So the multitude of Israel again made their way over the empty wasteland that seemed even more dreary after a glimpse of the green spots among the hills and valleys of Edom. From the mountain range overlooking this gloomy desert rises Mount Hor, whose summit was to be the place of Aaron’s death and burial. When the Israelites came to this mountain, God commanded Moses:
“Take Aaron and Eleazar his son, and bring them up to Mount Hor; and strip Aaron of his garments and put them on Eleazar his son; for Aaron shall be gathered to his people and die there.” Together these two old men and the younger one climbed up the mountain. The heads of Moses and Aaron were white. Their long and eventful lives had included the deepest trials and the greatest honors that had ever come to anyone. They were men who had great natural ability and all of their talents had been developed, exalted, and dignified by communication with the Infinite One. Their faces showed that they had great intellectual power, firmness and nobility of purpose, and strong affections.
Through many years together they had met many dangers, but the time had come when they must be separated. They moved on very slowly, for every moment in each other’s society was precious. The climb was steep and exhausting, and as they often paused to rest, they talked together of the past and the future. The scene of their desert wanderings was spread out in front of them. The vast hosts of Israel, for whom these chosen men had spent the best part of their lives and made great sacrifices, were camped in the plain below. Somewhere beyond the mountains of Edom was the path leading to the Promised Land, that land whose blessings Moses and Aaron were not to enjoy. A solemn sadness rested on their faces as they remembered what had kept them from entering the land promised to their fathers.
Aaron’s work for Israel was done. Forty years before, at the age of eighty-three, God had called him to unite with Moses in his challenging mission. He had held up the great leader’s hands when the Hebrew army was battling the Amalekites. He had been privileged to climb Mount Sinai, to see God’s glory. The Lord had honored him with the sacred consecration of high priest and had sustained him in that holy position by terrible displays of judgment in the destruction of Korah and his followers. When his two sons were killed for ignoring God’s specific command, he did not rebel or even complain.
Yet the record of his noble life had been marred when he yielded to the demanding of the people and made the golden calf at Sinai, and again when he united with Miriam in criticizing Moses. And he, with Moses, offended the Lord at Kadesh by disobeying the command to speak to the rock so that it would give water.
Aaron carried the names of Israel on his high priest’s breastplate. He communicated the will of God to the people. He entered the most holy place on the Day of Atonement, “not without blood,” as a mediator for all Israel. The exalted nature of that sacred office as representative of our great High Priest made Aaron’s sin at Kadesh very great.
With deep sorrow Moses removed from Aaron the holy garments and placed them on Eleazar, the next high priest by God’s decree. For his sin at Kadesh, Aaron was denied the privilege of officiating as God’s high priest in Canaan—of offering the first sacrifice in the beautiful land. Moses was to continue leading the people to the very borders of Canaan, but he was not to enter it. If these servants of God had endured the test at Kadesh without complaint, how different their future would have been! A wrong act can never be undone. Even the work of a lifetime may not recover what has been lost in a single moment of temptation or thoughtlessness.
As the people looked around in their vast congregation, they saw that nearly all the adults who left Egypt had died in the wilderness. With foreboding of evil they remembered the sentence pronounced against Moses and Aaron. Some knew the purpose of that mysterious journey to the summit of Mount Hor, and their concern was made stronger by bitter memories and self-accusations.
No comments:
Post a Comment