For Lent, I’m studying the book of Exodus. Funny how the complaints of the Israelites sound a lot like complaints I hear about the coronavirus.
“The leaders are clueless.”
“How can we be expected to make do?”
“We’re gonna die!”
I’m intrigued by this description of the complainers, in the poetic part of the Old Testament:
Psalm 78: 57 (NIV)
Like their ancestors they were disloyal
and faithless, as unreliable as a faulty bow.
I don’t want to be a faulty bow.
Dear Lord, shut down my faithless complaints.
I want to be on-target, faithful and loyal to You,
in Jesus’ name.
Oh, my dear, we’re gonna die,
and someone must be blamed!
Never apple of our eyes,
now they should be shamed
for the lack of crystal ball
or tarot cards that really worked
to tell the final sum of all
the dangers that we now see lurked
behind our doors of ignorance
(but we’ll call it their careless sloth)
and we’ll indulge in petulance;
better that than pledge our troth
to those in charge, duly elected
by people whom we’ve disrespected.
“We’re gonna die.” Indeed. Last I knew, the mortality rate for humans is 100%. But I’m delighted to see that you, Andrew, are still counted among the living!
Just glad to still be here.