Tomorrow will be a feast for the Lord!

I was reading Exodus 20:4–6, where God tells Israel not to make carved images, bow down to them, or serve them. I have read that command before and understood it primarily as a warning against idolatry.

Don’t make an idol. Don’t worship another god. Got it.

But then I kept reading.

By Exodus 32, Israel is at the bottom of Mount Sinai while Moses is with God. Moses has been gone longer than they expected, the people are getting restless, and they decide they need something they can see. So Aaron takes their gold and makes a calf.

That part is familiar.

But Exodus 32:5 stopped me:

“Tomorrow shall be a feast to the LORD.”

Wait.

Aaron did not announce a feast to some Egyptian god. He used God’s name. The word translated LORD is YHWH—Yahweh, the covenant name of the God who had just delivered them from Egypt.

They built a golden calf, constructed an altar in front of it, prepared sacrifices, gathered for worship, and attached Yahweh’s name to the whole thing.

And suddenly this story became much more uncomfortable for me.

Because apparently you can use God’s name and still approach Him through a framework He never authorized.

That should sting.

They had worship, sacrifice, an altar, a gathering and religious leadership. They even had the right name.

And God still called what they were doing corruption.

“They have turned aside quickly out of the way that I commanded them.”
— Exodus 32:8

That is what gets me. They had the right name and the wrong way.

Their sincerity did not determine whether their worship was acceptable. God had already spoken.

“You shall not make for yourself a carved image…”
— Exodus 20:4

Then He got even more specific:

“You shall not make gods of silver to be with me, nor shall you make for yourselves gods of gold.”
— Exodus 20:23

They did exactly what He told them not to do and then put His name on it.

OUCH.

And before I start looking around for everybody else’s golden calves, I have to let this turn back on me.

How many times have I decided what God must want based on what makes sense to me? How many times have I assumed something was biblical because it sounded Christian? How many times have I said, “God told me,” when what I really meant was, “This feels right to me”? How many times have I asked God for direction after I had already decided which answer I wanted Him to give me?

Because Israel’s problem was bigger than a statue. They were trying to relate to the living God through a framework He had specifically rejected.

And once I saw that, I started seeing the pattern everywhere.

Nadab and Abihu were priests. They were serving at the tabernacle. They offered something “before the LORD.” Sounds spiritual.

Then Leviticus 10:1 tells us exactly what was wrong: they “offered unauthorized fire before the LORD, which he had not commanded them.”

There it is again. “Which He had not commanded them.”

They were near holy things. They held spiritual positions. They were performing a religious act. None of that gave them permission to invent their own approach to God.

Then there is Saul.

God gives Saul specific instructions in 1 Samuel 15, and Saul does not fully obey them. When Samuel confronts him, Saul basically says, “Hold on. We kept the best animals so we could sacrifice them to God.”

Sir.

God told you what to do.

You disobeyed Him and then tried to turn the evidence of your disobedience into an offering.

Samuel answers:

“Has the LORD as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices, as in obeying the voice of the LORD? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice.”
— 1 Samuel 15:22

That one reaches directly into my life because I can absolutely be the person trying to give God something He never asked me for while avoiding the thing He actually told me to do.

I can work harder, serve more, plan something, build something, fix something. I can call it excellence, ministry, stewardship, responsibility—whatever makes me feel better about it. Meanwhile God is asking, “Did you obey Me?”

Then David comes along and somehow this gets even more uncomfortable.

In 2 Samuel 6, David wants to bring the ark of God to Jerusalem. Good goal. They put the ark on a new cart and begin transporting it. The oxen stumble, Uzzah reaches out to steady the ark, touches it, and dies.

That story has always felt severe until you go back and read God’s instructions. Numbers 4:15 says the holy things were not to be touched. Numbers 7:9 explains that the Kohathites were supposed to carry the holy objects on their shoulders.

Later, David understands exactly what happened:

“Because you did not carry it the first time, the LORD our God broke out against us, because we did not seek him according to the rule.”
— 1 Chronicles 15:13

That sentence is wild to me.

They were seeking God. They were moving God’s ark. They were celebrating God’s presence. The destination was right and the intention was good.

And they still had to go back and learn what God had actually said.

Good intentions did not rewrite God’s instructions.

Then we get Jeroboam in 1 Kings 12. Jeroboam is worried that if the people keep traveling to Jerusalem to worship, eventually their loyalty will shift back to David’s family. So he creates another system: two golden calves, different worship locations, his own priests, his own feast—an entire religious infrastructure.

And Scripture slips in this sentence:

He established a feast “that he had devised from his own heart.”
— 1 Kings 12:33

There it is again. Something created in the human heart and then presented as worship.

And now I understand Exodus 20 differently.

God was teaching Israel something foundational before they ever built that calf. They did not get to define Him, reduce Him into something manageable, borrow Egypt’s framework, slap His name on it and call it worship. God tells us who He is. God determines what obedience looks like.

And Jesus confronts the exact same issue generations later:

“This people honors me with their lips, but their heart is far from me; in vain do they worship me, teaching as doctrines the commandments of men.”
— Mark 7:6–7

Read that carefully.

They were worshiping. They were talking about God. They were teaching people about God. And Jesus said their worship was vain because human tradition had taken the place that belonged to God’s Word.

And these were not people who knew nothing about Scripture.

These were the Pharisees.

They knew A LOT.

They studied the Law. They taught it. They debated it. They could identify everybody else’s violations of it. And when the Word became flesh and stood directly in front of them, some of the most biblically educated people in the room did not recognize Him.

THAT terrifies me more than ignorance does.

Because what happens when I know enough about God to become confident that I could not possibly be wrong about God?

What happens when familiarity makes me stop checking? What happens when I have enough Scripture stored in my head that I can find a verse to support what I already want? What happens when I have heard God enough times that I stop considering whether the voice I am hearing right now might actually be mine?

Pastor was preaching about this Thursday, and it landed hard for me: sometimes we think we are hearing God because what we are hearing is exactly what we wanted to hear.

Well, that’s convenient.

God agrees with me again.

Apparently God wants exactly what Megan wants, on Megan’s timeline, using Megan’s preferred method.

Girl. Check that.

Because my desires have a voice too. My fear has a voice. My wounds have a voice. My preferences have a voice. My impatience DEFINITELY has a voice. And if I am not careful, I can put God’s name on something that originated inside me.

Jeroboam devised something “from his own heart.” Aaron called his calf a feast to Yahweh. Saul called his disobedience a sacrifice.

So “I really believe God is telling me this” cannot be where discernment ends.

I have to test it.

Matthew 7 takes away every remaining place I might try to hide.

“Lord, Lord.”

That is what these people call Jesus.

Then they say:

“Did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many mighty works in your name?”
— Matthew 7:22

“In Your name.”

Again.

They used His name repeatedly. And Jesus’ name being attached to something did not automatically mean Jesus authorized it.

So now I have another question, and I think this may be the question underneath all the others:

If I start drifting away from the actual God while still knowing a lot about God, how will I know?

Seriously. How will I know?

Because apparently theological knowledge alone will not protect me.

So you have a degree in theology. Okay. You can explain the Trinity. You know Greek words and Hebrew words and historical context. You have been saved thirty years. You have served in ministry, taught Bible studies, led people to Jesus, preached sermons, written books, prayed prayers and watched God move.

Thank God for all of it.

But did you seek Him today?

Because yesterday’s encounter cannot become today’s substitute for relationship.

And when I ask whether I experienced God’s wonder-working power today, I am not saying we need some dramatic miracle every twenty-four hours to prove God is present. I am asking whether the living God still leaves me in wonder.

Do I still marvel at Him? Do I still tremble at His Word? Do I still ask questions? Do I still let Him correct me? Can He interrupt my theology? Can He confront my interpretation? Can He tell me no? Can He tell me I was wrong?

Can somebody younger than me teach me something? Can somebody with less education point out something in Scripture that I missed? Can I read a passage I have read fifty times and still approach it believing there is something here I do not know?

I think one of the safest postures I can maintain before an infinite God is:

I know nothing compared with what there is to know of You. Teach me.

And Paul keeps coming to mind.

Paul had extraordinary revelation. He knew Scripture. He had encountered the risen Jesus. He planted churches. God worked miracles through him. He wrote letters that became Scripture.

And Paul still said:

“That I may know him…”
— Philippians 3:10

Paul.

Sir.

What do you mean, “that I may know Him”?

YOU KNOW HIM.

But apparently Paul never treated yesterday’s revelation as permission to stop pursuing today’s intimacy.

And that makes even more sense when you read what comes right before it. Paul lists all the credentials he could have leaned on—his heritage, his religious standing, his zeal, his righteousness under the law—and then basically throws the résumé on the floor because none of it compares with knowing Christ.

That posture protects something in us.

I never want what I know about God to replace my desperate need to continue knowing God. I never want information to make me so confident that I lose dependence.

I need dependence.

I need to be on my face before Him. I need Scripture correcting me. I need the Holy Spirit convicting me. I need people around me who are allowed to tell me, “Megan, I think you might be off here,” and I need enough humility to seriously consider that they may be right.

I also need to be brutally honest with God, especially when I suspect I have already started drifting.

Because who exactly do I think I am fooling?

God knows when I am irritated. He knows when I am jealous. He knows I wanted that. He knows I am angry. He knows I do not want to forgive them. He knows part of me wants Him to tell me I am right. He knows when I am calling something discernment that has started turning into judgment. He knows when my frustration is becoming pride. He knows when I am asking Him for direction while quietly hoping He chooses the answer I already picked.

What am I hiding?

He already knows the ugly part. I might as well bring the ugly part into the light and let Him deal with it.

Psalm 139:23–24 gives me the posture I want:

“Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!”

SEARCH ME.

That prayer is humbling because David is asking God to expose what David cannot see in David.

I need that.

I cannot rely exclusively on my ability to examine myself because self-deception, by definition, includes things I do not realize I am deceived about.

So I need the Word. I need the Spirit. I need community. I need correction.

And I need cleansing.

First John 1:8–9 says:

“If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

There is that word:

Cleanse.

Anybody who has ever cleaned a house knows how easy it is to stop seeing your own mess.

You walk past the same pile long enough and eventually the pile becomes furniture. There has been a smudge on the wall for six months, but you do not see it anymore because you have looked at it every day. Someone walks into your house for the first time and notices it immediately.

You adapted to it.

I do not want to do that spiritually.

I do not want to live with something long enough that I stop noticing it needs to be cleaned. I do not want pride to become part of the furniture. I do not want irritation to become part of my personality. I do not want unforgiveness sitting in the corner while I walk around it every morning to go pray. I do not want judgment dressed up as discernment because I have gotten so used to wearing it that I forgot when I put it on.

I need God to keep washing me.

And I have learned some of my warning signs.

For me, one of them is when I start getting judgey. When everybody starts irritating me. When suddenly I have internal commentary about what everybody else is doing wrong—their motives, their inconsistencies, their lack of excellence, their decisions, their spiritual problems.

That is usually my cue:

Megan… are you trailing off?

Because I know myself.

Something may actually be wrong. Discernment is real. People really do make bad decisions. Scripture tells us to test things.

But I have to watch what is happening in me while I am discerning what is happening around me.

When my heart starts enjoying the critique, when irritation becomes my default, when mercy starts getting thin, when I become extremely aware of everybody else’s need for correction and strangely unaware of my own?

Girl.

Back to the altar.

“Search me, O God.”

Before I appoint myself inspector of everybody else’s house, Lord, please walk through mine.

Show me the pile I stopped seeing.

And this is why Scripture has to remain the measuring line.

My feelings, culture, tradition, title, experience and theological education cannot take that position. And “God told me” cannot become a magic phrase that exempts what I believe I heard from being tested.

Scripture actually tells us to test:

“Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God.”
— 1 John 4:1

And I LOVE what the Bereans did when Paul preached:

“They received the word with all eagerness, examining the Scriptures daily to see if these things were so.”
— Acts 17:11

Paul was preaching and they still checked.

GOOD.

Because if Paul can be checked against Scripture, Megan can DEFINITELY be checked against Scripture.

So can my pastor. So can my favorite preacher. So can the book I love. So can the theology I inherited. So can the thing “we have always done.” So can the thought in my head saying, “God said.”

Test it.

And keep testing me too, Lord.

Because I do not want to become extremely knowledgeable about a God I stopped actually following. I do not want to know Scripture well enough to correct everybody else while missing Jesus standing in front of me. I do not want yesterday’s revelation to make me unteachable today. I do not want familiarity to kill wonder.

I do not want to create a version of God who conveniently agrees with me. I do not want to assume that because something carries His name, it carries His approval. I do not want to confuse sincerity with obedience, inherit practices I have never tested against Scripture, call something God’s will because it was what I wanted, or give God a sacrifice when He asked me for obedience.

Because Israel made a calf and called the gathering a feast to Yahweh. Saul disobeyed and called the leftovers a sacrifice. Nadab and Abihu brought unauthorized fire before Yahweh. Jeroboam built an entire worship system out of something devised in his own heart. The Pharisees knew Scripture and still resisted the One the Scriptures were pointing to. And Jesus warned that people could even do things “in My name” while being unknown to Him.

At some point I have to stop reading these stories as warnings about those people.

They are warnings for me.

God reserves the right to define Himself.

And one of the most dangerous things I could ever do is create the God I want, give Him the name Jesus, and then worship my own construction.

So keep me curious, Lord. Keep me teachable. Keep me close enough to hear You and humble enough to admit when I have not. Search me when I am absolutely convinced I am right. Correct me when I have Scripture in my hand and pride in my heart. Expose the places where I have confused my voice with Yours. Wash me before I become so accustomed to the dirt that I forget I need cleansing.

And when I start trailing off, do not let what I know about You convince me that I could not possibly be drifting from You.

I would rather You interrupt me now than let me confidently walk in the wrong direction. I would rather You correct my theology than let my pride protect it, expose my motives rather than let me baptize them in Christian language, and wreck my framework rather than let me spend years passionately defending something You never said.

Because that is what keeps haunting me about Exodus 32.

They had the altar. They had the sacrifice. They had the gathering. They had the language.

They had the name.

“Tomorrow shall be a feast to the LORD.”

And God was not in what they had made.

Lord, if I ever build a calf and call it You, love me enough to show me.

I will tear it down.

I would rather lose the thing I built than lose sight of the God I was trying to worship.