10.2.26 – Feast of Tabernacles: Why Are We Doing What We Do? Part 4

I asked earlier in the week what the big deal was about Sukkot. Observing Sukkot doesn't seem as earth-shattering as revelation or the Exodus. But I think the answer is: it was earth-shattering- what happened that first night. Earth-shattering in a quiet, terrifying kind of way. The act of faith is always earth-shattering. The pit in your stomach as you look around in the desert and feel all alone, only to have it dawn on you—you are not really alone. There is someone else there, one other Being—and it is God. It is just you and Him. And you have just left behind everything you took for granted and made this harrowing choice to completely rely on God. If God does not come through here for you, the next night could just be your last.

The prophet Jeremiah says something to us about God's own memories of that first night. Here is his language: "Go, and cry in the ears of Jerusalem, saying: Thus says the LORD: I remember the gifts of kindness of your youth, the love of thine espousals; how you walked after Me in the wilderness, in a land that was not sown" (Jer. 2:2). That night—it was a big deal for us. And it was a big deal for God. It was the night we gave God the gift of… trust.

The sages from years past focus on Sukkot as being the time of celebrating God's provision for the forty years under the Clouds of Glory (Ex. 13:21–22). Are we commemorating the booths that we slept in, or the Divine Clouds of Glory? I wonder if there might be something complementary in the two of these views. In other words, if you go back to that first night in the desert, when we slept in those booths, there were really two important things happening simultaneously: The first thing that happened was that we slept in these little booths. That is what we did, the people of Israel. But we were not the only ones who did something that night. God did something too. We put ourselves, vulnerable, in God's hands, conceding our most basic need for protection to Him. And as we looked up at the stars, easy prey for enemies, wild animals, or really anything that goes bump in the night—God saw us leap into the darkness, as it were, and He responded to our act with an act of His own. He provided for us in the desert. He sheltered us. He said, "I see your shantytowns, and I will raise you; I will establish for you these Clouds of Glory. I will turn your token efforts at providing shelter for yourselves—efforts you know are inadequate—I will turn them into miraculous sustenance and protection. I will envelop you in Divine Clouds, as it were." God understood our need for protection and responded in kind. We woke up in the morning, safe and sound; that morning, and every morning hence, day in and day out, for forty years.

Did we sleep in booths, or did God protect us with Divine Clouds? Yes!! Both happened. The dispute is about what we are commemorating. One view suggests we are commemorating the booths, the sukkot—suggesting that we are commemorating our act, the human act of faith, the leap into the darkness that was the first night's stay in Sukkot. That was an act of faith—and, if you think about it, an act of love. The greatest gift we give another in love is the willingness to trust them, to cede control, to put ourselves completely in their hands. That was what we did that first night. The other view suggests that we are commemorating God's reciprocation of that act with a protective act of love of His own. One view suggests that we are commemorating Israel's heroism when we celebrate Sukkot; the other view suggests it is God's heroism—His willingness to be our knight in shining armor, as it were—that we celebrate on Sukkot.

Let me share with you just one more thing. If, on some level, Pesach and Sukkot both celebrate the very same night, but from different perspectives—if we are to accept this thought, we kind of need to wonder: Why are these holidays separated by so much time on the calendar? Look, it makes sense that we celebrate Chag HaMatzot (Feast of Unleavened Bread) on the 15th of Nissan (the first month)—it is the night we started eating matzah (unleavened bread). But what about Sukkot? Why in the world would we celebrate it months later, on another date entirely? Why choose a date that seems to bear no obvious connection to the Exodus at all?

Well… here is a clue for starters: it is not just any old, random date. The fifteenth of Tishrei (seventh month) is, in an intriguing way, related to Pesach; it occurs exactly six months after the onset of Chag HaMatzot. It is actually the date at the exact opposite end of the calendar, the farthest you can get from the middle of Nissan.

It seems like the Torah was specifically situating Sukkot at the furthest calendrical point from Pesach that it possibly could. And maybe that is because that is when Sukkot is needed most—because Sukkot is not just at the furthest point calendrically from that first night, but at the furthest point experientially, too. The farthest we, as a nation, get from that first night in temporary shelter, when we were nothing but a ragtag band of escaped slaves huddled around campfires in no-man's land—the farthest point we get from that is when we are a sovereign nation, in our own land, living in sturdy homes, with the security of a successful harvest behind us. It is at that moment, when our home is our fortress, that we snuggle up under the covers knowing exactly where our next meal is coming from.

That is the night we are supposed to celebrate Sukkot. The fifteenth of Tishrei, the Torah itself says, is a time of ingathering—ingathering of grain (Lev. 23:39). The harvest is finally over. At this time of year, we are most susceptible to the belief that we are self-sufficient, that we have brought into our homes the food that will secure our future. Until now, perhaps we were vulnerable. When we planted the grain back in the spring, the seedlings might not take. There might not be rain. But now, at Sukkot time, when we gather in the grain into our homes—our homes, at this time of year, have become veritable fortresses of agricultural security. Now we are finally safe and secure. It is then that we are asked to leave our home behind and reoccupy the huts we slept in that first night. In doing so, we recreate the precious gift of that first night—the gift of trust. Then, we placed ourselves, fragile and vulnerable, into the care of our Creator. And so we do now. Now, even when we have a roof over our heads, indoor plumbing, and the niceties of electricity—even when we have sofas, coffee tables, and Keurig machines — we place ourselves under the Creator's protection, just as we did then. We do so because we understand that, on some level, a home is little more than a hut; the security it provides is illusory. We do so because it is only a little pig who believes that if he makes his home not out of straw, not of wood, but of bricks, then the big bad wolf cannot huff and puff and blow the house down. But we—we know it is not true. All houses can be blown down if the hurricane is terrifying enough, and if the enemy is ominous enough. Real security always comes from God.

Sukkot, all told, was about a gift of love—a gift of faith that we as a people gave to our Creator, and a gift of care that He reciprocated in turn. It is these gifts that we are asked to recreate, year after year, every Sukkot—so that we never forget the embrace of our Heavenly Protector.

And that is why I am in a tent for eight days starting Tishrei 15. Each of the seven holidays that God wants us to celebrate is a prophetic picture of what He has done or is about to do. I have told you that I do not celebrate Christmas or Easter. Neither are biblical nor accurate. In fact, they are distractions from what God is really trying to teach us. Scripture tells us that Jesus/Yeshua will set foot on the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem again on the Feast of Sukkot. It will be the start of the Millennial Kingdom, where He will reign for a thousand years, and those who keep His appointed times (Moedim) will be there for that momentous day (Zech. 14:16–19). These days of Tabernacles are a shadow of things to come (Col. 2:17). Some people are new to the idea of Sukkot, and others are seasoned veterans. No matter where you stand on that spectrum of experience, it is by faith that you are keeping this holiday.

Chag Sameach,
Alan

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