At certain times of year, usually at night, a thick river of movement passes unseen through the skies.
      Until the 1950s and the placement of radar installations at airports, this movement could only be tracked by counting shadows crossing the face of the moon. But today sophisticated technology allows air traffic controllers to distinguish between the tens of thousands of migrating birds and actual aircraft in their flight paths.
      Migration is a strange journey, and still puzzling to naturalists. Winged travellers launched by an inborn signal, guided by a mysterious navigation system of magnetic sensing and observation of the moon and stars, burning up almost their last bit of energy in flights of thousands of miles, and yet able to sleep on the wing, turning off half their brain function to snatch the rest they need to reach their destination, a place they've never actually seen.
      As amazing as the journey of migration is, it is only a picture of our spiritual journey.
      Jeremiah relates the two: "Even the stork in the sky knows her appointed seasons, and the dove, the swift and the thrush observe the time of their migration But my people do not know the judgment of the Lord" (Jeremiah 8:7).
      In a way, God commands each of us to leave the land of our birth and, like Abraham, venture forth without knowing where we'll end up.
      I have a framed picture of the Sinai peninsula photographed from space hanging on my office wall. On it I can easily trace the route of the exodus from Egypt through the Wilderness to the Promised Land.
      Paul said these things – like the book of Exodus – were written for our admonition. The exodus is not only a historical journey but a spiritual itinerary for all of us.
      Making the journey seems to take a lifetime. But we are confident that the end has already been accomplished.
      Israel's escape from Egypt and their "baptism" in the Red Sea was only the beginning of their trip. In the same way, salvation is not the goal but the starting point of the spiritual life.
      Our journey is a breathtaking trek from the world system to the Mercy Seat in the New Jerusalem.
      What does Egypt represent? When Paul said "be not conformed to this world," he used the Greek word aion, meaning all thoughts, customs, principles of living and value systems current at any time or in any place.
      Instead of drawing life from the world system, the gospel demands that we be in dependence on a loving Father through the finished work of His Son.
      If an ancient travel agent had been able to provide a Trip-Tik for Israel's wilderness excursion, the trajectory would have been all wrong. Our attempts to plot the course beforehand always end up going badly.
      The completion of the journey is guaranteed because Jesus Christ has already made the trip. That's why He is "the Way." Now all that is necessary is to abandon ourselves, pick up our cross and follow Him to fulfill our destiny.
      There are "stations" in this exodus that are analagous to the Stations of the Cross. At each point, there is a temptation to stop, and believers are strung out all along the path.
      At first we are still in the house of bondage, hoping God will fix our lives there. This is where religious hucksters abound, promising success.
      Eventually, we see through their con, but are still waiting under the Passover blood knowing our sins are forgiven but unaware of the finished work of Christ.
      Some have left the house of bondage but still see Pharaoh and his armies chasing after them.
      Others see Pharaoh and his armies left behind in the waters of baptism at the Red Sea.
      For some, bitterness and confusion set in at the waters of Mara and they want to return to the world.
      Others see the wood of the cross thrown into those bitter waters, making them sweet.
      Some see themselves at Mt. Sinai impatiently waiting for Moses to bring down the Law and the plans for the Tabernacle – in other words, wanting to know what to do.
      Others receive the Law, but are trying to "get it right."
      Some are murmuring in the wilderness, sometimes wishing to go back to live in the world system.
      Others are building another life for themselves at Kadesh Barnea, mistakenly believing it is the Promised Land.
      Some see themselves in the Promised Land but are still fighting the giants.
      Others see themselves in the New Jerusalem but not yet inside the Temple.
      A few see themselves at the Brazen Altar.
      Fewer still are at the Altar of Incense, or have approached the Table of Shewbread or the Lampstand.
      Almost no one understands they are in the Holy of Holies, seated with Christ on the Mercy Seat.
      Even Paul claimed he was still "pressing toward the mark" and had not attained or "apprehended" this complete perfection himself. But – and this is important – he had no doubt that it had apprehended him.
      The implication is that when we let go of ourselves and end our conscious efforts to figure out our own path, God will fill the void and the journey itself will carry us to the end.
      All journeys in myth and literature are attempts to reflect this one true journey.
      All of humankind's yearnings to explore and to challenge the limits of their knowledge stem from this inborn "migratory" pull of the New Jerusalem. Bruce Chatwin collects a number of quotations about nomadic journeys in his classic travel book set in Australia's Outback called The Songlines.
      He records that the Sufis considered the rhythm of walking a technique for dissolving the attachments of the world, allowing men to lose themselves in God:
      "The aim of a dervish was to become a 'dead man walking': one whose body stays alive on the earth yet whose soul is already in heaven. The Sufi manual, the Kashf-al-Mahjub, says that toward the end of the journey, the dervish becomes the Way, not the wayfarer, i.e., a place over which something is passing, not a traveller following his own free will."
      Chatwin adds that the Buddha says something similar – "You cannot travel on the path before you have become the path itself."
      This is an unattainable ideal for most of the world. And this is where the metaphor of migration is instructive.
      Like the migrating birds, we have a built-in inertial guidance system that assures our successful completion of the journey.
      As we let go of the familiar and cast off into the void, faith will carry us to that unseen shore – Jesus Christ in us, the hope of glory.

Ole's morning bible study is available here.