The ninth plague on Egypt was the plague of darkness. It was not normal darkness like that of an eclipse. It was a supernatural darkness, “even a darkness which may be felt” (Exodus 10:21). The darkness persisted for three days. Not even artificial lights such as lamps and torches could pierce the blackness. The Egyptians stayed indoors for the three-day duration. But the Israelites had light.
The plague of darkness symbolized a defeat of the Egyptian sun god, chief over the pantheon. It also symbolized the spiritual darkness of Egypt. Though the Israelites were the slaves and the Egyptians the masters, the plague of darkness illustrated that it was the Egyptians who were in servitude. They were enslaved to the adversary and their false gods. They were under the dominion of the kingdom of darkness. Though the Hebrews were slaves, they were spiritually free. As servants of the truth, they were part of the kingdom of light.
A person in spiritual bondage might not know (or will not admit) that he is in bondage. He feels as if he is in control of his life, calling the shots and making decisions, but ultimately, he serves a great emptiness.
For example, a man with an alcohol addiction tells himself that he could stop at any time, and that he only needs a drink to “take the edge off.” It is obvious to everyone around him that he has a compulsive disorder and his alcohol consumption is out of control, but the man continues to deny the problem.
In the same way, human beings without faith and without God live in a state of denial. They refuse to admit that a great vacuum exists within them. Their souls are starving for light, but they don’t know it, nor do they know how to feed it.
The Apostle Paul tells us to give “thanks to the Father, who has qualified us to share in the inheritance of the saints in Light. For He rescued us from the domain of darkness, and transferred us to the kingdom of His beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins” (Colossians 1:12-14).
Painting by James Jacques Joseph Tissot, French, 1836-1902 — God’s Promises to Abram (Image: The Jewish Museum, New York. Public Domain)
The Friend of God
If God had said, take your son, your other son, Ishmael, whom you love, Abraham would have found the trial just as heartbreaking and difficult. The real test was not about Abraham’s affection for Isaac as much as it was a test of his faith in the promises of God. Everything Abraham believed and hoped for rested on Isaac.
By faith Abraham, when he was tested, offered up Isaac, and he who had received the promises was offering up his only begotten son; it was he to whom it was said, “In Isaac your descendants shall be called.” (Hebrews 11:17-18)
Abraham’s obedience testifies to his great faith in God’s promises and his selfless devotion to the LORD. The near-sacrifice of Isaac vindicated God’s choice of Abraham in our eyes and the eyes of the world. James the brother of our Master says that Abraham our father was “justified by works when he offered up Isaac his son on the altar … and he was called the friend of God” (James 2:21-23).
The Bible calls Abraham “the friend of God” because God and Abraham had a mutual covenant partnership. Abraham was the “friend of God” in the sense that he was God’s “covenant partner.” God “tested” Abraham to test the extant of Abraham’s loyalty to the covenant relationship. Abraham passed the test. He proved his devotion by obeying God and bringing Isaac as a sacrifice. When God saw that Abraham had chosen to keep and honor the covenant, He reconfirmed the covenant, saying, “Because you have done this thing and not withheld your son …” (Genesis 22:16). In other words, the fulfillment of the covenant promises God made to Abraham were contingent upon Abraham’s obedience in offering his only son. Because Abraham willingly offered up his son, God agreed to keep His obligations to Abraham.
A covenant is a two-way relationship. Abraham met the test and proved his loyalty to his covenant friend. That left the ball in God’s court, so to speak. It was God’s turn to prove His own loyalty to the covenant. In so doing, the Almighty could not bring to the table less than Abraham had brought. Abraham demonstrated his covenant loyalty through willingly sacrificing his only son, and by doing that, he obligated the Almighty to reciprocate. Abraham’s demonstration of covenant loyalty demanded God’s demonstration of covenant loyalty. The sacrifice of Isaac not only foreshadowed the sacrifice of Yeshua, it demanded it.
In the Gospel of John, God Himself takes on the role of Abraham and demonstrates His faithfulness before the entire world by sacrificing His Son. In language so reminiscent of the first verses of Genesis 22 that it can hardly be coincidental, the apostle John says, “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life” (John 3:16). In another place John said, “By this the love of God was manifested in us, that God has sent His only begotten Son into the world so that we might live through Him” (1 John 4:9). With similar language, Paul said, “God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Messiah died for us” (Romans 5:8).
The sacrificial death of God’s Son demonstrates God’s love and faithfulness. Christians take that for granted, but long before the story of Yeshua or the writing of the first gospel, there was Abraham—a father willing to sacrifice his only begotten and beloved son as a demonstration of faithfulness and love.
When Moses got up that morning and counted the sheep, he did not say to himself, “I think I’ll take the sheep out on the west side of the wilderness over by the Mountain of God.” Mount Horeb was simply Mount Horeb, an indistinct rock in the wilderness like so many other hills and mountains, completely ordinary looking. There was nothing special about it. Mount Horeb became Mount Sinai, the mountain of God, simply because God chose it, not because it was taller, mightier or holier than any of the surrounding hills and mountains.
In a similar way, Moses became Moses, the Man of God because God called him, encountered him and commissioned him, not because he was more pious, mightier, smarter or more eloquent than other men. God is in the ordinary, and encounters with God happen in ordinary places. But when God is encountered, the ordinary is immediately transformed into the extraordinary. The very ordinary Mount Horeb was transformed into the extraordinary, Mount Sinai because of God’s presence was there. The very ordinary Moses, a simple Hebrew exile from Egypt, a shepherd in the wilderness, was transformed into Moses the Man of God, the greatest prophet of all time because he encountered God. God transformed the ordinary man into something extraordinary.
Most of us do not regard ourselves as extraordinary people. You probably think of yourself as a fairly ordinary person with a fairly mundane life. From God’s perspective, that is perfect. You are the perfect person with whom He can do extraordinary things. He is not looking for prophets; He is looking for normal people who are carrying on under normal circumstances.
When Moses saw the burning bush, he turned aside to investigate. Only then did the Holy One reveal Himself to Moses. Our problem is that we do not take the time to turn aside and investigate. We all intend to grow spiritually. We all imagine that one day, we will take time to study, take time to grow in Torah, to do a mitzvah, to pray regularly. But you can’t take good intentions to the grave. A famous rabbi once said, “Do not say to yourself, ‘When I have more time, I will study Torah. Perhaps you will not have more time'” (m.Avot 2:4) Do not say, when I have more time, I will turn aside, you might not have more time.
Jacob blessing Ephraim and Manasseh, Rembrandt, 1656, [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Like Ephraim and Manasseh
Jacob laid his hands on Joseph’s sons, Ephraim and Manasseh, and bestowed a blessing upon them. He declared that the children of Israel would henceforth bless their own children, saying, “May God make you like Ephraim and Manasseh!” In Jewish families, on Friday nights, while the family is gathering around the Sabbath table, the father lays his hands on his children and blesses them. To his sons he says, “May God make you like Ephraim and Manasseh.” To his daughters he says, “May God make you like Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel and Leah.” He blesses each of the children with the words of the priestly benediction and, as he feels led, other words of encouragement and blessing.
Why would a father, on the one hand, bless his sons to be like Ephraim and Manasseh, while on the other hand, blessing his daughters to be like the matriarchs Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel, and Leah? Why not also ask that his sons be like the noble patriarchs?
The answer is in the Torah. Just before Jacob declared that Israel would bless their sons to be like Ephraim and Manasseh, he himself finished bestowing a blessing upon Ephraim and Manasseh. If we look more closely at the blessing he gave them, we discover that through this blessing he transfered the Abrahamic covenant and promises to Joseph’s sons. Just as Jacob had received the blessing from his father, Isaac, who received it from Abraham, he passes it on now to Ephraim and Manasseh:
The God before whom my fathers Abraham and Isaac walked, the God who has been my shepherd all my life to this day, the angel who has redeemed me from all evil, bless the lads; and may my name live on in them, and the names of my fathers Abraham and Isaac; and may they grow into a multitude in the midst of the earth. (Genesis 48:15-16)
When Jacob asks that his name and the names of his fathers may live on in the boys, he is asking that they will walk in the same blessings and covenant relationship that God bestowed upon the patriarchs. So essentially, this blessing is equivalent to saying, “May God make you (Ephraim and Manasseh) like Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.” When we bless our sons, saying, “May God make you like Ephraim and Manasseh,” the actual blessing in view is the blessing Jacob spoke over the boys. It’s not that Ephraim and Manasseh were so wonderful that we want our boys to be just like them. Instead, we want our boys to blessed with the same blessing they received from Jacob. We want them to be reckoned part of the covenant and blessings God bestowed on Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
When we bless our sons to be like Ephraim and Manasseh, we are asking for their inclusion in the Abrahamic legacy of covenant and blessing, a perfect symmetry with the matriarchal blessing over our daughters.
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