Show Me Your Glory, Lord

An anxious Moses pleads for help. "[God], you tell me, 'Lead this people,' but you don't let me know whom you're going to send with me.Are you traveling with us or not?" (Exodus 33:12, 16 MSG).

You can hardly fault his fears. Encircled first by Israelites who long for Egypt and second by a desert of hot winds and blazing boulders, the ex-shepherd needs assurance. His Maker offers it. "I myself will go with you.I will do what you ask, because I know you very well, and I am pleased with you" (vv. 14, 17 NCV).

You'd think that would have been enough for Moses, but he lingers. Thinking, perhaps, of that last sentence, "I will do what you ask" Perhaps God will indulge one more request. So he swallows, sighs, and asks

For what do you think he will ask? He has God's attention. God seems willing to hear his prayer. "The LORD spoke to Moses face to face as a man speaks with his friend" (v. 11 NCV). The patriarch senses an opportunity to ask for anything. What request will he make?

So many requests he could make. How about a million requests? That's how many adults are in Moses' rearview mirror (Exodus 12:37). A million stiff-necked, unappreciative, cow-worshiping ex-slaves who grumble with every step. Had Moses prayed, "Could you turn these people into sheep?" who would have blamed him?

Sheep. Only a few months before, Moses was in this same desert, near this same mountain, keeping an eye on a flock. What a difference this time around. Sheep don't make demands in a desert or a mess out of blessings. And they certainly don't make calves out of gold or ask to go back to Egypt.

And what about Israel's enemies? Battlefields lie ahead. Combat with Hittites, JebusitesTermites, and Cellulites. They infest the land. Can Moses mold an army out of pyramid-building Hebrews?

I will do what you ask

"Could you just beam us to Canaan?"

Moses knew what God could do. The entire Ancient East knew. They were still talking about Aaron's staff becoming a snake and the Nile becoming blood. Air so thick with gnats you breathed them. Ground so layered with locusts you crunched them. Noonday blackness. Hail-pounded crops. Flesh landscaped with boils. Funerals for the firstborn.

God turned the Red Sea into a red carpet. Manna fell. Quail ran. Water bubbled from within a rock. God can move mountains.

In fact, he moved the very mountain of Sinai on which Moses stood. When God spoke, Sinai shook, and Moses' knees followed suit. Moses knew what God could do.

Worse, he knew what these people were prone to do.

Moses found them dancing around a golden calf, their memories of God as stale as yesterday's manna. He carried the handwriting of God on a stone, and the Israelites were settling for the power of a heartless farm animal.

It was more than Moses could take. He melted the metal cow and pounded the gold into dust and forced the worshipers to drink up.

God was ready to be done with them and start over with Moses as he had done with Noah. But twice Moses pleads for mercy, and twice mercy is extended (32:11-14, 31-32).

And God, touched by Moses' heart, hears Moses' prayer. "My presence will go with you. I'll see the journey to the end" (33:14 MSG).

But Moses needs more. One more request. Glory. "Show me your glory" (33:18 NCV).

We cross a line when we make such a request. When our deepest desire is not the things of God, or a favor from God, but God himself, we cross a threshold. Less self-focus, more God-focus. Less about me, more about him.

"Show me your radiance," Moses is praying. "Flex your biceps. Let me see the S on your chest. Your preeminence. Your heart-stopping, ground-shaking extraspectacularness. Forget the money and the power. Bypass the youth. I can live with an aging body, but I can't live without you. I want more God, please. I'd like to see more of your glory."

Why did Moses want to see God's greatness?

Ask yourself a similar question. Why do you stare at sunsets and ponder the summer night sky? Why do you search for a rainbow in the mist or gaze at the Grand Canyon? Why do you allow the Pacific surf to mesmerize and Niagara to hypnotize? How do we explain our fascination with such sights?

Beauty? Yes. But doesn't the beauty point to a beautiful Someone? Doesn't the immensity of the ocean suggest an immense Creator? Doesn't the rhythm of migrating cranes and beluga whales hint of a brilliant mind? And isn't that what we desire? A beautiful Maker? An immense Creator? A God so mighty that he can commission the birds and command the fish?

"Show me your glory, God," Moses begs. Forget a bank; he wants to see Fort Knox. He needs a walk in the vault of God's wealth. Would you stun me with your strength? Numb me with your wisdom? Steal my breath with a brush of yours? A moment in the spray of the cataract of grace, a glimpse of your glory, God. This is the prayer of Moses.

And God answers it. He places his servant in the cleft of a rock, telling Moses: "You cannot see My face; for no man shall see Me, and live.Iwill cover you with My hand while I pass by. Then I will take away My hand, and you shall see My back; but My face shall not be seen" (Exodus 33:20, 22-23 NKJV).

And so Moses, cowering beneath the umbrella of God's palm, waits, surely with face bowed, eyes covered, and pulse racing until God gives the signal. When the hand lifts, Moses' eyes do the same and catch a distant, disappearing glance of the back parts of God. The heart and center of the Maker is too much for Moses to bear. A fading glimpse will have to do. I'm seeing the long gray hair of Moses wind-whipped forward and his leathery hand grabbing a rock in the wall lest he fall. And as the gust settles and his locks rest again on his shoulders, we see the impact. His face. Gleaming. Bright as if backlit by a thousand torches. Unknown to Moses, but undeniable to the Hebrews, is his shimmering face. When he descended the mountain, "the sons of Israel could not look intently at the face of Moses because of the glory of his face" (2 Corinthians 3:7).

Witnesses saw, not anger in his jaw, or worry in his eyes, or a scowl on his lips; they saw God's glory in his face.

Did he have reason for anger? Cause for worry? Of course. Challenges await him. A desert and forty years of great challenges. But now, having seen God's face, he can face them.

Forgive my effrontery, but shouldn't Moses' request be yours? You've got problems. Look at you. Living in a dying body, walking on a decaying planet, surrounded by a self-centered society. Some saved by grace; others fueled by narcissism. Many of us by both. Cancer. War. Disease.

These are no small issues. A small god? No thanks. You and I need what Moses needed a glimpse of God's glory. Such a sighting can change you forever.

In the early pages of my childhood memory, I see this picture. My father and I sit side by side in a chapel. We both wear our only suits. The shirt collar rubs my neck; the pew feels hard to my bottom; the sight of my dead uncle leaves us all silent. This is my first funeral. My nine years of life have not prepared me for death. What I see unnerves me. Aunts, typically jovial and talkative, weep loudly. Uncles, commonly quick with a word and joke, stare wide eyed at the casket. And Buck, my big uncle with meaty hands, big belly, and booming voice, lies whitish and waxy in the coffin.

I remember my palms moistening and my heart bouncing in my chest like tennis sneakers in a clothes dryer. Fear had me in her talons. What other emotion could I feel? Where do I look? The weeping ladies frighten me. Glassy-eyed men puzzle me. My dead uncle spooks me. But then I look up. I see my father.

He turns his face toward me and smiles softly. "It's okay, Son," he assures, laying a large hand on my leg. Somehow I know it is. Why it is, I don't know. My family still wails. Uncle Buck is still dead. But if Dad, in the midst of it all, says it's okay, then that's enough.

At that moment I realized something. I could look around and find fear or look at my father and find faith.

I chose my father's face.

So did Moses.

So can you.

Excerpted from It's Not About Me by Max Lucado, copyright © 2004 Integrity Publishers.