When the Way Seems Uncertain

Parashat Ki Tavo, Deuteronomy 26:1–29:8

Ben Volman, UMJC Vice President

Who am I? Where did I come from? Where am I going with my life? Is God with me or against me? I remember all too well the years when those pressing questions had no answer. And then the library workers at my university went on strike.

I lived at home, and most assignments were done on campus in the study halls of multi-storied libraries. These were now closed. Then I read about a nearby college with a large study hall open to everyone. Somebody told me it was a seminary, but I didn’t know what that meant. Walking through the carved stone entrance, I was impressed by the high foyer and Oxford-style architecture. The oak-paneled study hall had nice large windows looking out on the campus.

Settling in behind a desk, I should have begun working, but I couldn’t. All around me were books on religion and the Bible. The people here studied about God and some of them must even believe that stuff. It was like being in church and I had a disturbing feeling: “I don’t belong here.” A few minutes later, I gathered up my books and fled.

At the time, I couldn’t explain what happened. I didn’t believe in God. But I knew that my life, my aspirations, and my thoughts, could never have held up under the spotlight of a righteous judge. It would take almost two years for my questions to lead me to the least likely place of all, peace with God through Messiah Yeshua. My decision at a campus meeting, surrounded by Jewish friends, changed everything. But I never thought of going back to that library.

As we transition through the stages of life, from school to career, to marriage, creating a family and beyond, those old questions still reappear. My prayers seek answers from God about where I’m going, especially when I face tough decisions and I have to ask myself: Am I asserting my own will or being authentic before God and genuinely faithful to his call?

In the ancient liturgy from the opening paragraphs of this week’s parashah, I hear this humbling instruction that teaches us the right attitude towards those questions. Although our ancient forebears were instructed to recite these words at Sukkot, the lessons are timeless.

“My ancestor was a nomad from Aram. He went down into Egypt few in number. . . . But the Egyptians treated us badly. . . . So we cried out to Adonai, the God of our ancestors . . . and Adonai brought us out of Egypt with a strong hand and a stretched-out arm. . . . Now he has brought us to this place and given us this land. . . . Therefore . . . I have now brought the first-fruits of the land which you, Adonai, have given me.” (Deut 26:5–10)

However much we’ve known of God’s grace and goodness, we will always remain the offspring of a wanderer, Ya’akov, who was found by God. But there is no mistaking who rescued us from bondage and gave us our land, and to whom the bikkurim, the firstfruits and first blessings of our land, belong. The words are simple yet gracious reminders of God’s ultimate sovereignty that must move into every area of our lives. And once we fully accept that truth into our being, we will “take joy in all the good that Adonai your God has given you” (Deut 26:11).

Even for believers in Yeshua, there are many harsh moments when it’s difficult to understand God’s sovereign will. For those times, Isaiah has given us his inspired visionary promise in this week’s haftarah of consolation. The prophet who called Hezekiah to defy the armies of Babylon leaves us this incredible legacy of hope in Isaiah 60:1.

Arise, shine [Jerusalem],

for your light has come,

the glory of Adonai

has risen over you.

The opening imperatives in the feminine form indicate that they are commands for Jerusalem. In the prophet’s own time, “thick darkness” may have hung over the city, but we are promised that the Lord’s kavod, the shining righteousness of his glorious presence, will surely break through. The nations will ultimately be drawn to the God of Israel reigning in all his righteous splendor (v. 3) and “then you will see and be radiant” (v. 5). It is an ultimate reassurance that in time, we will fully comprehend all that he has done and yet will do for us. No matter how overwhelming the situation, despite all the pain we’ve endured on this journey, his larger purpose for us and for all Israel will surely be revealed, as certainly as the dawn follows night.

All through the month of Elul, our congregations begin worship by blowing the shofar, calling God’s people to return, reflect and prepare themselves to gather in reverence for the coming High Holy Days. Unfortunately, that reverence is often ushered in under the shadow of judgment, the kind of judgment that I once feared so strongly. I think we’re often misled by depictions of a holy God measuring our sins against our mitzvot, our good deeds, as if our souls were in the hands of an exalted spiritual accountant.

My journey with Yeshua has given me a much different picture: a heavenly Father who is gracious and forgiving, who restores me when I fail and lifts me up when I’m stuck in doubt. I recall Yeshua’s words to the thief hanging next to him on a cross: “I will remember you—this day you will be with me in Gan Eden” (Luke 23:43), or to the woman caught in adultery: “Neither do I condemn you. Now go, and don’t sin any more” (John 8:11). Yeshua, who reached out to touch lepers and forgave tax-collectors urges us come closer, no matter how distant we feel from holiness: “I have not come to call the ‘righteous,’ but rather to call sinners” (Luke 5:32).

On Yom Kippur, in the moments before the cantor intones the opening notes of Kol Nidre, the rabbi addresses the congregation and speaks to those who fear in their hearts that that they aren’t worthy to join with God’s people: “By authority of the court on high and by authority of the court below, with the consent of the All-Present and with the consent of the congregation, we hereby permit prayer to go forward in the company of the transgressors.” We all have good reason to be penitent and yet every one of us is welcome into the presence of God. The brilliant 17th century Christian philosopher, Blaise Pascal, once said, there are only two kinds of people: saints who think they are sinners and sinners who think they are saints.

As a young believer with a B.A., I sensed the Lord calling me to get educated in the Word of God. For months I prayed about where to go to school, but none of the options gave me peace. On a lovely spring day, I went to hear the famous Hebrew Christian theologian Dr. Jakob Jocz at my old university. Later, I approached him to explain my dilemma and after we’d spoken awhile, his face brightened. He asked me if I was familiar with a seminary college on the other side of the campus. I mentioned that I did know of it, and he said those words that guided my life for the next several years and would provide the basis for many years of ministry to come: “Go there. They will take care of you.” A few minutes later, I was walking into the same building from which I’d fled only a few years before, and indeed, Jocz’s words proved true. Sometimes, I think God enjoys directing us with what we’d call a sense of humor.

Who am I? Where am I going? We never have all the answers. As Rav Sha’ul so humbly puts it: “It is not that I have already obtained it or already reached the goal — no, I keep pursuing it in the hope of taking hold of that for which the Messiah Yeshua took hold of me” (Phil 3:12). So, let us encourage one another to keep pressing on, even when we falter. After all, we follow in the steps of a wanderer, of slaves, of unpretentious workers in soil who considered it a privilege to bring their first fruits in a basket before the priest, and counted it all joy.

All Scripture citations are from the Complete Jewish Bible (CJB).