From the Rector…
One of my favorite stories in Scripture is the story of Moses in the Book of Exodus. Moses is called to free the Israelites from an oppressive Pharaoh who has forgotten that his forefathers once granted them peace, land, and prosperity. Now, threatened by their presence, Pharaoh enslaves them, treats them harshly, and orders the killing of their sons while demanding impossible labor.
Moses himself is an unlikely deliverer. Saved as a baby by Pharaoh’s daughter, he is raised in the Egyptian court. As a young man, he kills an Egyptian for beating an Israelite slave and flees into the wilderness. There, God calls him to return and set the captives free. Moses resists, offering every excuse he can muster, yet God persists. In time, Moses leads the Israelites out of bondage.
Their liberation, however, is not the end of the story—it is the beginning of a long formation. In the wilderness, the Israelites wander for forty years. Not because they are lost, but because they struggle to live as free people. They grumble, lose trust, and ultimately fashion a golden calf—an idol to worship while Moses is on the mountain receiving the Ten Commandments.
The commandments are not simply a set of rules; they are a reordering of life. They stand in quiet but profound contrast to the patterns of domination, fear, and control the Israelites have known under the Egyptian government. Having lived under oppression, they understand authority primarily through that lens. So, when left on their own—even briefly—they revert to familiar patterns, recreating what they have just been delivered from.
When Moses comes down the mountain and sees the golden calf, he throws the tablets, upon which the Ten Commandments are written, to the ground and breaks them. It is a striking moment. The people are not yet ready to receive what God has given. Freedom requires more than release from bondage; it requires a transformation of the heart. To live by these commandments, they must let go of the only way of life they have ever known; the only form of government they have ever known.
That is no small task.
In our own time, conversations about the role of faith in public life continue to surface. From time to time, proposals arise suggesting that the Ten Commandments be displayed in public settings such as schools. Whatever one’s perspective on such efforts, it is worth considering what, exactly, is being proposed.
Because the Ten Commandments are not a reinforcement of human authority—they are a limit upon it.
They begin not with human law, but with God: “I am the Lord your God.” Before any nation, institution, or leader can make a claim on our allegiance, the commandments establish that all authority is secondary. No government, however well-intentioned, can claim ultimate loyalty.
In this sense, to truly take the commandments seriously is to allow them to subvert government, not just ancient Egypt. They challenge any tendency toward absolutizing power, excusing injustice, or confusing national identity with divine will.
In Leviticus, the people are told that faithfulness to these commandments leads to life and flourishing, while disregard leads to disorder. The emphasis is not on visibility, i.e. public display, but on faithful practice—a way of life that often stands in tension with the surrounding culture.
If the commandments were to be posted publicly, they should not simply affirm what we already believe. They should question us. They should unsettle us. They should call into question many of our assumptions about power, success, truth, and security.
They might ask:
- Thou shall have no other gods but me. What claims our ultimate allegiance? What are we worshipping—God, country, or something else?
- Thou shall not make idols. What have we elevated—success, the flag, wealth, or self—beyond its proper place? What have we made morally infallible?
- Thou shall not take the Lord’s name in vain. Where do we invoke God’s name in ways that serve our own purposes rather than God’s truth? How do we use God to justify harm done to others or the divisions we’ve created? How have we reduced God to a tool for our own ends?
- Remember the Sabbath and keep it holy. Can a society built on constant productivity truly honor rest? How are we spending our Sundays?
- Honor thy father and mother. Do we cultivate a culture of dignity and respect across generations? Across sexes?
- Thou shall not kill. How do we value and protect life, even when it is difficult or costly? Are we practicing compassion or objectifying humanity?
- Thou shall not commit adultery. Where are we tempted toward unfaithfulness—not just marriage, but in any relationship, commitment, or common life?
- Thou shall not steal. Do we take what is not ours—whether materially or in the form of trust, time, peace, or dignity?
- Thou shall not bear false witness against thy neighbor. Are we committed to truth, even when it challenges our preferred narratives? Or do we continue to demonize the “other” because they don’t share our political opinions, race, color, educational status, culture, or socio-economic background?
- Thou shall not covet. What comparisons are we making? What restless desires drive us even in the midst of abundance?
These commandments do not simply support a moral society—they call us into a different kind of society altogether, one shaped not by domination or scarcity, but by reverence, trust, and rightly ordered love. Which leads us to the deeper question: not whether the commandments should be displayed, but whether we are prepared for what they would demand of us if we truly allowed them to speak. Because to post them honestly is not to domesticate them—it is to invite a quiet but profound reordering of everything we think we know about power, authority, and the good life.
Light and Life,
Candice+