Joshua 20
“Refuge”
April 18, 2010 - Third Sunday of Easter

         Mom opens the cupboard door and there is Randy hiding under the sink. When Mom asks why, he answers “Daddy’s going to kill Ralphie!” It’s a scene from that wonderful film “A Christmas Story.” Big brother Ralphie made the fatal mistake of saying a horrifying swear word, and little Randy is now convinced that his bad-tempered father will exact a fatal punishment. But Mom brings a cup of milk and crawls in with Randy to hug him and reassure him that all is well and nobody is going to get killed.

         There are times we would all appreciate a safe little hole in which to crawl when life and the world around us gets frightening. Such holes are even more wanted when it is our selves, our own guilt, which frightens us. Randy hid under the sink because of what he thought would be the consequences of what his brother’s sin. Ralphie’s terrible profanity was sure to end his life at the hands of his father. Yet imagine how scared Randy might have been if the swear word came out of his own mouth. He might have wanted not just to hide, but to run from home and find some other refuge.

         Joshua 20 is the recognition by God and Israel that there are times when we need a place of refuge. Specifically it addresses the problem of what we call manslaughter or accidental homicide. In the ancient world, even in Israel, there was a clear and strong sense that spilling the blood of another human being was a deep and profound disturbance of the natural order. As Numbers 35:33 says, “Blood pollutes the land,” and there was no way for the land to be cleansed but by the blood of the one who first shed blood. This is the biblical root of our whole western understanding of capital punishment. The balance and wholeness of things is only restored when a murderer pays for his crime with his own life.

         However, the law given to Israel also recognized, just as our modern law codes do, that not every killing is intentional. To Bowdlerize a phrase, “Stuff happens.” An unlucky person can be responsible for another’s death without ever meaning to.

         A classic example appears in Deuteronomy 19 as Moses is giving directions for setting up cities of refuge. Two men go out to the forest to cut wood together. As one of them swings his axe, the axe head flies off and hits the other man, striking him dead. The first man never meant it to happen. He feels horrible about it. But blood has been shed and he caused it. The dead man’s family wants revenge. The land needs to be cleansed of blood. What can he do? Where will he turn? Moses’ answer, God’s answer, is the cities of refuge, designated places where an accidental killer can flee for haven and protection from the ancient justice of capital punishment.

         If you’ve ever accidentally hurt another person, whether seriously or not, you know the horrible feelings of guilt that came over you even if you never meant it to happen. One day when I was ten I was aggravating my grandmother no end, probably begging for a new comic book or a snack. I did what kids do and just kept at her, asking, asking, asking. In her frustration, she finally grabbed a paper sack from the top of the kitchen trash can and whapped me over the head with it. I fell down on the floor crying. She suddenly realized that what she thought was an empty bag actually contained an empty tin can and the corner had caught me on the forehead. She never meant to actually injure me, and she was filled with remorse for what she had done to her grandson.

         Stuff happens. Garrison Keillor jokes that more child injuries are caused by parents rushing to the scene than any other way. Little Johnny is hanging from the back porch railing and them drops a long eight feet to the ground while Dad rushes to catch him. But Dad only arrives in time to inadvertently step on Johnny’s arm and break it. The boy would have been fine otherwise.

         More seriously, we know that axe heads come loose, that brakes don’t work, that hunting rifles get dropped and go off, that baseball bats go flying in Little League games. Someone dies, someone is injured for life. It’s not your fault, not really, but the guilt can be overwhelming, painful and almost permanent. And it can be worse.

         It’s bad enough if that man in the woods never knew there was a problem with his axe. He still has to face guilt. How will he tell anyone back in their village? What could he say to his friend’s widow? To the dead man’s parents? To all the people who will be grief stricken and angry? In the cities of refuge, God provided a place to get away from all that, a place safe from the anger and grief of others, a place for a soul to heal from its misplaced guilt. The accidental killer had a refuge.

         But it could be worse. What if the man knew his axe head was loose? What if his friend had noticed and said something the last time they were chopping wood together? What if he had just blown it off, ignored the problem, failed to tighten the leather cords around the head, failed to soak the wooden handle so it would swell tighter into the iron? What if it wasn’t pure accident, but negligence?

         Our own law recognizes “criminal negligence” as the sort of guilt we incur when we cause accidents by failing to take reasonable steps to avoid them. Your brakes were squealing but you didn’t get them checked. You knew the porch railing was loose, but you didn’t have it fixed. You felt how slippery your icy sidewalk was but you didn’t put out salt or sand to prevent the mail carrier or newspaper delivery person from falling.

         While I pastored my first church, a young man in our congregation worked for a local contractor. One afternoon, he was sent out to drop a trailer load of garbage at a dump outside of town. On his way back, as he drove 60 miles per hour down a two-way highway, the trailer came loose and crossed the center line. A car coming the other way smashed into it. A woman and her baby died. Our young man was tired, hurrying to get home. He neglected to reconnect the safety chain after dumping the trailer. I sat with him in his apartment as he held his head in his hands and wept for the tragedy he had caused. Yes, there were legal consequences. He barely avoided time in jail. But even free, where was he to go with the consequences in his own heart? Where’s the refuge for guilt like that?

         We may not cause anyone’s death, but we all carry around loads of guilt. We replay scenes in our minds that happened years ago. We run through yet one more time and think, “If only I hadn’t done that.” “If only I had remembered to do this.” “If only I had been paying attention.” “If only I hadn’t said those words.” And the guilt and remorse and shame stabs through our souls once again. Where do you go with that? Where’s our refuge from our own mistakes and negligence and sin?”

         Joshua doesn’t help us much with that question. Those six cities scattered evenly around Israel provided safety and justice for those who committed accidental manslaughter, but that was all. Other sorts of guilt, deeper sorts of guilt, needed another answer, another refuge. Still, Joshua 20 shows us that God is in the business of providing refuge to those who need it.

         When we come to the New Testament and read the Gospel we discover God’s ultimate refuge for us. As we walked through the Holy Week of Jesus’ own death on the Cross and resurrection from the dead, we saw and felt the provision God made for us to come with all our guilt, not just accidents and mistakes, but the deliberate, intentional, malicious and cruel hurts we’ve done to each other and to Him. As Christians knew from the beginning, Jesus is our refuge. In Jesus we find a city where we can be forgiven, cleansed from guilt, and live in peace and safety.

         That’s what Peter found that morning on the beach alongside the Sea of Galilee. As we read from John 21, he shouted with excitement when he recognized Jesus along the shore. But then guilt flooded in alongside his joy. Peter had last seen the Lord by firelight in the high priest’s courtyard, where Peter shouted a denial, claiming he did not know Jesus at all. He pulled his boat up on the beach that morning with mixed feelings, glad yet ashamed to face the Master he had abandoned to death.

         Joshua 20:4 says that one fleeing to a city of refuge is to state his case at the gate, to be examined before he’s admitted to sanctuary. Jesus examined Peter there by another campfire as fish cooked. Jesus asked, “Do you love me?” Three times he asked, the same number of times Peter denied Jesus. The disciple faced the full measure of his guilt, and each time reaffirmed his love for Jesus. He found refuge. Jesus replied, “Feed my lambs,” “Take care of my sheep,” “Feed my sheep.” Peter was welcomed back as a disciple, an apostle, and given new responsibility for believers yet to come.

         There is the same welcoming refuge for everyone of us who comes guilty to Jesus. Where have we denied Him? In the office as we fail to challenge a blasphemous joke told by a co-worker? At home as we let slip a habit of prayer or Bible study when we are busy and tired? In our hearts, as we deliberately turn from honoring Him so that we can tell a lie, satisfy a sinful desire, or take something that does not belong to us?

         Still Jesus remains our refuge. We come to Him in shame and guilt and He admits us, welcomes us into His friendship, heals our hearts and gives us safety. Wherever we are, whatever we have done, the city gates of His heart and His kingdom stand wide open to receive us when we come running to Jesus Christ.

         There’s only one condition. For the ancient Hebrew cities of refuge, the condition was technical innocence, a truly accidental killing. That was the point of the elders’ hearing at the gate. No true murderer, no intentional killer was to be admitted. Only the person who did not mean to commit the crime was welcome.

         We know that you and I are not really innocent. Not all guilt feelings are accidental. We are truly guilty of many sins, including hating others, which Jesus said might as well be murder. So the new condition of refuge in Jesus is not technical innocence, not accidental offense, but true repentance. We come like Peter, sorry for what we’ve done, sad and sorry and ready to change. There is always refuge for a repentant heart in the City of God.

         I want to invite and ask you to seek your refuge in Jesus today. There’s no real refuge anywhere else for our shame and guilt and fears. You won’t find it in alcohol, or in a love affair, or in a full bank account, or in parties, or in entertainment. That kind of refuge will always fail you in the end, and more guilt and remorse will overtake you and tear you down. The real refuge you may enter right now is the grace and forgiveness and love of Jesus Christ. I hope you will make your way to Him if you haven’t already.

         Only there’s one more part to this story of the cities of refuge, of our refuge in Jesus. God wanted there to be these places of refuge. It’s mentioned at least five times in the Old Testament. It was part of God’s design to save and rescue His people. Yet He gave them a part in making it happen. He commanded them to designate the cities, to create the system that would provide refuge in Israel. Joshua and the Israelites had to carry out their role in order for God’s cities of refuge to be actually available.

         When it comes to the greater refuge offered us all in Jesus, there is still a part for God’s people, for us, to play in providing refuge to all who need it. That’s what Jesus was saying to Peter, “Take care of my sheep.” Sheep need shelter. They need food. They need places safe from the weather and wild animals and all the other dangers that lurk around them. Peter and the other disciples were charged with providing refuge to those who would join the Church Jesus was beginning.

         Every disciple since Peter has that same charge to care for the Lord’s sheep, to help provide food and safety and refuge for those who come to Jesus with their fears and guilt. Every local church of believers is meant to be a modern city of refuge for the frightened, the guilty, the hurting who walk through our doors.

         Over the years I’ve seen the church be a refuge. I saw the first Covenant church I belonged to welcome a lonely, nerdy twelve year old boy who walked down the street to come to worship and youth group by himself without his family. Now he’s grown into a mature Christian and strong church member himself. I watched another small congregation do its best to provide love and care and sign language for a hearing impaired child in our midst. In another church a whole roster of people took turns driving on Sunday mornings to pick up a young woman with a handicap and a terrible attitude. Senior citizens with bad backs patiently helped her into their cars and hefted her wheelchair into their trunks with not much thanks or kind words in return. And in this church ten years ago I watched many of you greet a sick, struggling older woman who hadn’t been to church in fifteen years. You made her feel at home and a part of the family for the last four years of her life. She was my mother.

         You welcome the homeless and the friendless and the lost. Last year some of you sat down and fed cookies to seven or eight university students who thought they didn’t believe in God and talked with them gently and openly about their doubts and questions. This place, this community, has welcomed people who might have had nowhere else to go. We’ve taken on the task that God gave His people in Israel long ago, that Jesus gave to Peter beside the sea. “Take care of my sheep.” Be a refuge for the frightened, the helpless, the guilty, the ones who haven’t yet found the Lord’s salvation.

         In Israel those who fled to cities of refuge stayed indefinitely… “until the death of the high priest” says verse 6 of Joshua 20. The high priest stood before God representing the people. When he died his death meant the land was cleansed of blood that had been shed. Vengeance on those refugees was no longer required. They were free to go home.

         Those who come into the Church for refuge are freed by a greater event. The letter to the Hebrews calls Jesus our great High Priest. When He died we were all set free, free from guilt, free from the punishment our sins deserve, free from fear and free from the bondage that sin creates. When Jesus rose from the dead, we were set completely free, like Him, from death. And we learn that the place we fled to for refuge, to Christ and to His Church, is our true home. This is the one place on earth where we always belong. That’s what it means to be a church member.

         May you receive the refuge you need here, whether you are frightened or lonely at the moment or find yourself that way in the future. May our church community be a city of refuge for those God sends our way in days to come. May we all together always place our lives in the care of the One who is our first and last and eternal refuge, Christ Jesus our Savior.

         Amen.

Valley Covenant Church
Eugene/Springfield, Oregon
Copyright © 2010 by Stephen S. Bilynskyj