It Is Time To Confess Our Sins

There are moments in Scripture that are so disturbing, so uncomfortable, that we are tempted to read past them quickly. We would rather not linger there. We would prefer safer passages—stories of deliverance, victory, faith rewarded. But the Word of God does not allow us that luxury.

There are scenes recorded in Scripture not to make us feel secure, but to make us honest.

Exodus 32 is one of those chapters.

It confronts us with the terrifying reality of how quickly the human heart can drift from God, even after experiencing His greatest mercies.

It exposes the subtle danger of delay, the deception of religious substitution, and the deadly ease with which sin becomes acceptable—then entrenched—then enslaving.

Nowhere in the Old Testament is the corrosive power of sin more clearly displayed, and nowhere is the mercy of God more astonishingly revealed.

Moses had been called to the summit of Mount Sinai. There he was receiving instructions for the sanctuary and the law of God—directions for worship, for order, for life with a holy God.

Below him, at the foot of the mountain, stood the people of Israel, recently delivered from slavery, freshly redeemed by the blood of the Passover lamb, miraculously preserved through the Red Sea.

They had seen the plagues fall on Egypt.

They had walked through the sea on dry ground.

They had eaten manna from heaven.

They were living daily beneath the visible presence of God in the pillar of cloud and fire.

And yet, while Moses delayed on the mountain, the people grew restless.

Time passed—longer than they expected.

Uncertainty crept in.

Fear took root.

Scripture tells us that when Moses did not return as quickly as they thought he should, the people panicked. Their imaginations ran wild. Perhaps Moses had been struck down. Perhaps God had abandoned them. Perhaps they were on their own again.

Instead of waiting, instead of praying, instead of trusting, they took matters into their own hands.

Exodus 32:1 records their demand:

“Come, make us gods who will go before us; as for this Moses, the man who brought us up out of the land of Egypt, we do not know what has become of him.”

There it is—the first crack in the soul.

Notice carefully what they did not say. They did not say, “We no longer believe in God.” They did not deny His existence. They did not reject religion.

What they wanted was a replacement—something visible, manageable, familiar—something they could control.

They wanted a god they could see.

A god that fit their expectations.

A god that would move at their pace.

Standing in the very shadow of Mount Sinai, with the glory of God still hovering above them, they reached back to Egypt. They reached back to the symbols of bondage and tried to dress them up as worship.

How easy it is to look at Israel with disbelief.

How tempting it is to shake our heads at their foolishness.

And yet, if we are honest, this is not merely their story. It is ours.

The same heart that shaped the golden calf still beats within us.

We, too, are tempted to reshape God into something less demanding, less holy, less disruptive. We, too, grow impatient when God seems silent. We, too, substitute obedience with ritual, repentance with activity, trust with control.

And so the question that confronts us this morning is not, “How could Israel do such a thing?”

The real question is this: What golden calves have we tolerated in our own lives?

Sin rarely announces itself as rebellion. More often it comes disguised as convenience, preference, delay, or indulgence.

It promises satisfaction but never delivers peace. It feels manageable—at first. It seems harmless—at first. But sin, once cherished, fastens itself to the soul with a grip far stronger than we expect.

That is why Scripture warns us so soberly.

That is why revival always begins with confession.

And that is why Exodus 32–34 stands as a permanent warning to the people of God.

What follows in this passage is not merely a story of failure. It is a revelation of the cost of sin, the danger of delay, the collapse of leadership, and—astonishingly—the depth of divine mercy extended to a repentant people.

If we will listen.

If we will not rush past it.

If we will allow God to speak.

--- Sin, Delay, Entrenchment

Things like this happen so easily.

That is what makes sin so dangerous. It does not usually come roaring into our lives with alarms sounding and warnings flashing. More often it drifts in quietly, riding on impatience, uncertainty, or unmet expectations.

Israel did not wake up that morning planning open rebellion. They simply grew tired of waiting. They grew uncomfortable with uncertainty. And in that moment, sin found an open door.