The Garlic Breath of Rebellion Text: Numbers 11:1-9
Introduction: The Sin of the Sniffles
We live in a soft and pampered age, an age that has mistaken comfort for a human right and convenience for a spiritual gift. As a result, we have become a people who are experts in the art of the grumble. We have elevated the complaint to a form of public discourse and have made our petty dissatisfactions the measure of all things. We are told to "speak our truth," which usually means whining about our circumstances. But the Word of God does not grade on a curve, and it does not coddle our distempered moods. The sin of complaining is not a minor character flaw, like having the spiritual sniffles. It is a direct assault on the goodness and sovereignty of God. It is high treason whispered under the breath.
Every complaint, every murmur, every whine-edged word is ultimately directed at God. We may think we are merely complaining about the weather, or the economy, or the food, but behind all these thin veils, we are lodging a formal protest against the administration of the universe. We are telling the God who upholds all things by the word of His power that He is, in fact, making a mess of it. To grumble is to accuse God of either incompetence or malice. It is to say that He is either not wise enough to run the world correctly, or not good enough to run it for our benefit. And as we see in our text this morning, God takes this kind of talk very, very seriously.
The children of Israel had been delivered from brutal slavery by signs and wonders. They had walked through the Red Sea on dry ground. They were being led by a pillar of cloud and fire. They were being fed with bread from heaven. By any sane metric, they were the most privileged and miraculously blessed people on the face of the earth. And yet, here in the wilderness, we find them complaining. Their complaint reveals a profound spiritual sickness, a rebellious amnesia that has erased the memory of God's goodness and replaced it with a fantasized, edited memory of their bondage. This passage is a stark warning to us. We who have been delivered from the slavery of sin, who are fed with the true bread from heaven, Jesus Christ, are just as prone to this wicked ingratitude. Let us therefore attend to the text, and allow the fire of God to consume the dross of our own complaining hearts.
The Text
Now the people became like those who complain of calamity in the ears of Yahweh. And Yahweh heard it and His anger was kindled, and the fire of Yahweh burned among them and consumed some of the outskirts of the camp. The people therefore cried out to Moses, and Moses prayed to Yahweh, and the fire died out. So the name of that place was called Taberah because the fire of Yahweh burned among them. And the rabble who were among them had greedy desires; and also the sons of Israel wept again and said, “Who will give us meat to eat? We remember the fish which we used to eat free in Egypt, the cucumbers and the melons and the leeks and the onions and the garlic, but now our appetite is dried up. There is nothing at all to look at except this manna.” Now the manna was like coriander seed, and its appearance like that of bdellium. The people would go about and gather it and grind it between two millstones or beat it in the mortar, and boil it in the pot and make cakes with it; and its taste was as the taste of cakes baked with oil. And when the dew fell on the camp at night, the manna would fall with it.
(Numbers 11:1-9 LSB)
The Fire of Holy Displeasure (v. 1-3)
We begin with the general principle, and God's immediate response.
"Now the people became like those who complain of calamity in the ears of Yahweh. And Yahweh heard it and His anger was kindled, and the fire of Yahweh burned among them and consumed some of the outskirts of the camp." (Numbers 11:1)
The text says they became "like those who complain of calamity." This is the language of utter faithlessness. They were not experiencing a true calamity; they were inventing one in their hearts and then speaking it into existence. Their complaint was not a cry for help in the midst of genuine suffering; it was a wicked fiction, a slander against God's provision. And notice where this complaint is lodged: "in the ears of Yahweh." They may have been whispering in their tents, but God is not hard of hearing. All sin is ultimately committed before the face of God, and all complaining is a direct address to the throne room of heaven.
The response is immediate and severe: "And Yahweh heard it and His anger was kindled." The modern church is deeply embarrassed by the anger of God. We want a God who is a celestial therapist, a divine affirmation machine. But the God of the Bible is a consuming fire. His anger is not like our petty, sinful tantrums. It is the pure, righteous, settled opposition of a holy being to all that is unholy. His holiness cannot abide sin, and His goodness cannot abide wicked ingratitude. And so, the fire of Yahweh, a literal manifestation of His holy wrath, falls on the camp. It consumes the "outskirts," which is where the malcontents and the rabble, as we will see, were likely gathered. This is a warning shot. God is demonstrating that He is not to be trifled with.
In verses 2 and 3, we see the predictable pattern of sin, judgment, and mediated repentance.
"The people therefore cried out to Moses, and Moses prayed to Yahweh, and the fire died out. So the name of that place was called Taberah because the fire of Yahweh burned among them." (Numbers 11:2-3)
When the fire falls, they suddenly remember who is in charge. They cry out, not to God, but to Moses. They know they have no standing before a holy God. They need a mediator. Moses, a type of Christ, stands in the gap and intercedes for the people, and the fire is quenched. God is merciful, but He is also a teacher. He makes them name the place "Taberah," which means "burning," so that they will never forget the lesson. Every time they pass that way, every time they tell their children the story of their journey, they will be reminded: God hears complainers, and He answers with fire.
The Cancer of Craving (v. 4-6)
The general complaint now gives way to a very specific and revealing one, instigated by a particular group.
"And the rabble who were among them had greedy desires; and also the sons of Israel wept again and said, 'Who will give us meat to eat?'" (Numbers 11:4)
The instigators are the "rabble," the mixed multitude of non-Israelites who came out of Egypt with them. These are the people who have not been brought into the covenant. They are fellow travelers, but not fellow pilgrims. Their hearts are still in Egypt, and their unregenerate desires act like a spiritual contagion in the camp. They get a craving, a "greedy desire," and it spreads to the sons of Israel. This is how sin works. Ungodly desires, when indulged, are never content to remain private. They seek to corrupt others. The church must always be on guard against the influence of the rabble, those who are "among" us but not "of" us, whose worldly appetites can infect the whole body.
And what is their complaint? They are weeping for meat. This is not the cry of starving people. This is the cry of pampered people whose palates have grown bored with blessing. Their tears are not tears of repentance, but of petulant self-pity. Then comes the great lie, the revisionist history of the ungrateful heart.
"We remember the fish which we used to eat free in Egypt, the cucumbers and the melons and the leeks and the onions and the garlic," (Numbers 11:5)
Notice the glorious absurdity of this. They remember the food of their slavery as "free." Free? They were slaves. They were property. Their male children were being systematically murdered. Their lives were bitter with hard bondage. But the deceitfulness of sin has airbrushed all that out. All they can remember is the menu. They have traded the memory of God's mighty deliverance for a nostalgic fantasy about fish and garlic. This is what happens when we allow our appetites to govern our theology. We begin to see bondage as freedom and God's miraculous provision as a deprivation.
Their contempt for God's provision becomes explicit in verse 6.
"but now our appetite is dried up. There is nothing at all to look at except this manna." (Numbers 11:6)
"Our appetite is dried up" is literally "our soul is dried up." They are saying that God's provision is killing them. And their great offense? "There is nothing at all to look at except this manna." They despise the daily miracle. The bread of heaven has become boring. This is the essence of apostasy. It is not a denial of the miracle, but a contempt for it. It is looking at the grace of God, day after day, and saying, "Is that all there is?"
The Despised Grace (v. 7-9)
Moses then inserts a parenthetical description of the manna, and the details are profoundly theological. He is defending God's goodness against their slander.
"Now the manna was like coriander seed, and its appearance like that of bdellium. The people would go about and gather it and grind it between two millstones or beat it in the mortar, and boil it in the pot and make cakes with it; and its taste was as the taste of cakes baked with oil." (Genesis 11:7-8)
The manna is described in glowing terms. It was like coriander seed, small and humble. Its appearance was like bdellium, a precious, pearl-like resin. It was versatile; it could be ground, beaten, boiled, and baked. Its taste was like fresh cakes baked with oil. This was not some tasteless wafer. This was good food, miraculously provided every single morning. The problem was not with the manna; the problem was with their hearts.
The manna, of course, is a type of Christ. Jesus Himself makes this clear in John 6. He is the true bread from heaven. He is the one who comes down to us each morning in His Word. His provision is sufficient for our every need. He is humble in His appearance, but He is the pearl of great price. And just as the Israelites had to gather the manna and prepare it, so we must actively partake of Christ. We must read the Word, meditate on it, and inwardly digest it. But like the Israelites, our sinful hearts can grow bored with the gospel. We can look at Christ, the bread of life, and begin to long for the spicy, worldly garlic of our former slavery. We despise the daily grace and begin to crave the flesh pots of Egypt.
"And when the dew fell on the camp at night, the manna would fall with it." (Numbers 11:9)
The provision was effortless. It came with the dew. Every morning, God's grace was spread out before them. They did not have to plow, or plant, or harvest. They only had to rise and gather. This is a picture of the Christian life. God's grace is new every morning. His provision is laid at our doorstep. Our task is simply to receive it with gratitude and thanksgiving.
Conclusion: From Taberah to the Table
This passage confronts us with a fundamental choice. Will we be a people of Taberah, a people of burning, whose lives are characterized by the smoldering discontent of a complaining spirit? Or will we be a people of the Table, who come each week to gratefully receive the true Manna, the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ?
The sin of the Israelites was not that they were hungry. It was that they despised the food God gave them. They loathed the "light bread" from heaven and longed for the heavy food of bondage. And we are tempted in the very same way. We look at the simple, daily grace of Christ, the steady diet of Word and Sacrament, and our worldly hearts begin to wander. We remember the "free" fish of our old life, conveniently forgetting the slavery, the whips, and the death that came with it. We want the thrill of the world's menu, the leeks and onions and garlic of worldly ambition, worldly entertainment, and worldly praise.
But God's fire is a holy fire. It is a fire that either consumes us in judgment or purifies us in grace. When we come to the Lord's Table, we are coming to the place where that fire fell on our substitute. All the righteous anger of God against all our grumbling, all our ingratitude, all our spiritual boredom, was poured out upon Jesus Christ at the cross. He endured the ultimate Taberah for us.
Therefore, we have no right to complain. To complain is to say that the cross was not enough. It is to say that the bread of heaven is insufficient. Let us then repent of our garlic breath. Let us confess the sin of our ungrateful hearts. And let us come to this Table, not with a dried-up soul, but with a ravenous appetite for the grace of God in Jesus Christ. For He is the Manna that truly satisfies, and His taste is sweeter than cakes baked with oil. He is our portion forever.