One of the simplest ways to entertain a kid is a funhouse mirror. You know what I mean: the mirrors that change the way you look. There’s the wavy one that compresses some parts of me, while stretching out others. There’s the one that makes your head look monstrous and your body look like a pin, and there’s the one I skip that does the opposite. It’s simple, cheap fun. The one at Chick-fil-a will entertain my energetic little 1 year old for 10 minutes (which is saying a lot).
It’s not what a mirror is supposed to do, which is kind of the point, right? A mirror is supposed to reflect back exactly what it sees. A mirror doesn’t lie, just like in Snow White: it reflects reality about anyone who cares (dares?) to stand in front of it.
This is what happened to Moses in Exodus 34:28-35. He went up on the mountain alone to meet with God. He prepared himself, and he got away from the chaos of his normal day – the kind of busy-ness that his father-in-law said was “not good”. And when he came down, the encounter on that mountaintop had so affected him that Moses’ face literally glowed from the reflected light of God.
I kind of picture the same kind of scene as in Exodus 19: the mountain is cordoned off – not even animals are allowed to wander onto it to graze. The mountain is covered in a cloud. There’s thunder and lightening, and the people are terrified. Moses alone heads up into that cloud. After more than a month (how many people had given him up for dead?), Moses emerges from the cloud… and his face is literally shining.
Paul explains that the reaction is… mixed. To some, it was horrifying. Moses – who because of his close association with God probably already seemed a little larger than life – now has glowing skin. That would be a little…disconcerting, don’t you think? So Moses put on a veil, so that the people wouldn’t be afraid.
What do you reflect, and what is the effect on those around you?
Paul describes this kind of thing in several places, but one that stands out to me is where Paul describes another scene. In Rome, when a general had accomplished a particularly remarkable victory, the Senate would declare what was more or less the equivalent of a parade. Titus got one when he destroyed Jerusalem. Prisoners would be paraded through town in shackles, the defeated leaders knowing that they would soon be publicly executed. The victorious Roman soldiers would then follow with banners flying, and last of all came the general. All the while, there would be incense burning – a happy smell to the Romans, and, of course, a not so happy smell to the defeated prisoners.
For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing, to one a fragrance from death to death, to the other a fragrance from life to life. (2 Corinthians 2:15-16)
The reaction of people to “the aroma of Christ” on us obviously is and should be dramatic. Mention the name of Jesus, and people get uncomfortable. It changes everything about the conversation, doesn’t it?
But there’s a downside to that. Like Moses, we often put on a veil so that the reflection of God’s glory doesn’t cause that kind of social turmoil. Is it any wonder that few around us think that our experience with Christ isn’t anything special?
In the busy-ness and chaos of my life, I long for some quiet moments with God. I long for the kind of “mountaintop encounter” with Him that Moses had. Heck, I think I’d even settle for someone – anyone – I know having that kind of encounter! At least then I could see the reflected and unveiled glow and be reminded that God is still there, and that His presence is still as transforming as it was for Moses, and that He’s still there waiting for me on the mountain.
What keeps us from getting alone with Him? I have this gnawing thought that a lot of what keeps me from Him is that I simply don’t make time for it. He’s not actually as big a priority as I’d like. I’m crazy busy, sure – but it’s not impossible to get away. I just don’t make the time for Him and Him alone. And the result is that I kind of suspect that I reflect very little of His light, and those I live and work with can’t immediately recognize “the aroma of Christ” on me.
So how do we encourage each other in this? How can we help out spouse get time to spend alone with God? How can we help our kids, or our neighbors (or heck, even our very busy pastors)? I imagine it won’t take much to get the ball rolling. If a handful of us show up radiating God’s reflected glory, I think the rest of us will pick up the scent and finally break away ourselves.
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