Breakthrough

Scripture: Exodus 34:29-35 and 2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2

For more than a decade I have been a devoted student of Tae Kwon Do, a Korean form of karate. I've received first, second, and third degree black belts after rigorous testing periods that the school euphemistically calls “camp.” As part of this process, the lead instructor would occasionally, and unexpectedly, call on us to step outside our comfort zones. This could be pretty daunting because, as you might guess, master karate instructors expect their students to have comfort zones of very wide diameters.

So, one Friday a few years back, when I was attending a mid-day class, my instructor marched up to me and asked if I’d be returning to the school in the late afternoon to teach – something I like to do when I have time. I said that I would. He thought for a second and responded “Alright. Well, when you come back today I’d like you to try to break a cement slab with your hand.” He smiled and walked away. I didn’t smile and started to worry. Granted, I had previously broken wooden boards with kicks and punches. But, in case you haven’t noticed, cement is harder than pine.

I called Lisa, told her about the plan, and asked her to come to the school that afternoon to lend moral support. By time she got there, I was feeling pretty confident. I’d broken that cement slab in my head a thousand times.

Nevertheless, my self-assurance started to wane as I watched my instructor set up for the demonstration. He perched a cement slab atop two huge blocks. Then he put some small wooden spacers on the edges. Then he put another slab on top of that. Then more spacers and another slab, and again, until I was staring at a stack of four chunks of cement, waiting for me to hit them as hard as I could.

Lisa saw the look on my face and – doing her best to keep her skepticism at bay – made one of those statements that are really questions. Specifically, she said: “You’re sure you can do this.” Amazed that she would harbor any doubts about my super-human powers, I crossed my arms, puffed myself up, and boldly responded “I am absolutely sure that when my hand hits that cement something will break.”

These two scripture readings have a great deal to do with comfort zones, stepping outside, and breaking through. Biblical scholars have described both of them as “difficult” passages and they have, indeed, been the subject of some unfortunate misinterpretations and mistranslations. But a careful reading of them reveals that they have something very powerful to say to each of us, particularly during the holy season of Lent.

The story told in Exodus may at first seem straightforward enough. Moses has spoken with the Lord, who has revealed the Ten Commandments to him. As a result of his encounter with God, Moses’s face “shines.” This frightens the Israelites, so Moses uses a veil when he speaks to them; when he returns to talk with the Lord, he removes it.

The Hebrew language, however, makes this apparently simple story a great deal more mysterious. For example, the word “shine” is a translation of the Hebrew term “qaran.” Most scholars believe this translation makes sense even though the Hebrew Bible nowhere else uses the word qaran to mean “shine.” Rather, it typically uses qaran to mean “horn.” Indeed, early translations of the Hebrew Bible adopted this meaning of the word, which explains why Michelangelo’s famous statue of Moses features two huge horns protruding from his hair.

Some have suggested that the best translation combines the two meanings, so we might envision Moses descending from Sinai with two shafts or “horns” of light “shining” from his face. Indeed, the famed nineteenth century biblical illustrator Gustave Dore portrays Moses in just this fashion. This understanding would certainly help explain why Moses’ appearance would have frightened the Israelites!

The word “veil” presents some problems, too. This is a translation of the Hebrew “masweh,” which appears in this scripture. Scholars think this is a valid rendering of the Hebrew term based on its context. Some uncertainty remains, however, because this word appears nowhere else in the Hebrew Bible.

It seems to me, though, that the most interesting mystery at work here doesn’t relate to these particular words but to the event itself. After all, whatever its other ambiguities the passage does clearly tell us that Moses’s encounter with God changed his appearance – somehow – and that Moses decided to conceal that change so as not to frighten the Israelites. But what the scripture does not tell us is why Moses would have so indulged the anxieties of his audience. To put it differently, why didn’t Moses call upon the Israelites to put their silly trepidation aside so they could experience the light of the Lord in its full and undiluted glory?

The answer, of course, is that Moses – like all great leaders – had a profound understanding of human nature. He knew how hard it is to convince people to change, to challenge themselves, to chart a new course. He had seen the almost irresistible forces of timidity and inertia at work; indeed, he had led the Israelites out of captivity only to hear them complain that they’d been better off before. Long before Sir Isaac Newton, Moses grasped the principle that a body at rest will stay at rest until something else gets it moving. And long before we coined the phrase, Moses had a deep knowledge of comfort zones ... and how easily we get stuck in them.

So Moses gave the people what he thought they could handle. He shared the word of the Lord, while withholding some of the light of the Lord. As one distinguished biblical analyst puts it, in this passage the “urgency of communication” takes priority over everything else.

Now, we may well sympathize with Moses’ decision here. After all, Moses wanted the people to hear the word of God, and anything that distracted them needed to be put aside – even if the distraction came in the form of a divine radiance. Well, we may sympathize with this decision – but Paul does not.

Indeed, in this passage from Second Corinthians Paul takes the story from Exodus and turns it against itself. Or, more specifically, he turns it against Moses. And perhaps we can understand Paul’s dismay over Moses’ decision to hide his shining light when we remember that Jesus invited us to let our light shine before others, all for the glory of the Lord.

Paul points out that Moses “put a veil over his face to keep the people of Israel from gazing” on the full glory of God. But, Paul says, we are called to be different. We are called to cast away anything that stands between us and the Lord. We are called to look toward the Lord with unveiled faces. We are called to open ourselves fully to the working of the Spirit and to know the hope and freedom that follow. And then we are called – in our unveiled and unfettered state – to “act with great boldness” – “to act with great boldness.”

Now, on the theme of misinterpretations, I think it important to understand what Paul is not doing here. He is not trumpeting the virtues of the Corinthians over those of the Israelites. We know this because it is impossible to read Paul’s letters without sensing his deep frustrations with his beloved church in Corinth. As the historian Garry Wills says in his book What Paul Meant, “[h]is dealings with [the Corinthians] were sticky, thorny, and cantankerous.”

I particularly like this image from the work of Donald Harman Akenson: "At times, Paul reminds one of a vice-principal of a large urban high school who has to teach a daily class in calculus to the college-bound stream, then, as head of discipline he breaks up a fight in the hall, and next he finds he has to fill in for a shop teacher who has gone home with a migraine. After school he coaches the offensive line of the football team, and finally at night he has to appear before a special session of the city council and give a polished argument for continued funding of the art and music classes. So we honor the canon of [P]aul’s letters my accepting their sometimes-distracted, sometimes-staccato quality as part of the warrant of their authenticity, the words of a man on a mission."

The image of Paul as a vice-principal is so true to the text. And so is the recognition that Paul had many different kinds of issues with the many different kinds of people who made up the Corinthian church. Clearly, though, one of those issues was that individuals who came from Greco-Roman religious traditions simply did not think about faith the same way the early Pauline Christians did. They had their way of doing things – including spiritual things – and that was that. In other words, Paul had trouble moving some of the Corinthians out of their comfort zones.

No surprises there – those Corinthians liked their comfort zones. Just like the Israelites. Just like us.

Now, this brings up an interesting fact. Do you know where the phrase “comfort zone” comes from? It is a phrase used in biology and engineering to describe that temperature range where we neither shiver nor perspire.

When we’re in our “comfort zone” we’re neither hot nor cold. We’re tepid. We’re lukewarm.

And, in this passage from Second Corinthians, Paul makes it unmistakably plain that he does not want lukewarm Christians. Indeed, I think Paul might have questioned whether there can be any such thing. I think Jesus might have questioned it as well.

This is worth contemplating during Lent. After all, many of us like to “give something up” for the season. Perhaps some of us feel called to “give up” chocolate or red meat. I had a friend years ago who for Lent gave up swearing at people who cut him off in traffic—that always seemed like setting the bar awfully low!

But let me offer another possibility here, one that I think embraces and fulfills these scriptures and leads us in a more compelling direction. What if, for the season of Lent, we were to give up our “comfort zones?” What if we were to stop talking about them? What if we were to get a little uncomfortable? What if we were to put aside the veils we pull out whenever God gets a little "too close for comfort?" What if we were to leave lukewarm behind and try living at a full, rolling boil for a while?

What if during the holy season of Lent we were all to stretch a bit further? What if we were all to take on that something more, that something different, that something challenging that God needs done and that we can do if only we will take the little leap of faith that lands us outside of our comfort zones? What if we were to show the true courage that escorts true faith wherever it goes, wherever God leads? What if we were to go through Lent “acting with great boldness?”

Well, in case you’re wondering, I broke the cement slabs. It worked because my instructors told me something that, in a very different sense, Paul tells us as well: you cannot break through anything by hitting to it; you have to hit through it; you have to hit through it even when you’re not sure you can; you just need to imagine the breakthrough, act boldly, and have faith.

Over the years I’ve probably hit or kicked a hundred boards and cement slabs. I’ve only gotten hurt one time. It was the time I hesitated. It was the time I held back.

Hesitating, holding back, hiding behind our convenient veils, idling in our comfort zones – what wonderful things to give up for Lent.

What wonderful things to give up for good.

What wonderful things to give up for God.

Amen.