The law of the rebellious son: Deuteronomy 21:18-21

The elders of the city have been called and the makeshift court is in session. A young man is dragged in. His language is foul. His eyes flash with anger as they fix on an old couple. His father and mother are watching their son as the charges are read and witnesses are called. The testimony of the witnesses is unambiguous.

Finally, the father is called. He stands facing his son, with anguish etched into his face. The silence of the court is broken only by the mother’s quiet sobbing. When the father speaks, his voice cuts the air.

“I can’t understand it. When he was a child we loved him so much. He never wanted for anything. I can remember taking him in my arms, teaching him to walk, watching the first faltering steps he took towards me. Oh, the pride I felt when we walked down the street with his tiny hand in mine. I was always there for him, always ready to catch him if he fell. You all know the love we gave him. We couldn’t have loved him more than we did.

“But it hasn’t been any good. It seemed that the more we loved him, the more he abused us. He has always been stubborn, always rebellious. He has never done what we wanted and he won’t obey us even now. It’s not as though we haven’t disciplined him—you all know that we have. God knows that we have done everything we could, but now he’s a drunkard and his life is out of control. He has made life hell for you and for us and we just can’t take it anymore. It can’t go on. We don’t want it to end this way, but it must.”

As the father faces his son, eyes full of love are met by hatred and scorn. The old man choked on his last few words. “I love you but it has to be this way.”

Judgement is passed and all that remains is to carry out the sentence. The men of the city drag the condemned son to the city wall. Each of them bends down, picks up a rock and hurls it at the young man. He is pelted until his body lies hidden and broken beneath the stones—a sign for all rebellious sons.

The son rebels: Hosea 11

Many years later another court is in session, judging another young man. His name is Israel and he represents the chosen people of God. As he stands before the court, charges are read, witnesses are called and finally the father stands facing his son.

This is no ordinary father. He is God—the father of Israel. He is no ordinary god either. He is the God who gave to his people the law of the rebellious son and demanded that they live by it. He is the God who is the creator and lord of the world. He is the one who created people to live in relationship with him and the one who demands that they recognize who he is and live in obedience to him.

He is a holy God, intolerant of the claims of false gods. He sets himself against all who fail to acknowledge his uniqueness. He wages war against all who will not recognize, bow down, and worship him.

This God is serious about himself, caring whether or not people recognize him, caring whether or not people obey him, caring whether truth or falsehood prevails. He is holy, jealous and intolerant of falsehood—a God who will not be mocked. This is the father who stands facing his rebellious son in Hosea 11.

The whole courtroom waits, asking themselves, “What will happen here? How will a holy God treat his rebellious, idolatrous son?” Into the silence resounds the voice of the father.

“When Israel was young I loved him. I called my son out of Egypt. Yet the more I called him, the more he strayed from me. He went off and sacrificed to other gods—to the god Baal and to other images. He did this even though he was my son, even though it was me who had taught him to walk and taken him in my arms.

“He can’t seem to understand my care for him. I led him by cords of human kindness, with ties of love. I lifted my child to my cheek, I bent down to feed him. Yet, he continued to rebel. Even now, as the surrounding nations tear him to pieces, even while he is suffering the consequences of having left me, he still stubbornly turns from me. He is determined to cling to a god who cannot save.”

The rebellion is clear and the judgement obvious. No further witnesses are needed. The law of the rebellious son must be applied. All that remains is an inevitable punishment.

But the father dramatically halts the proceedings. The holy God silences the court and speaks again, not to the court this time, but to his son. He is overcome with emotion; his anguish is evident.

“How can I surrender you to judgement? How can I give you up? How can I annihilate you? How can I treat you like Sodom and Gomorrah and the surrounding cities when I obliterated them from the face of the earth?

“My heart burns within me. I cannot let it happen. You deserve it, but I will not permit it. I will not satisfy my anger!”

Then he turns to the court.

“Though my son deserves it I cannot permit it. This is my son! I love him! I will not become enraged, for I am God, the Holy One, the Lord of heaven and earth. I am not a mere man. I will not exercise the fierceness of my anger. I will not destroy Israel.”

This is Hosea’s message—God has loved his son as no other and, although he has been disappointed time after time, he will continue to love him. He is rightly angered, for his son has done far worse things than the rebellious son in Deuteronomy. But then Hosea records something great. As this holy God and father faces a son who deserves punishment he does what no human being can do—he decides to take all the suffering and hurt upon himself. In a struggle that takes place at the very depths of his being, God turns his anger into a new expression of love. The punishment of Israel takes place in himself as he contains his smouldering anger. Love triumphs over judgement.

Looking at me: Matthew 27:45-54

A third courtroom is in session. There is no rebellious son this time and no rebellious Israel. There is only me. I stand before God the judge. Again, this is not just any god. This is the God who created me, the holy, just, jealous and intolerant God who opposes all who do not recognize that he alone has the right to be God. This is the God who demands my total dependence upon him.

I am exposed. The blazing heat and light of his holiness renders me naked before him. My sin is plain to see. My life has not been lived in the realization that he is God. I have been my own god. I have done things my own way, without his help or advice. In my words, actions and lifestyle I have considered him irrelevant.

Before this holy God, the truth must out. He is justly angry and I deserve the heat of his holy wrath. I deserve the terror of the situation which I have wasted my life trying to attain—the escape from his presence into the ravages of hell. All that remains is punishment.

Then the judgement comes. As he had through Hosea, now God speaks to me. Just as he loved Israel, now he will not vent his anger upon me. Just as he promised in Hosea, he takes in his own being the suffering and hurt that I deserve. He is truly God.

As I look around the courtroom, the scene becomes clearer. There in the darkness, almost outside of my perception, I see what should be a most unusual sight. A man hangs on a cross—God in the flesh, nailed to wood. And as all the heat of divine anger is burned on him, this holy incarnation cries out in what ought to be my voice—“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

The core of God’s being is split. An eternal relationship is severed for the first time. The father turns away while his son, who has never known separation, dies the worst of deaths. A son hangs in the darkness without his father, alone, while life ebbs from his body.

In this single act, my sinfulness is both proclaimed and forgiven. On the one hand, my sin is declared to be totally unacceptable, so heinous that it could only be dealt with by God becoming a man in Jesus and by his suffering my punishment. I am in a situation so dreadful that it was only resolved by Jesus’ separation from God.

On the other hand, forgiveness is made possible. Here is the meaning of the temple curtain being ripped open. This curtain stood in front of the part of the temple where God’s presence resided, a constant sign that access to God was impossible and that forgiveness was not available. However, in the moment of the divine agony, at the very point when the core of God is being ripped open, that curtain is ripped open. There can be no mistaking the symbol: forgiveness is made possible, access to God is now available.

In Jesus, I see what Israel had been promised—God loving me in a way that no human could. God loving me so much that he lowers himself to become a human being, turning the reality and fierceness of his own anger upon himself. In the cross, God in the flesh dies in my place and endures abandonment by God instead of me. Only God could be holy like this and only God could love like this.

The end of rebellion

My judgement, in one sense, has already taken place. When I face God, as we all must, he will take me back to the courtroom set up on a Friday afternoon so long ago. There will be no hiding. As I face the cross it will clearly expose me, proclaiming the sinfulness of my sin and the inevitability of judgement. But it does greater than this—it proclaims the possibility of forgiveness.

What God will want to know from me and all human beings is this:

How then have you lived? What did you do with this judgement already proclaimed?

Did you live life determined to face the holy God on your own, determined to face the consequences of your actions on your own? Did you say in thought, word or action that you were willing to bear the punishment on your own?

Did you accept God’s gift? Did you accept that in the flesh Jesus faced the consequences of your sin on your behalf? Did you, in word and action, demonstrate that you wanted Jesus to face God for you and bear the punishment for you?

Will you deal with the case on your own or will Jesus deal with it for you?

I know my answers. I want to know the real God.

By Andrew Reid

Sometimes we get confused about the way salvation works.

Almost by accident, we can fall into a gospel that’s heavy on encouraging one another in God’s forgiveness and grace and mercy, but woefully light on warning one another of the dangers of diving headlong into sin. This kind of gospel has no word for the brother or sister who gives in to temptation over and over again — who “makes a practice of sinning” (1 John 3:8).

Over time, we avoid the Old Testament with all of its narratives of God’s judgment, cherry-pick through the sermons of Jesus and the letters of Paul, then skip passed the harsh warnings of Hebrews and James. We select only the passages that tell us of God’s love and forgiveness and joy. But are these warnings in Scripture not a part of God’s plan to save, too?

Let’s admit the hard truth: Many of us are failing in the fight against daily temptation.

Could it be that the warnings in Scripture are actually necessary for victory against sin? Is there real danger in avoiding all the warning signs? How many of us are flying down the highway ignoring the flashing red lights and traffic signs that read: This way to eternal destruction (Matthew 7:13)? Let’s turn for a moment to one of those passages and see exactly how temptation works.

The Anatomy of Temptation

In Judges 16, the familiar story of Samson and Delilah shows us that temptation thrives among men and women who refuse to heed the warnings:

After this Samson loved a woman in the Valley of Sorek, whose name was Delilah. And the lords of the Philistines came up to her and said to her, “Seduce him, and see where his great strength lies, and by what means we may overpower him, that we may bind him to humble him. And we will each give you 1,100 pieces of silver.” (Judges 16:4–5)

From the start, the narrator reveals the end of this path. Delilah the temptress has been hired by the enemies of God to lead Samson to the slaughter. Sin is hell-bent on premeditated murder. It will kill you. When we ignore God’s warnings in his word, we blind our eyes to the imminent danger.

Flirting with Death

Delilah reels Samson in like a prized bass. What’s more, Samson seems to enjoy the fight. He nibbles the lure that should set off alarms in his head, never feeling the sharp hook as it takes hold:

So Delilah said to Samson, “Please tell me where your great strength lies, and how you might be bound, that one could subdue you.” Samson said to her, “If they bind me with seven fresh bowstrings that have not been dried, then I shall become weak and be like any other man.” (16:6–7)

Samson is in bed with temptation. He’s flirting with her. Delighting in the fleeting pleasure, he toys with danger:

Now she had men lying in ambush in an inner chamber. And she said to him, “The Philistines are upon you, Samson!” But he snapped the bowstrings, as a thread of flax snaps when it touches the fire. So the secret of his strength was not known. (Judges 16:9)

It’s easy to marvel at Samson’s stupidity, but how often do we act in the very same way? We tell ourselves we can dabble in sin and emerge unscathed: I am strong enough. I know my limits. At this point, Samson doesn’t give his whole heart to temptation — just enough to have fun. Temptation has a way of lowering our guard through false sense of security. He makes it out alive this time.

The next time, Delilah wants more: Then Delilah said to Samson, “Behold, you have mocked me and told me lies. Please tell me how you might be bound” (Judges 16:10). Two more times, Samson flirts with temptation, allowing himself to be bound in various ways, and bursts the bonds. See, I’m strong enough. This sin isn’t that dangerous. I’ll be just fine. I can stop whenever I want to. I’m in total control.

Meanwhile, the alarm bells are blaring! It’s obvious to everyone involved that Delilah is leading Samson by the hand toward death. However, every time she becomes more brazen in her attempts on his life, Samson cups his ears a little tighter against the sirens. Each time, he gives in more, inching closer to destruction.

Sin Goes for the Heart

In her final appeal, Delilah goes for the deathblow. She goes for his heart:

And she said to him, “How can you say, ‘I love you,’ when your heart is not with me? You have mocked me these three times, and you have not told me where your great strength lies.” And when she pressed him hard with her words day after day, and urged him, his soul was vexed to death. And he told her all his heart. . . (Judges 16:15–17, emphasize added)

Did Samson ever imagine that a path that began with fun and exhilaration would end in trading his vow to the Lord for a Philistine mistress? He who was so mighty gives his heart to a woman bent on his destruction. Temptation wore him down little by little. Each time he was bound, he had an opportunity to turn back, to renounce Delilah, to repent of his sin and return to the Lord. But he ignored the warnings. All of them.

Samson told Delilah about his Nazarite vow and his uncut hair. Samson laid down to sleep in the lap of sin, totally oblivious to the danger as his locks were shorn. Here is what happened:

And she said, “The Philistines are upon you, Samson!” And he awoke from his sleep and said, “I will go out as at other times and shake myself free.” But he did not know that the LORD had left him. (Judges 16:20)

This is one of the saddest sentences in the whole Bible: But he did not know that the Lord had left him. Samson so took the Spirit for granted, he so seared his conscience, he was so blinded by his sin that he could not see that the Lord was nowhere to be found.

He assumed all the way down the path of wickedness that the Lord was by his side. But his heart was calloused and hardened against the warning of the Lord; he felt no difference when the Lord quietly departed.

The Consequences of Sin Are a Means of God’s Grace

The Philistines ended up seizing Samson and gouged out his eyes, and making him their prisoner in Gaza (Judges 16:22). Do you remember the warning in the Sermon on the Mount? Jesus says, “If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body be thrown into hell” (Matthew 5:29). The story of Samson teaches us this: If you will not gouge out your own eye, God will do it for you — for the sake of your soul.

You may lose your marriage if you continue in that porn habit. You may lose your job if you continue to defraud your company. You may end up losing everything if you plunge headlong into drunkenness. Sin has consequences. Always.

Eyes will be gouged out, one way or another. If the children of God ignore the warning signs, God’s warnings will have to get louder and clearer. In Judges, Samson’s eyes lead him into temptation over and over again. It’s no accident that God’s discipline cuts to the source of his sin.

Why God Warns Us

But here is the good news: God’s discipline is meant to save us from eternal destruction. God took Samson’s eyes so that he would not lose his soul. The episode ends with hope: “But the hair of his head began to grow again after it had been shaved” (Judges 16:22).

When Samson was blinded, he saw most clearly. No longer led astray by temptation, Samson was able to follow the Lord. God’s discipline is not pleasant, especially when you intentionally ignore the warnings — warnings that are meant to keep you from destruction and death. Do not think you will continue to walk in temptation without consequences. The eye will be gouged out one way or another. Either you can do it, God can do it for you in his grace, or you can fall into eternal destruction.

Brothers and sisters, “As long as it is called ‘today,’ [be sure] that none of you may be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin!” (Hebrews 3:13)

By Chad Ashby