TD Jakes - Killing a Man Cannot Stop The Mission
Now the man is gone, and the morning has started wailing; sounds of murmuring and complaints used to resonate. The morning has begun with the weeping of women and children; grown men are crying like babies because Moses, God’s man, is dead. To lose something of the magnitude of a Moses should make you cry; they are such a rare commodity. It is so hard to find a Moses that you can’t just run through the crowd and say, «Okay, I’ll make you a Moses.» No, you can’t make anybody be somebody; only God can make them be somebody. Moses was so unique, so special, and so powerful that even God said, «Other prophets have I spoken to through dreams and visions, but my servant Moses, I will speak to face-to-face.»
Moses was dead, and it seemed as if the future was aborted. It seemed as if the conversation was over; it felt as if God had put a period because He spoke to Moses face-to-face. If Moses was dead, the conversation was now over. If we don’t hear from God, what will we do? Because Moses brought us the word of the Lord, Moses taught us the ways of the Lord, and Moses gave us the directions of the Lord. And Moses was dead; the people were left in mourning. The weeping was overwhelming; the trauma was so strong, it was overwhelming. The women were wailing in the middle of the night; the children were weeping. Everything has now stopped at the bottom of the mountain.
It is funny that at the bottom of the mountain, they mourn when there was a time they danced naked around the calf at the bottom of another mountain. But now the dancing has turned into mourning, and the people have lapsed into weeping because the man was dead. And perhaps so are we; perhaps we will go no further. Perhaps we will not make the journey. Perhaps we will not go on because the secret of mourning is this: whenever people are weeping, always remember they think they are weeping for who they lost, but in reality, they are weeping for themselves. There is a part of mourning that is laced with self-pity: «Why could you do this to me? Why did you take her away from me? Why did you let this happen to me?»
Mourning is always laced with self-pity; it has a tinge of selfishness. If you want to pull it out, first recognize that part of our mourning is for ourselves, not for who we lost. Because in many cases, who we lost was free of suffering, agony, and pain, and we wanted them to stay with us, even if it hurt them. And then they left us, and we are mourning. So the children of Israel, who were known for their dancing and pageantry, and the way they orchestrated praise and worship, have ceased to worship. The children of Israel, who for generations were such worshipers that even the Babylonians asked them to «sing us one of the songs of the Lord,» because Israel was known for how they danced. I wish I had some Hebrew music with me.
There was something different about how the Hebrews danced before God. If you could dance in the desert, you could dance anywhere. The Hebrews danced in the desert, under the hot sun, with sand in between their toes, and still they danced like no other. They danced in their culture and tradition; they danced in faith and after their order. But the dancing has turned into mourning, and they’ve hung their harps again in the willow trees, and they have wept because Moses is dead. And they are busy mourning. Are you mourning? Are you mourning over someone you lost, or something you lost, or a job you lost, or a plan that went awry just when you were almost there? I want to be transparent and admit to you that I understand that feeling well. It seems that just when I’m almost there, all hell breaks loose, and I worry, have I lost the mission? Because mourning will make you think you’ve lost the mission.
See, now if you’ll notice my progression: I started out talking about the man, then I talked about the mourning, and now I’m talking about the mission. Because they were mourning, thinking that the man and the mission were the same thing. If you lose the man, they thought, you lost the mission. Y’all don’t hear what I’m saying. If you lose the man, you lose the mission. They thought the man was significant, but there are lines of difference between the man and the mission. They thought that when God stopped talking to Moses, God had stopped talking. But they were wrong; they put a period where God put a comma. They ended where God just took another breath because God understood it was not just about being the man; it was about fortifying the mission. You cannot stop us by killing a man. You can make us cry; you can make us weep; you can make us mourn; you can make us holler; you can even make us sing songs. But you cannot stop a mission by killing a man. It didn’t work with Gandhi; it didn’t work with Dr. King.
Oh, y’all don’t hear what I’m saying, and it won’t work now. It never did work; it didn’t work with Moses, and it won’t work today. Killing a man never stops a mission. God merely turned His head from talking to Moses and, without missing a beat, turned to His servant Joshua and said, «Now Moses, my servant, is dead. As I was with Moses, so shall I be with you.» God didn’t go into mourning; He didn’t go into depression; He didn’t panic; He didn’t get disrupted. He didn’t say, «Oh, my mission is aborted! I’ve lost my main man. I’ve lost my CEO! I’m going to have to file bankruptcy.» God didn’t say to Himself, «I can’t get this done without Moses.» As gifted as Moses was, still God said, «As I was with Moses, so shall I be with you.»
He’s talking to Joshua, and now Joshua has to reevaluate himself because he has always known himself as Moses’ servant. Now, with the hand of God upon him, he has gone from being Moses’ servant to being the general. Joshua has to realize we are dealing with transition in this moment—the transition of the children of Israel, who are not used to seeing Joshua as the man; we’re dealing with the transition of God, who is not used to talking to Joshua as if he were a man; and we’re dealing with the transition of Joshua, who is not used to being understood as a leader. The opening conversation God makes is, «As I was with Moses, so shall I be with you,» and God speaks this to him at a time of stepping into the unknown.
Oh, my God! I was having a fear of stepping into the unknown! It’s not like God said, «I’m going to be with you, and you’re going to continue in the wilderness, which you are familiar with.» No, God says, «I’m going to be with you as you step into a new place, a new role, to do a new thing.» But as I was with Moses, so shall I be with you. Now to the text: it is at this point that, when Moses went north, Joshua came down to the Jordan River and found an abnormally swollen Jordan. Historically, the Jordan was not that deep; normally, it was just a stream through which people would pass quite easily. But at a certain time of the season, when the waters condensed and a great deal of water flowed down from the Sea of Galilee, the Jordan would overflow its banks, reaching a point of tempestuousness. It then became difficult to cross.
Had they gotten there sooner, they could have walked across and just dipped their feet down to make it over to the promised land. I have been to the Jordan myself; I’ve seen it; it’s not that wide, and it’s not that deep. But if you come at the wrong season, what has now become difficult? Because now I’m in a season of storm and attack. I don’t know about you, but we’re in a season right now when what was easy has now become difficult. It used to be easy to take your girlfriend out to lunch; it used to be easy to plan your meal and dinner; it used to be easy to go to the boardroom and have a meeting; it used to be easy to get in your car and go to the trench. But now, in this season, the waters have swelled; the banks of the Jordan are overwhelmed, and we’re not sure where the edges are. Have you ever lived a life where you weren’t sure?
I feel like preaching this morning, where you weren’t sure where the rules were—where are the boundaries? Where does it stop? I don’t know how deep it is; I don’t know how long I have to wait before it returns to normal again. And I don’t have time to wait for things to get better to move forward. I don’t have time for them to change their policy for me to go forward. I don’t have time for them to administer justice for me to go forward. I don’t have time for them to pass legislation for me to go forward. I don’t have time for them to have a political debate for me to go forward. I don’t have time for the economy to recover for me to go forward. I don’t have time for the stock market to rise before I go forward. I don’t have time to wait for them to rebuild buildings for me to get a job; I don’t have time. So now, I’ve got to cross the swollen banks of the Jordan River.
Now Joshua, who is a rookie in this role, has to go down to the Jordan River with the people behind him still sniffling for somebody else. It’s like marrying somebody who’s still in love with someone else. I want you to see this test; if you don’t feel it, you read all of this in Sunday school. Yeah, you had it, but you didn’t hear it, and you didn’t feel what it’s like to lead people who don’t want to follow you. You didn’t feel what it’s like to follow behind somebody; you’re not sure. How do we know that God is going to be with him like He was with Moses? Oh, the backdrop of his ears is the rearview mirror of his car. He could hear them murmuring about the stories of Moses because if he really wants to be great, people are always considered greater in their death than they were appreciated in their life.
So if Moses was that great in his life, can you imagine the stories they are telling the children? «There was a time we were with Moses, and we were backed up in a corner, pressed to the wall, and Moses went up on the mountaintop and got us the victory simply by raising his hands. He didn’t have to lift a sword; he didn’t have to get a shield—he raised his hands, and the Amalekites collapsed underneath him.» They were telling the stories of Moses, but they were following Joshua. I don’t know who I’m preaching to today, but you’re having to deal with people who are telling the stories of Moses, and yet they are following Joshua.
I look with amazement as the collision of generations occurred between the civil rights leaders and Black Lives Matter. The civil rights leaders came up in my generation; they were the Moses of our generation. They fought back the enemy; they turned dogs loose; they turned water hoses on our generation. They attacked us, and still, they marched forward. They carried charred bodies of dead Black girls out of church, and still, we fought like we were the Moses generation. Sit-in strikes at Woolworth’s, «I’m not going into another colored bathroom; I’m not going to drink from another colored water fountain; I’m not going to go to another segregated school; give me my right to vote back.»
But Moses has now slid over into Black Lives Matter, and Black Lives Matter has to become the Joshua to understand how our community perceives itself. We are standing here having the benefit, on one hand, of saying Black Lives Matter, erupting into a worldwide revolution. No longer can you hinge it on grammatical arguments; «All lives matter!» You can’t argue about semantics when the whole world, Black and White, is holding up signs that say «Black Lives Matter.» It sounds a little foolish to shut down Joshua with semantics. Of course, all lives matter; that’s not the question. You can’t get an A if you give the wrong answer to the right question. There is no question that White lives matter; the question is, do Black lives matter?
So if you want to get the right answer on the quiz, you’ve got to check the right box. One truth does not cancel out the other. Saying «Black Lives Matter» does not cancel out that «All Lives Matter.» But we are used to stopping people with technicalities rather than confronting the underlying issue. I’m going to lose some viewers this morning; I can feel it right now. And all of a sudden, I mentioned something, and an hour later, something comes up, reminding us of Moses—the old generation, the old guard, those who were there.
Jesse Jackson is sitting in the crowd, ankles swollen and getting up in years, and the Black community is trying to understand itself because we are stuck between Moses and Joshua. Joshua is radical, Joshua is different, and Joshua is revolutionary. But Joshua doesn’t realize that Moses wasn’t always old. In our day, Dr. King was 40 when he was marching. Youth always gives way to age, and you only have a small window to do what you’re going to do before you become obsolete. And now Joshua is leading a multi-generational group of people into a promised land while they murmur.
For Moses, if Dr. King were here today, he would need to preach more Black Liberation Theology. Cone said it ought to be this way—the cha-cha should be done this way. Your Honor, pick it this way and see. You see the collision of Moses and Joshua against the backdrop of a people coming into the adolescence of identity, trying to figure themselves out. Joshua must move forward because, after all, this is not about a man; this is about a mission. It is a mission.
I saw one man out there, and I wouldn’t have carried my child out there because it’s dangerous, but he had his child on his shoulders. I understood why; you want your children to remember what it was like when we crashed. Yeah, it’s a mission. This is a time for you to tell your children your family stories and tell them who they are, where they came from, and what really happened. This is not a time for you to relegate the education of your children to the public school system, as they have a tendency to get amnesia and leave chunks of the story out. And so, Joshua now comes down to the Jordan River, and the people are uncertain, and he is uncertain, and to God he is unproven. He comes down to the Jordan River, and all he has to fight with is what God promised him: «As I was with Moses, so shall I be with you.»