals that were undefeatable. It was “not only an evil report but . . . also a lying one.”[2] I can’t imagine that an alternative lifetime of endless wilderness wandering held much allure, but they didn’t want to be the bearers of potentially unpopular news that God was calling them to a scary, risky, dangerous mission ahead. Consciously or otherwise, our love for what is known can supersede our love for the truth and the change it demands in our lives.
Could it be that tentative apprehension in the face of Canaanite-sized spiritual obstacles is masked as passive, prudent caution to wait upon God? The “Let Go and Let God” mentality expresses faith, yes, but only when it juxtaposes our futility with a willingness to partner with the divine.
Joshua and Caleb coupled faith with action, believing that God would deliver His promises in proportion to the extent to which Israel would claim them (Joshua 14:7).
In our spiritual experience there will be times when taking the most active step in faith will look, feel, and sound as if you’re going against the grain. For example:
Following God’s call to a specific career. This may go against advice from parents and counselors who recommend a more stable profession.
Starting a new ministry uniquely targeted toward your sphere of influence when church leaders may prefer you focus on existing programs instead.
Sharing Jesus’ love with the unchurched and marginalized, rather than focusing on inreach-oriented programming that maintains the status quo.
A 10-spies type of “faith” doesn’t always sound overtly antithetical to the gospel. It can be shrouded in tradition, personal prejudice, or the familiarity of “how things have always been done” in the safe bounds of institutionalized faith.
Shattered Glass and Broken Mirrors
When it comes to reflecting the image of God, the “mirrors” of our lives often shatter in fallible human fashion. Glass shards inflict reverberating damage on those around us, particularly as we exist in spiritual community. Yet when we choose to mirror Jesus (Rom. 12:1, 2), the story ends very differently. Some 45 years later, the 10 spies having since passed on in the wilderness, God’s image was restored. Two elderly warriors, having chosen a different spirit, finally claimed their portion of the Promised Land.
Fellow mirrors, may we strive each day to reflect better the image of He who created, called, and commissioned us to His work.
[1] Ellen G. White, Patriarchs and Prophets (Washington, D.C.: Review and Herald Pub. Assn., 1890, 1908), p. 389.
[2] Ibid.
