If there is anything we learn from the events unfolding in Exodus 18, it is this: Judgment is hard work.
As we noted in the previous post, to do justice, justice must first be discerned. In Hebrew, the discernment of justice is Mishpat—judgment that culminates in a verdict. Tsedeq is the implementation of that justice—a process of prevention and remedy to ensure the successful ordering of human relations in a community. Like the relationship between the head and the hand, we must understand before we do.
All of this is extremely hard work, and it requires immense resources. This is evident not only from Jethro’s proposed hierarchy of judges, but also from the machinery we have constructed to pursue justice in modern society. Think for a moment of everything that has to exist before a society can even begin to administer justice: departments of justice; courts and judges; prosecutors and defence lawyers; police services and investigators; forensic laboratories; prisons and correctional services; probation and parole systems; legal-aid institutions; social workers and welfare agencies; child-protection services; human-rights commissions; ombudsmen; regulatory bodies; tribunals and mediation services.
And behind all of these institutions are millions of people whose daily work is devoted, directly or indirectly, to the discernment, administration, protection and implementation of justice.
Justice is hard work.
The short narrative from the Exodus to the giving of the Law at Sinai reveals this. But it also reveals an intriguing symmetry. Consider the pattern: bread from heaven, water from the rock, protection from an enemy, and the establishment of a justice system. Each portrays an earthly need met by heavenly provision.
The message is clear: to establish a community and become a kingdom, we need to eat, drink, protect ourselves, and do justice. These elements are non-negotiable, whether we are journeying to the land of our kingdom or live there. To the secular mind they represent the difficulty of life: work, sweat, pressure. To a spiritual people they represent the curse of living outside the garden of God—an opportunity to relearn that life was never intended to be our burden. Life is not a thing to be sought; it is the very nature and essence of God.
The grumbling of the people preceded God’s provision. They were untrained in the life of faith. The wilderness was God’s design to teach them that life comes from God and not from the meat pots of Egypt. The wilderness represented drought, famine, threats from enemies, and the inevitable social consequences of these pressures: disputes among the people.
Little did they understand that their suffering was a prerequisite for their spiritual formation:
And he humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your fathers know, that he might make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but man lives by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.
(Deuteronomy 8:3)
There is something important to note here. These are words from above given by God. As such, the wilderness lesson was both a preparation for and reinforcement of what happened at Sinai. Also, these words are alive and have the capacity to fill and satisfy. This promise of life correlates with the Law’s testimony about itself: You shall therefore keep My statutes and My judgments (mishpat), which if a man does, he shall live by them: I am the Lord. (Lev.18:5 NKJV)
But this is not all. This profound lesson, of a word from God that is alive and comes down to people to give them life, was but a shadow of its own fulfilment. As we read in John’s gospel:
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God... In him was life, and the life was the light of men... And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us… Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give to you... “Truly, truly, I say to you, it was not Moses who gave you the bread from heaven, but my Father gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is he who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world… I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst… Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink.“
Notice how this thread is interwoven into what is arguably the greatest teaching ever heard by human ears—one that introduces the New Testament and took place on a mountain:
Blesssed are those who hunger and thirst for justice (dikaiosynē—Greek equivalent of tsedeq), for they shall be satisfied… Do not think I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfil them. For truly, I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not an iota, not a dot, will pass from the Law until all is accomplished. Therefore whoever relaxes one of these commandments and teaches others to do the same will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you, unless your justice exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven… Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his justice, and all these things will be added to you.
John’s logos—the Word of Life in the flesh—appears on a mountain and speaks about the justice of the Law. But he does so with a difference. He speaks about the Law being fulfilled and accomplished in a way that will surpass the justice of Sinai’s most famous and obsessively devoted adherents—the scribes and Pharisees.
The prerequisite for receiving this justice is an appetite for it—a hungering and thirsting that will take precedence over the physical need to eat and drink. This redirection of the human “Gentile” appetite is framed in the mountain teaching as an exchange of earthly treasure for heavenly treasure, and earthly reward for heavenly reward.
To drive the point home, the teaching is preceded by a vivid illustration: Jesus enters the wilderness for 40 days, matching the years of Israel’s wandering. He willingly subjects himself to the hungering and thirsting that befell them, and faces the inevitable temptation that comes with the force of the human appetite. The serpent appears, as he did in Eden’s garden, and repeats the promise that life and fullness can be found in that which is dead. But unlike the first couple, Jesus refuses to subject the passion of his heart to the desires of his flesh. Instead, he quotes the words of Deuteronomy’s lesson:
Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.
The teaching that follows is an exposition of these words. Jesus leaves the wilderness, ascends the mountain, and speaks about the justice of the Law. Sinai is reenacted, but with a difference. The one who speaks is not Moses but Christ. The words are not dead but alive. The event does not signify the beginning of the Law but the consummation of the Law; not because justice will be abolished but fulfilled.
The fulfilment of justice will take place when the appetites of the heart are redirected to that for which the heart was created.
That is the message, and it prepares us for Paul’s towering declaration—a declaration that unlocks the mystery of the gospel::
Love fulfills the Law.
Those words are not a departure from Sinai. They are Sinai’s destination.