Day 69

Numbers 21-22 | John 7:25-53 | Psalm 30

They were dying.

Fiery serpents had slithered into the camp, striking down Israelites left and right. Poison in their veins. Pain in their bodies. Death closing in.

And the people knew why.

They had grumbled against God again—complaining about the food, about Moses, about everything. And now, judgment had come.

So they cried out:

“We have sinned… Pray to the Lord, that He take away the serpents from us.” (Numbers 21:7)

And God provided a cure.

But it wasn’t what they expected.

A Cure That Didn’t Make Sense

“Make a fiery serpent and set it on a pole, and everyone who is bitten, when he sees it, shall live.” (Numbers 21:8)

A bronze snake.

Not a shield to block the serpents.

Not a divine sweep to clear them from the camp.

Not a promise that they wouldn’t get bitten again.

Just this: Look up and live.

They had to look up—not because the bronze snake had power in itself, but because God had declared it the means of healing.

And I can’t help but wonder—did some hesitate?

Did some refuse?

Because that’s not how healing should work. That’s not how pain should go away. That’s not how solutions should come.

And yet, it was the only way.

When the Cure Feels Like the Problem

I get this.

Because sometimes, the thing that’s supposed to heal feels too close to the thing that hurt.

Just yesterday, I helped my buddy J unload a truckload of bark and another truckload of river rock. Or at least, I tried to help.

I couldn’t lift the wheelbarrow on my own. I struggled, embarrassed, having to ask him for help when I was supposed to be there helping him.

And I hated that.

I hated feeling weak. I hated being reminded that my hand isn’t what it used to be. That even though I’m healing, I’m still limited.

And in a few days, I’ll be sitting across from my surgeon again—talking about what comes next. More surgery. More discomfort. Another step backward before I can move forward.

And then there’s my job—the uncertainty still lingers. The waiting continues. The outcome hasn’t changed. And like my hand, it feels like one more thing that just won’t heal fast enough.

And in those moments, I don’t want to look at the thing that hurts. I want to look away.

But the Israelites?

They had to lift their eyes to the very image of their suffering.

A snake.

Raised up on a pole.

And only then would they live.

The Snake and the Cross

Centuries later, Jesus pointed back to this moment.

“As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in Him may have eternal life.” (John 3:14-15)

The snake was a picture of the cross.

Because the cure for sin bore the full weight of the consequence of sin.

Jesus became what we deserved. He took the wrath, the poison, the judgment into Himself. And now, the only way to live is to look up—to fix our eyes on the very thing that should have been our destruction but instead became our salvation.

Where Am I Looking?

The Israelites could have refused to look.

They could have argued that it made no sense.

They could have demanded a different way.

And they would have died.

And today, I have the same choice.

I can fixate on the pain. On what’s uncertain. On what feels like a step backward.

Or I can lift my eyes.

To the cross.

To the One who heals.

To the only place where life is found.

Because sometimes, the thing that doesn’t make sense—the thing that feels like the wound—is actually the cure.

Lord, when I don’t understand, help me lift my eyes. When the road is hard, help me trust that You are leading me somewhere good. You are my healer, my hope, my life. And I will fix my eyes on You. Amen.