In the end of 2 Chronicles, Sennacherib the king of Assyria attempts to turn the people of Judah against king Hezekiah with a power play to win over the fortified cities. He tries to reason with the people of Judah using an argument that, in some form, prevails even to this day in the 21st century.

Sennacherib argues that the Assyrian army has defeated countless other peoples, all of whom entreated their many gods to save them. None did. So, he argues, why should the people of Judah believe Hezekiah when he says their one God will save them? He appeals to their doubt in their leader and in their God using the very same reasoning we have today. (2 Chron. 32:9-15).

Of course, today it’s not a political power play. But the argument still remains.

1. We’re pressed to doubt our leaders. Can you really trust this guy who’s telling you that you should give up everything for “Jesus”? Can you really trust that the Bible wasn’t tampered with? Can you really trust that Jesus was really who everyone says he was?

2. We’re pressed to doubt God himself. There are many religions in the world. How can you be sure you picked the right one? There are many religions in the world, is there really only one right one? Maybe you should believe, but only as a back-up in case everything else is wrong.

Sennacherib’s argument that assails our faith today doesn’t come as plainly as it was delivered to the people of Judah, but it does come and in the chaos and uncertainty of life, it is tempting to believe.

But, like Hezekiah, we should also pray that our faith stands firm and conquers our doubts. And, like he did for Hezekiah, we can expect that the Lord will prove faithful.

Sort of like the feeling you get when the catastrophe happens in a movie that makes you think the hero just might not pull it off, comes 2 Chronicles chapter 10. If you’d never read the story within the narrative of 2 Chronicles you’d probably respond it quite the same way. Something like, “dangit!”, I imagine.

Chapter 10 is the chapter immediately following the death of Solomon. Solomon hadn’t finished too strong. He’d begun to stray from the Lord before his death. Nevertheless, his reign was a comparatively good time for Israel. Then comes Rehoboam. He’s made king and all the people come to him with a request:

"Your father made our yoke heavy. Now therefore lighten the hard service of your father and his heavy yoke on us, and we will serve you." [Rehoboam] said to them, "Come to me again in three days." So the people went away.

The story tells that Rehoboam speaks with his father’s counselors who all agree that he should honor their request and that if he does so, they’ll serve him forever. But, Rehoboam also takes counsel with his childhood friends who appeal to his pride. They suggest that he is a greater man than his father, so he should add to the people’s burden—which I suppose in some cultural way asserts his superiority.

And there’s the “dangit” moment. Of course, Rehoboam doesn’t listen to his father’s counselors. He listens to his friends. And to make a long story short, the people rebel and Rehoboam has to run for his life.

My dad used to say something to the effect that when it comes to young people, you take the highest IQ in the group and divide it by the number of people there. The number you get is the total IQ for the whole group. He’s quite the mathematician. But, as it turns out, his sentiment is also apparently biblical.

Who would’ve thunk it.

From his book The Holiness of God, in the chapter dealing with God’s justice, RC Sproul discusses Uzzah’s sin of touching the Arc of the Covenant. You can read the whole story of Uzzah in 1 Chronicles 13. Uzzah was the priest who, while transporting the Arc, touched it when it appeared to become unstable and threatened to fall to the ground. Immediately when Uzzah touched the Arc, God struck him dead. To many, this appears to be a twisted sense of justice. Sproul has this to say:

“[Uzzah’s act]…an act of holy heroism? No! It was an act of arrogance, a sin of presumption. Uzzah assumed that his hand was less polluted than the earth. But it wasn’t the ground or the mud that would desecrate the ark: it was the touch of man. The earth is an obedient creature. It does what God tells it to do. It brings forth its yield in its season. It obeys the laws of nature that God has established.”

Sproul doesn’t stop there in his explanation, but for my attention now, this is the section that caught me. I have always had trouble reading these passages about Uzzah. I can’t help be see a fatal accident and an overreacting God. But as Sproul points out, it was not simply a momentary sin that resulted in Uzzah’s death, it was a heart condition of arrogance that contented itself that way well before the physical offense.

Uzzah had to assume, deeply, that his hands were "less polluted" than the ground. All of God’s many, many explicit commands would fall by the wayside in Uzzah’s mind, because Uzzah arrogantly presumed his worthiness.

Now, for me, I see a couple of things that stand out.

1. Reading into God’s word with "eisegetical" eyes is a dangerous practice. Uzzah reinterpreted all of God’s commands not to touch the Arc, based on one single presumption that his hands were not as filthy as the ground. He was wrong and paid dearly for it. So similar is the person who turns a deaf ear to the Gospel because he knows he’s a good person and he knows God doesn’t send "good" people to hell. God’s word must speak for itself; we cannot tell it what to say.

2. The death of Jesus is magnified even more in Uzzah’s death. God instantly poured his wrath out on Uzzah and his blasphemous gesture. In a split second, we get to see God’s holiness and his terrifying commitment to uphold that holiness. Uzzah’s death reminds us that we’ve all arrogantly reached out and blasphemed God, yet Jesus has taken upon himself all of that wrath which was due to our sacrileges and bore them on the cross. So, even today, while we continue to reach out and touch the proverbial Arc, Jesus continues to plead our case on the grounds of his spilled blood.

I had a short conversation tonight about whether or not all sins were equal in God’s sight. I know becoming a Christian and growing up in my faith, it’s a popular idea. It makes for an excellent way of easing someone’s distress at the onset of their sin (although perhaps that’s not a good thing?).

But, I don’t think this is the correct way to look at sin.

All sins are not equal in God’s sight. All sins will result in death, but not all sins are seen as equally wicked by God. I think you can see this illustrated in the language used in numerous places in scripture. One of which is 2 Chronicles 28:13:

"You must not bring those prisoners here," they said, "or we will be guilty before the LORD. Do you intend to add to our sin and guilt? For our guilt is already great, and his fierce anger rests on Israel."

You can see the the idea that while they are already guilty, their guilt can increase which could result in a greater degree of God’s wrath. But, I think there is a more obvious illustration in the new testament where Jesus grieves over the unbelief of Korazin and Bethsaida. Luke 10:13:

"Woe to you, Korazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida! For if the miracles that were performed in you had been performed in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented long ago, sitting in sackcloth and ashes. But it will be more bearable for Tyre and Sidon at the judgment than for you. And you, Capernaum, will you be lifted up to the skies? No, you will go down to the depths.^"

Jesus’ woe is not a condemning woe, it’s a pitiful woe. He is distressed at their unbelief and wishes they would repent. He references God’s wrath poured out on Tyre and Sidon, whose wickedness was very "great".

Then he goes on to say something fascinating. He says that had Tyre and Sidon had the benefit of seeing the miracles that Jesus performed they would have repented. So, we see that in the case of Korazin and Bethsaida as well as Tyre and Sidon, unbelief was a chief sin.

But, because Korazin and Bethsaida had the benefit of seeing Jesus’ miracles, their sin of unbelief was much worse!

I think that a lot of the time people have trouble with that idea because it looks like a slippery slope. If we say that some sins are worse than others, then we must also acknowledge that some sins are not as bad. That sounds bad.

But, it’s the truth.

To steal a loaf of bread is a sin. To kill a man for sleeping with your wife is worse. But here’s the clincher. The perpetrators of both of these sins are going to hell, unless their sins are atoned for by Christ. So in an ultimate sense, the delineation between sins and sinners is irrelevant.

But even so, truth is truth and we must honor it.