God Knows

Exodus 2

Every week, I get anywhere from five to ten calls from people, from Paris, but often even all over the country or even internationally. Most of the time these people want to know if they can rent a room of the church for an event (sorry, no), but fairly often, these calls are from people who have questions about the Christian faith, or people who are going through hard times, and simply want to talk to a pastor.

This week I got a call from an older woman with a lot of health problems, who didn’t grow up in church, but had spent the last forty years trying to reach Christ. She’d gone to all sorts of different churches, hearing all sorts of different things. This poor woman was so confused, and she admitted as much. She’d go to one church, and ask questions about why she’s suffering with these health problems, or what does she have to do to be saved, and she’d get some answers. Then she’d go to another church, and ask the same questions, and get totally different answers. Every time, these churches were sure of their answers—they’d say, this is the truth, this is what the Bible says. But they’d quote different texts, out of context, and make the Bible say opposite things.

I was on the phone with her for about forty-five minutes. We talked a lot about the gospel, and about her current situation (she’s in a place now where she doesn’t have access to a local church and can’t leave her home). Talking about the gospel, I was on sure footing. I know the gospel, and from what she told me I do believe she genuinely has faith in Christ, so I hope and pray I was able to give her some peace about the doubts that she had.

Where it got tricky was when we started talking about her health problems, and the repercussions these problems were having on her faith. She started listing all of the different things she’d heard from different pastors over the years about why these health problems plagued her: she didn’t have enough faith, or she wasn’t praying right, or she hadn’t been baptized correctly, or God was punishing her for something she’d done, or God was testing her—there were many others.

As I listened to her speak, I found myself getting angry: angry at these pastors who claimed to know why this poor woman was suffering, and even more, who had enough confidence in their knowledge that they could place the blame on her.

So when she finally asked me why I thought she was suffering, I just said, “I don’t know.”

She didn’t speak for a really long time, nearly a full minute; I don’t think anyone had ever said that to her before. So finally I repeated: “I don’t know why you’re going through these things. Knowing what I know of God in the Bible, I don’t believe he’s punishing you, because Christ already took your punishment on the cross. So it’s not that. But why, specifically? I can’t tell you that; I don’t know.

“But he knows.”

Three truths about God become our foundation in times of prolonged suffering like that, and they are very simple: 1) God is sovereign over the world and over our lives (so he does what he pleases, and nothing can stop him from doing his will); 2) God is wise, and knows the best possible way to do his will; and 3) God is good. So even if we don’t know why he’s doing what he’s doing, we can rest in the fact that he is good, and that he knows.

That conversation was an excellent preparation for me, getting this sermon ready.

If you remember, we left the people of Israel in a terrible state last time. They’d been brought into Egypt by their brother Joseph, they’d multiplied and become very numerous and strong. Then the Pharaoh, the king of Egypt, became afraid of them, so he decided to submit them to heavy slavery and put out an order to kill all Hebrew male children, to try to stunt their growth.

That’s a terrible situation, in which we can find absolutely nothing good, looking at it from a human perspective.

But it is in that situation that God was already working out his plan to rescue them.

The Savior Preserved (v. 1-10)

At the beginning of Exodus 2, we come across a family. We don’t know who they are, except that they were from the tribe of Levi. This Levite family finds out they are going to have a baby.

Imagine the terror of those nine months—not only are they afraid of all the other, normal things that could conceivably go wrong during the pregnancy (and back then, a lot could happen than it can today), they had to deal with the fear of not knowing whether this child would be a boy. Because if he was, he’d be condemned to die the second he came out of the womb. And that’s exactly what happens. V. 1:

Now a man from the house of Levi went and took as his wife a Levite woman. 2 The woman conceived and bore a son, and when she saw that he was a fine child, she hid him three months.

So the second this boy is out, the family is immediately faced with a devastating decision. You can hide a newborn for a couple of weeks, maximum. But pretty soon their cries become much louder, and it will be impossible to hide. So this family had a choice to make.

V. 3:

3 When she could hide him no longer, she took for him a basket made of bulrushes and daubed it with bitumen and pitch. She put the child in it and placed it among the reeds by the river bank. 4 And his sister stood at a distance to know what would be done to him. 5 Now the daughter of Pharaoh came down to bathe at the river, while her young women walked beside the river. She saw the basket among the reeds and sent her servant woman, and she took it. 6 When she opened it, she saw the child, and behold, the baby was crying. She took pity on him and said, “This is one of the Hebrews’ children.” 7 Then his sister said to Pharaoh’s daughter, “Shall I go and call you a nurse from the Hebrew women to nurse the child for you?” 8 And Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Go.” So the girl went and called the child’s mother. 9 And Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Take this child away and nurse him for me, and I will give you your wages.” So the woman took the child and nursed him. 10 When the child grew older, she brought him to Pharaoh’s daughter, and he became her son. She named him Moses, “Because,” she said, “I drew him out of the water.”

So all of this is a fairly extraordinary series of events. First, I think it’s pretty safe to assume that the baby’s mom knew where the Pharaoh’s daughter came to bathe, so that’s why she put him in this basket in the river. (And we know that she was at least hoping for a happy outcome, because the baby’s sister was standing by, watching to see what would happen to the boy.)

So along comes the Pharaoh’s daughter, and not only does she not obey her father’s orders to drown the baby in the river, she takes pity on the baby. How could she not? Thank God for rebellious young women. (I know I won’t be saying that in a few years, but for now I’m grateful.)

Then it gets even more extraordinary. Moses’s quick-thinking older sister finds a way to bring him back home. So for the first few years of his life, Moses’s mother not only get to know he wasn’t thrown in the river; she gets hired to take care of him. And this time, when she had to essentially give him up for adoption, there was no uncertainty. She knew he would not only be living, but living better than any other Hebrew boy in the country, in the Pharaoh’s palace.

The Savior Rejected (v. 11-15)

So it starts off really well. But he had to have grown up feeling like a fish out of water—raised in the Pharaoh’s palace, but he knew that he was a Hebrew (we see it in v. 11, when he sees an Egyptian beating a Hebrew slave, and recognizes this slave as “one of his people”).

So already, he had to have felt “different.” But that felt difference would be accentuated even more by what happened after that.

In v. 11, we see that Moses has grown up, and one day he goes out to where the Hebrew slaves are working, and he sees an Egyptian beating one of these Hebrew slaves. So Moses makes sure the coast is clear, then intervenes and ends up killing the Egyptian.

The next day, he comes out again and sees two Hebrews fighting. Again, he tries to intervene, and this time, the Hebrews turn on him. In v. 14, we hear one of them say, “Who made you a prince and a judge over us? Do you mean to kill me as you killed the Egyptian?”

So apparently the coast wasn’t as clear as Moses thought; people knew what he had done. And despite the fact that Moses was genuinely trying to help—first in defending the Hebrew who was being beaten, and second in trying to split up this fight—they reject him. I understand why they did it—they were probably afraid of him, not knowing what he would do—but they make it clear that this is not a safe space for Moses.

And before long, there is no safe space for him. The Pharaoh hears about what Moses did, and tries to kill him. So Moses runs away from Egypt, and goes to a country called Midian (which, interestingly, is on the other side of the wilderness where God will soon bring the Israelites; Moses had to cross that wilderness to get to Midian).

The Savior Accepted (v. 16-22)

In Midian, he meets the daughters of the priest of Midian, a man named Reuel (in other passages he’s called Jethro; many people in the Bible are referred to by two names, often because of an encounter they had with God). What kind of a priest was he? Hard to say, but we at least know a couple of things about him. First of all, this name “Reuel” means “friend of God.” Some commentators take this to mean he was a priest of the one true God, and not of a pagan deity. What we can say for sure is that later on in the book, Jethro/Reuel proves himself to be a godly man, who offers wise counsel to Moses when it’s needed.

At any rate, he sits down by a well, and this priest’s daughters come to give their animals water, but they’re set upon by a group of unruly shepherds who try to chase them away. And like he did in Egypt, Moses intervenes: he protects this priest’s daughters and saves them. And this time, the response isn’t rejection. He’s welcomed into Reuel’s home, and even ends up actually marrying one of his daughters and having a son with her.

Already here we have a few clues as to what this man Moses must have experienced. Growing up in Egypt, he knew his own story well enough to know who he was: that although he was raised and educated as an Egyptian, he wasn’t an Egyptian, but a Hebrew. So he was an outcast at home. At the same time, he was an outcast amongst his own people. Can you imagine the animosity they must have felt toward him? A Hebrew, like them, who wasn’t subjected to slavery like they were, but who got to grow up in very comfortable conditions, in the Pharaoh’s palace.

This man is at home nowhere.

And now, finally, he’s come to a place where he is accepted and appreciated and welcomed. He finds a home, and he finds a family. This should be (in our thinking) happily ever after for Moses. But it’s just the beginning.

God Knows (v. 23-25)

Moses’s story obviously continues in chapter 3, but before we get to it, the author (who, incidentally, is Moses himself, telling his own story) inserts three short verses that have nothing directly to do with him. They can almost feel like an afterthought if you’re reading quickly.

But they are absolutely massive in terms of their implications. This has long been one of my favorite passages in the entire Bible.

23 During those many days the king of Egypt died, and the people of Israel groaned because of their slavery and cried out for help. Their cry for rescue from slavery came up to God.

I think it’s safe to assume that nothing we see in this verse is new. It’s been several generations now, one Pharaoh dies, another takes his place, and the people keep suffering. The people of Israel cry out to God for help, so clearly they still remember him, they remember the stories; so in all likelihood they’ve already done this many times before. Nothing external has changed in their situation, except that it’s a new king  persecuting them now.

Even so, when they cry out this time, something is different. V. 24:

24 And God heard their groaning, and God remembered his covenant with Abraham, with Isaac, and with Jacob.

If you’re new to the Bible, this verse might sound a little confusing, so we need to take a bit of time to define some words.

The first is this word “covenant.” When you start reading the Bible, you quickly realize that the word “covenant” appears all over the place.

Typically in the Bible, a covenant is like a contract: it is an agreement between two people for an exchange of goods, or for the purchase of land, or for mutual support. This kind of covenant is bilateral—it goes in both directions. I do something for you if you do something for me.

But there are also covenants that are unilateral—that is, one person makes a formal commitment to act a certain way towards someone else, regardless of what that second person does.

This is the kind of covenant God made with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. It is a promise in which God makes a commitment to them, to multiply their family, to give them the land of Canaan as a home, and to bless all the nations of the earth through them. The Israelites—the descendants of Abraham—have been multiplying, as we saw last week. But the other parts of that covenant hasn’t been fulfilled yet.

So now, when the people cry out to God, he hears their groaning, and he remembers his covenant with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.

There’s another word we need to define, in the context of this story: the word “remember”. We can mean one of two things when we say we “remember” something. The first is that we remember something we’d forgotten—usually when that happens, it’s too late. I’m already on the train when I remember I left my computer at home. That’s not the kind of remembering we’re talking about here; God hadn’t forgotten his covenant.

The second way we remember something is to call to something mind in a certain way, at a certain moment, in a way that makes us act in a specific way. I will never forget the birth of my children—the first time I saw them, the first time I held them. I haven’t forgotten that experience. But even today, now that they’re older, sometimes I look at them, and I remember that moment, and I’m so filled with love for them that I go and give them a hug, squeeze them tight.

God had not forgotten the covenant he made with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. But at this particular moment, when he heard their groaning, he remembered it. He called it to mind in such a way that he is driven to act.

Then v. 25 gives us this small but massively important sentence:

25 God saw the people of Israel—and God knew.

What exactly did he “know”? He knew everything he could have possibly known about their situation. He knew what they were going through, and even more importantly, he knew what he was doing. In fact, if we know this story already, we can see that even before the people of Israel cried out to him, God had already begun executing his plan to rescue them.

Years before, God kept Moses safe as a baby. He put Moses in Pharaoh’s house. He exiled Moses from both people groups—the Egyptians he had grown up with, and the Hebrews to whom he belonged. He brought Moses to Midian and caused him to be welcomed there.

V. 23-25 are wholly unnecessary for the story. They change nothing about the facts of Israel’s situation, or what’s happening with Moses. They are included here in order that the people reading this story might know that the cries of God’s people did not fall on deaf ears, that he was not indifferent to their situation.

But God’s plan is not always what we would expect. He had heard the people’s cries for years, decades, centuries…but he hadn’t acted yet in any way that they could see, because it wasn’t the right time. That is a hard pill for us to swallow. Often we are so sure that surely God’s plan for me, God’s plan for his people, couldn’t possibly be this.

We think far too small. God’s plans are bigger than just for us. His plans are not primarily for the alleviating of our suffering; his plans are for the healing of all suffering.

God knows. He hadn’t forgotten his covenant with his people. Even if for them it seemed interminably long in coming, God was faithful to do what he promised.

And that is true across the entire narrative of the Bible, and throughout all of human history. He knows. HE IS FAITHFUL.

For the people of Israel, God knows. HE IS FAITHFUL. Already, he has gotten ready. He delivered Moses as a baby, he preserved Moses when the Pharaoh tried to kill him, he placed Moses where he needed to be—in exactly the right place to be called and sent to rescue his people. For the people of Israel in this story, God knows what he’s doing.

For all of his people, God knows. HE IS FAITHFUL. What happens much later on in the story? It’s no accident that the story of Moses, in so many ways, mirrors the story of Jesus Christ: when God was doing all this stuff with Israel, he already knew exactly what he would do with Jesus.

The people of Israel were in Egypt, away from the land God had promised them, for four hundred years before he came to their rescue. Much later, the prophets would go silent, and the people would wait for God to finally fulfill the promises given through those prophets, and send them a Messiah.

The people of Israel were in Egypt for four hundred years. How much time passed between the last prophet and the coming of Christ? Four hundred years.

God protects the savior Moses from a murderous king who sets out killing his people’s baby boys. The Savior Jesus, too, is protected from a murderous king who sets out killing his people’s baby boys.

Moses intervenes to save, on two different occasions: his attempt to defend his own people is rejected by them (or at least by some of them), but his attempt to rescue Reuel’s daughters is welcomed, appreciated, and accepted.

Jesus intervened to save; his salvation was rejected by all but a few of his people, but it was welcomed and accepted by some, and even by those outside of his own nation. And it’s still going on.

None of this was an accident. Not just for the people of Israel, but for all of God’s people—for us, and all the saints throughout history—God knows. He is faithful. At just the right time, in just the right context, Christ came and delivered us. He lived our life and died our death and was raised for our justification. Why didn’t it happen earlier, or later, or differently? God only knows. But God knows. HE IS FAITHFUL.

This is what we see all throughout Scripture: God knows what he is doing. He makes promises, and he is faithful to fulfill those promises. He has a plan to do his will, and he perfectly executes that plan.

And you can apply this all the way down the line—from the monumental moments of history to the smallest circumstances of our lives.

Some of you are at a high point in your lives, and you feel like everything’s coming together, and you’re just happy to be where you are with the Lord. And thank God for that.

But I’ve learned enough to know that more often than not, that’s not the case; most of you are struggling with something, and the struggles going on in this room are as various as the people we have here today.

Some of you may be struggling with feelings of depression, or anxiety.

Some of you have serious health issues you’re dealing with.

Some of you are struggling with very real and very heavy sin, and you’re feeling crushed under the weight of it, wondering if it will ever end, and wondering if anyone here would still love and accept you if they knew.

Some of you are struggling with wounds from past abuse, and some of you are dealing with the temptation to act in abusive ways.

Some of you are struggling with fear over financial pressure, or pressure from school or work, or feelings of worthlessness, or suicidal thoughts, or eating disorders, or pride, or anger, or bitterness, or fear, or any number of a million different difficult things that you could possibly go through.

And some of you are simply struggling to believe that God even really sees you at all, much less loves you and cares for you.

Whatever it is you are dealing with—whatever you are struggling with, whatever it is that seems to be crushing you—God knows. He is not surprised by this. He is powerful, and he is wise, and he is good—he knows what he is going.

And not only does he know what he’s doing in your situation, he knows you. He understands you. He sees into depths of your heart that even you are unable to comprehend. He sees you, and he hears your cries for help, and he remembers his promises to you. There’s a road to those promises, and it may not be the road you would have chosen for yourself—it almost never is. But he sees you, and hears you, and he is taking you by the hand and guiding you towards the fulfillment of every promise he has made to his people. That fulfillment might come tomorrow, or in five years, or only when Christ returns. But whether you can see it or not, that’s where he’s taking you.

23 During those many days the king of Egypt died, and the people of Israel groaned because of their slavery and cried out for help. Their cry for rescue from slavery came up to God. 24 And God heard their groaning, and God remembered his covenant with Abraham, with Isaac, and with Jacob. 25 God saw the people of Israel—and God knew.

He hasn’t changed.

Conclusion

So the question this text forces us to ask is, Will you trust him?

This text gives us two options in response to the Savior whom God sent to save us: we can accept him, or we can reject him. That’s it, and that’s all.

The thing is, he’s sovereign over your life whether you accept it or not. If we reject the Savior, that changes nothing about God’s plan for us. All it does it make living through that plan more difficult. In all of our lives, there will be suffering, there will be struggle. But suffering without Christ is infinitely more difficult than suffering with him, and knowing that the God who rules over your life is a good and wise God who works for you and not against you.

So I would plead with you to accept him. That means willingly and gladly submitting to his sovereignty, and resting in the knowledge that your sins are forgiven, your future is secure, and your life—even if it may be painful and difficult to understand—is being molded into a story that, in a hundred years, you will not want to change. For those who belong to Christ, we have this promise: when we are with him in glory, we will never once look back on our lives on this earth and wish God had done anything differently.