Sons of Encouragement

by Francine Rivers

  “Then surely Moses and Joshua are dead already.”

  “My brother is alive! The Lord Himself called him to the top of the mountain to receive the Word. He will come back to us!”

  Korah shook his head. “You are a dreamer, Aaron! Look up! What man can survive such a fire?”

  “That fire will consume you if you rebel against the Lord!”

  They all spoke at once.

  Aaron shouted, “Go back to your tents. Gather the manna each morning as you have been instructed. Drink the water the Lord has supplied. And wait as I wait!” He went back inside his tent and yanked the flap closed. He sat on a cushion and covered his face. He didn’t want to listen to their doubts. He had enough doubts of his own. Moses said, “wait.” I have to wait. God, help me wait!

  He thought of Joshua standing up there beside Moses. Joshua, the one his brother had chosen . . .

  “Don’t you think you should . . .”

  He glared at his sister.

  She sighed loudly. “I was just thinking . . .” She held his gaze for a moment and then lowered her head and went back to carding wool.

  Even Aaron’s sons plagued him with questions. “I don’t know why he remains so long on the mountain! I don’t know if he is well! Yes! He is an old man, and I am older still. If you keep on besieging me, you will wear me down to the grave with your demands!”

  Only after a long, exhausting day of counseling and judging did Aaron stand alone. While the people slept, he looked up at the mountain and watched the consuming fire. How had Moses born such pressure? How had he listened to case after case and kept himself clear of sides?

  I can’t do this, Moses. You’ve got to come down off that mountain. You’ve got to come back!

  Was Moses dead? He shut his eyes tightly at the thought, fear welling up inside him. Was that why there was no sign of him after so many days? And where was Joshua? Was he still waiting on that rocky slope? His provisions must be gone by now.

  The people were like sheep without a shepherd. Their questions had become like bleats and baaas. Aaron knew he was going to have to do something to keep the people from wandering off. Some wanted to go back to Egypt. Others wanted to take their flocks to Midian pastures. No one was content.

  He couldn’t sleep. He gathered the manna with everyone else, but could barely eat. Everywhere he went, he was met with the same questions:

  “Where is Moses?” On the mountain with God.

  “Is he alive?” I am certain he is.

  “When is he coming back?” I don’t know. I don’t know!

  Thirty-five days went by, then thirty-six, thirty-seven. With each day that passed, Aaron’s fear and anger grew.

  It was hot inside the tent, but he didn’t go outside. He knew the moment he did, people would clamor for answers he didn’t have. He was sick of their grumbling and whining. How should he know what was happening on the mountain?

  Moses! Why do you linger?

  Did his brother have any idea what Aaron was going through with these complainers down here on the dusty plains? Or was Moses just basking in the presence of the Lord? Aaron knew if he didn’t do something soon, these people would stone him to death and then scatter across the wilderness like wild donkeys!

  Miriam looked at him gravely. “They’re calling for you.”

  “I can hear.”

  “They sound angry, Father.”

  They sound ready to stone someone.

  “You have to do something, Aaron.”

  He turned on Miriam. “What would you suggest?”

  “I don’t know, but they are past patience. Give them something to occupy them!”

  “Have them make bricks again? Build a city here at the foot of the mountain?”

  “Aaron!” The elders were outside his tent. “Aaron!” Korah was with them. Even Hur was losing faith. “Aaron, we must talk with you!”

  He fought tears. His heart trembled. “God has abandoned us.” Maybe the only one God cared about was Moses. For the fire still burned on the mountain. Moses was still up there alone with God. Maybe God and Moses had forgotten about him and the people. His breath shook as he exhaled. If Moses was still alive. Forty days had passed. An eighty-year-old man couldn’t last . . .

  The elders and people surrounded him when he came outside. He felt oppressed by their impatience. They were no longer worried about his brother. The tribes were ready to split off and go in a dozen directions rather than remain at the foot of the mountain. They were no longer willing to hear the words, “Wait here until Moses returns.”

  “This man Moses, who brought us here from Egypt, has disappeared. We don’t know what has happened to him.”

  This man Moses? They saw the miracle God performed in Egypt! They saw Moses hold out his staff while God opened the Red Sea so they could cross over on dry land! And they could speak about Moses’ disappearance with such indifference? Fear gripped Aaron. If they cared so little about his brother who had delivered them from Pharaoh, how long before they despised him too?

  “You must lead us, Aaron.”

  “Tell us what to do.”

  “We can’t stay here forever waiting for an old man who is dead.”

  “Make us some gods who can lead us!”

  Aaron turned away, but there were more people behind him. He looked into their eyes. Everyone was talking at once, crying out, pushing. Some raised fists. He felt the heat of their fetid breath, the pull of their fear, the shove of their anger.

  “Give them something to do,” Miriam had said. “Give them something to occupy them!”

  “All right!” Aaron shoved back, wanting distance between himself and the people. How he longed to be up on that mountain. Better dead in the flames of God than alive down here on the plain, with the dust and the rabble. He hated being pushed and shoved. He hated their demands and complaints. He hated their constant whining. “All right!”

  When they fell silent, he felt relief and then pride. They were listening to him, leaning toward him, looking to him to lead.

  To give them something to do.

  Yes, I’ll give them something to do. “Take off the gold earrings that your wives, your sons, and your daughters are wearing.” He would not ask these men to give up their own ornaments. “Bring them to me.”

  They scattered quickly to do his will. Exhaling, he went back into his tent. Miriam stood, shaking in confusion. “What are you doing, Aaron?”

  “I’m giving them something to do!”

  “What are you giving them to do?”

  Ignoring her, Aaron emptied baskets and set them out. People came with gifts and offerings. The baskets were soon overflowing. Every man and woman, boy and girl gave a pair of gold earrings. Everyone in the camp participated, even Miriam and his sons and their wives.

  Now what?

  Aaron built a fire and melted the earrings, taking the gold God had given them from the vanquished Egyptians. How do you make something that represents the God of the universe? What would He look like? Aaron looked up at the mountain. Moses was up there looking at God. And Joshua was with him.

  Aaron made a mold and poured the molten gold into it. Weeping angrily, he fashioned a golden calf. It was ugly and roughly hewn. Surely, when the people looked on his effort—and then up at the mountain still ablaze with the glory of the Lord—they would see the difference between the false statues of Egypt and the living God who could not be shown by human hands. How could they not see?

  “These are your gods, O Israel!” the elders called out. “These are the gods who brought you out of Egypt!”

  Aaron shuddered as he looked up at the consuming fire still ablaze on Mount Sinai. Was God watching, or was He too busy talking to Moses? Did God understand what was happening down here? Do not worship any other gods besides Me.

  Fear gripped Aaron. He tried to justify himself. He tried to rationalize why he had made the idol. Hadn’t God always given the people exactly what they asked for and then disciplined them? Wasn’t Aaron
doing the same thing? They demanded water. God gave it. They demanded food. God gave it. And each time, discipline had followed.

  Discipline.

  Aaron’s body went cold.

  The people bowed down to the golden calf, oblivious of the cloud and the fire above them. Had they become so accustomed to the sight that they no longer noticed them? They chanted and moaned their reverence for the golden calf that could not hear, see, or think. No one looked up as he did.

  Nothing happened. The cloud remained cool; the fire above, warm.

  Aaron took his eyes from the mountain and watched the people.

  An hour passed, then another. They grew tired of bowing down to the ground. One by one, they stood and looked at Aaron. He could feel the gathering storm, the low hum.

  He built an altar of stones in front of the calf as it stood before the mountain, uncut stones as God required. “Tomorrow there will be a festival to the Lord!” He would remind them of the manna God provided. They would have rested by then. Things always looked better in the morning.

  Laughing and clapping their hands, they scattered like children eager to make preparations. Even his own sons and their wives were eager for the next day to come as they laid out the finery of Egypt.

  The elders presented the burnt offerings and fellowship offerings to the golden calf as the sun’s glow lit the eastern horizon. With that formality completed, the people sat down to feast. Scorning the manna that rained softly, they slaughtered lambs and goats to roast. Nor did they drink the water that still flowed unceasingly from the rock near Mount Sinai. They drank deeply of fermented milk. Those with harp and lyre played the music of Egypt.

  Sated and drunk, the people rose to indulge themselves in dancing. They became louder and more raucous as the day wore on. Fights broke out. People stood around, laughing as blood was shed. Young women eager to be caught ran laughing from the young men pursuing them.

  Face red with shame, Aaron went inside his tent. His younger sons, Eleazar and Ithamar, sat in grim silence while Miriam huddled in the back with their wives and children, hands over her ears. “This isn’t what I intended. You know it isn’t!” Aaron sat grimly, head down as he listened to the shouting outside his tent.

  “You have to do something to stop it, Aaron.”

  “It was your idea in the first place.”

  “My idea?! This isn’t what I—” She clamped her mouth shut.

  He covered his face. Everything was out of control. The people were running wild. If he tried to stop them now, they’d kill him, and nothing would change.

  The people took pleasure anywhere and any way they wanted. They had not made this much noise when they left Egypt on the day after the Angel of Death had passed over them! It was up to the Lord now to deal with them. If the Lord remembered them at all. . . .

  He heard a low rumble and felt cold. He held his breath until his lungs hurt and breathed slowly, quietly. His hands were shaking.

  Nadab and Abihu entered the tent, swaying, skin containers limp in their hands. “Why are you in here? There’s a celebration outside.”

  A man’s voice wailed in the distance, and the sound echoed and grew louder in rage and anguish.

  Aaron felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. “Moses!” He threw the tent flap back and ran out, relief filling him. His brother was alive! “Moses!” Pushing his way through the revelers, he ran toward the boundary at the foot of the mountain, eager to welcome his brother home. Everything would be all right now. Moses would know what to do.

  When Aaron came near the mountain, he saw his brother high on the pathway, head thrown back as he wailed. Aaron stopped running. He looked back and saw the debauchery, the shameless parading of sin. When he looked up again, he wanted to back away, to run and hide in his tent. He wanted to cover his head with ashes. He knew what Moses saw from his high place.

  And God could see too.

  With a scream of rage, Moses raised two stone tablets above his head and hurled them. Aaron drew back, terrified the Lord would give Moses strength to bring the weight of those two slabs down on his head. But the tablets shattered on the ground, merely pelting Aaron with bits of stone and a cloud of dust. The loss hit him, and he covered his face.

  Pandemonium prevailed around him as people scattered. Others paused in confusion, all talking at once. Some were too drunk and caught up in their debauchery to hear or care that the prophet of God had returned. Some had the audacity to call out greetings to Moses and invite him to join the celebration!

  Aaron drew back into the crowd, hoping to hide his shame among the others, hoping Moses would forget about him for the moment and not make his disgrace public.

  His brother went straight through the throng and stood before the golden calf. “Burn it!” At Moses’ command, Joshua tumbled the idol. “Melt it down and grind the gold into dust and scatter it over the water. Let them drink it!”

  The crowd parted like the Red Sea as Moses walked toward Aaron. It took every ounce of Aaron’s courage not to run from his own brother. Moses had once murdered an Egyptian in anger and buried him beneath the Egyptian sand. Would Moses now raise his hand against his own brother and strike him down? Moses’ knuckles whitened around his shepherd’s staff.

  Aaron closed his eyes. If he kills me, so be it. It’s no less than I deserve.

  “What did the people do to you?” Moses demanded. “How did they ever make you bring such terrible sin upon them?”

  “Don’t get upset,” Aaron replied. “You yourself know these people and what a wicked bunch they are. They said to me, ‘Make us some gods to lead us, for something has happened to this man Moses, who led us out of Egypt.’ No one knew what happened to you. It’s been over forty days, Moses! I didn’t know if you were alive or dead! What did you expect me to do?”

  His brother’s eyes flashed. “You accuse me?”

  Mortified, Aaron whined, “No. I didn’t know what to do, Moses. So I told them, ‘Bring me your gold earrings.’ When they brought them to me, I threw them into the fire—and out came this calf!” He felt the heat flood his cheeks, and he could only hope his beard covered the telltale color of his lie.

  It didn’t. The fury died in Moses’ eyes, but the look that came in its place filled Aaron with shame far deeper than any fear he had felt. He would have felt better if Moses had beaten him with his staff. Eyes filling with tears, Aaron bowed his head, unable to look at Moses. The people were running wild, and Aaron knew it was his fault! He had not had the strength to shepherd this wayward flock. As soon as Moses was out of sight, he had begun to weaken. Was Israel now a laughingstock to the nations watching them? The people wouldn’t even listen to Moses! They were out of control!

  Moses turned his back on Aaron and went back to stand at the entrance of the camp. Facing in, he shouted. “All of you who are on the Lord’s side, come over here and join me.”

  Aaron ran to his brother. “What are you going to do, Moses?”

  “Take your place at my side.”

  Moses did not look at him, but surveyed the riotous Israelites. Aaron knew that look and shuddered. Aaron saw his sons and relatives among the throng. Fear filled him for their sake. “Come on! Hurry! Stand with Moses!” His sons came running and so did his uncles and cousins and their wives and children. “Hurry!” Would fire come from the mountain?

  Eliezer and Gershom raced to their father, taking their places behind Moses. Even Korah the troublemaker came. The Levites stood as one with Moses. Joshua, an Ephraimite, stood firm beside his mentor, grim-faced when Moses’ and Aaron’s relatives continued to ignore Moses’ command.

  Moses raised his staff and spoke to the Levites. “This is what the Lord, the God of Israel, says: ‘Strap on your swords! Go back and forth from one end of the camp to the other, killing even your brothers, friends, and neighbors.’”

  Joshua drew his sword. Standing in horrified silence, Aaron watched as he cleaved the head of a man mocking Moses. Blood sprayed as the body sank lifeless t
o the ground.

  The hair rose on the back of Aaron’s neck. “Moses! I am more guilty than these wretched people! It’s my fault they behave like sheep without a shepherd.”

  “You’re standing with me.”

  “Let the blame fall on me.”

  “It is for the Lord to decide!”

  “Perhaps they didn’t hear over the din.” The screams of the dying tore at Aaron’s heart. “Have mercy! How can I kill them when it’s my own weakness that has brought this upon them?”

  “They’ve shunned their opportunity for salvation!”

  “Speak to them again, Moses. Shout louder!”

  Moses’ face darkened. “Be silent! They will learn—as you will learn—to heed the Word of the Lord when it is spoken.”

  Obey or die.

  Joshua and the others waded into the throng. A man red-faced with rage, shouting blasphemies, ran at Moses. “No!” Aaron drew his sword and hacked the man down. Rage such as he had never before experienced flooded his body.

  The sheep he had been left to tend had become attacking wolves barking obscenities. A drunken man shouted curses at the mountain of God, and Aaron silenced him forever. The smell of blood and death filled his nostrils. His heart pounded. Another man laughed hysterically. Aaron swung his sword and took off the man’s head.

  Sounds of terror filled the camp. Women and children scattered. Men turned this way and that. Those who rose up were cut down. Aaron went through the camp with the Levites, killing any who stood against the Lord. Those who cried out for the Lord’s mercy and prostrated themselves, he left alive in the dust.

  The battle ended swiftly.

  Silence fell.

  All Aaron could hear were moans and the rushing blood in his ears. He stood among the dead, his shepherd’s robes stained with blood. Dazed, he looked around, his pulse slowing. Anguish filled him . . . and guilt too heavy to bear.

  Oh, Lord, why am I yet alive? I am as guilty as any of them. More so.

  His arm lost strength as he surveyed the carnage.

  These people needed a strong shepherd, and I failed them. I’ve sinned against You. I don’t deserve Your mercy. I don’t deserve anything!