Half-way through Lent, the readings hint at the approach of Holy Week – at the tragedy and hope that is epitomized in the “lifting up” of the one whom we believe to be truly man and perfectly God. It might seem odd that Jesus is said to have compared himself to a snake, albeit the one which heals, when in Genesis and Revelation, it embodies evil and promises to bite him. For many of us, it is simply not a pleasing symbol. Our office administrator confessed her strong dislike for this cover image, and I always leap much higher than necessary to avoid harmless garter snakes that cross my jogging path. But the animal itself is no more evil than other predators who kill in order to eat, and its fear may inspire respect and worship, and not only revulsion. E.g., to the medieval British, and many Eastern and Native people, snakes symbolize wisdom, renewal, and healing. Even Jesus is said to advise his friends to be wise as serpents, probably due the Canaanite or Egyptian influences on his people. And yes, the serpent on a pole is an enduring symbol of medicine*, associated with the physician Asclepius whose skillful work in ancient Troy is said to have resulted even in resurrections, and whose emblem is very similar to the bronze sculpture that Moses created in the desert, presumably about a century prior. 

This reminded me of something that I ponder often: that God creates nothing evil, either in the natural world or in our own hearts; but, everything that we have – every gift, relationship, goal, trait, skill, tendency, resource, and knowledge – may be used as the instruments for both good and evil. We see the results in the atomic bomb and space travel, medicine and warfare. It may not always even be possible to judge whether what is happening is unequivocally good or bad. Sometimes, even death may be considered “good”; and some degree of suffering, or at least discomfort, effort, or awkwardness is inherent to all learning and growth. Asclepius and his Greek contemporaries only had one word for both medicine and poison, “pharmakon”, from which we derive pharmacology, pharmacy, and the like. So the detail that stood out to me from Exodus is that God was not said to have removed the snakes that were biting the people, but only to give the people a choice to be healed. What’s more, the healing sculpture itself still represented the snake, and not a natural enemy that could kill or eat it (e.g., a mongoose or eagle). This makes me think of two things. 

First, God doesn’t seem to want us to cease to be who we are – only to become a better version of ourselves. Our tendencies and personality traits have all been created good, and we are only to avoid misusing, distorting, or taking them to the extreme. In other words, we’ve got nothing else to work with than what we have been given; nowhere to derive healing from than within ourselves – the only caveat is, as always, “with God’s help”. With God, everything that goes wrong may be redeemed. The stubborn may become persistent; greedy – prudent; critical – discerning; disobedient – creative; impulsive – spontaneous; prideful – confident. And so on: an antidote for venom comes only from itself. Unfortunately, it also seems that what inspires joy, gratitude and healing today, might lead us into temptation tomorrow. E.g., Moses’ bronze snake is said to have been recovered and worshiped in ancient Israel many centuries later. As such, the healing gift meant to draw people’s attention to God, when their own grumbling hurt them, now pulled them away from the One who truly deserves worship, and supplanted God as the false source of hope. 

Second, I believe that when Jesus was “lifted up like the serpent in the wilderness”, he epitomized the suffering of the innocent: that which befalls us at the hands of the wrongdoers, and even for no reason at all, as in illnesses, accidents, aging, disasters, and general bad things happening to good people. Yet, his resurrection points to the possibility and hope that some meaning, goodness, and renewal may be derived even from the deepest pain. It’s not that suffering exists as a prerequisite for good, as though God would begrudge us the gifts, make us earn them through pain, or punish us to cause us to improve. Clearly, the writer(s) of Exodus assumed this, and so have many people since. But what I think is that some snake’s bites are simply part of life – not everything painful is necessarily evil – and some result from the misuse of what is good (i.e., “sin”). Yet, all suffering does carry the potential for good… only most likely, this good will be for others later on, not for those who are being hurt in the moment. For example, important charities, policies, and research arise in the wake of tragedies and do much good, even though the lives lost initially will never be recovered. Some losses will simply never be compensated, but on a personal level, grief and pain teaches us empathy; overcoming addition and becoming forgiven teaches us to inspire others to become free. I’m sure you may think of many other implications. That’s the whole, and only, point of Jesus’ death – that, somehow, mysteriously, it was for others.

So maybe, what the snake in Exodus symbolizes is simply our freedom of choice: to hurt or heal, to appreciate God’s gifts or idolize them, to desire to be like God without realizing that we have already been made in his holy Image. Are you struggling with the bites of self-doubt, despair, or loneliness? What do you need to heal? What gifts have we turned into idols, and what skills and personality traits should we try to utilize more often for good? What is it that we’ve learned recently from our losses and sadness that might help us to understand others better? There’s lots to consider, and also lots of hope and purpose in trying to live fully into the Image of God. Thanks be God.

*A note on the Emblems of Medicine

The Rod of Asclepius looks like a single serpent that coils around a rod. It is a staff wielded by Asclepius. He started out as merely a man working in Troy (that is said to have fallen around 1200 BC, if it actually existed; note that Exodus is dated to 1300 BC, again, if happened as described). But his image evolved into that of a demigod by the time the Hippocratic Oath was composed (400 BC). By then, Asclepius became known as the son of the Apollo — the Greek god of light, truth and healing. Asclepius’ skills were so good that is said to have resurrected the dead, provoking the jealousy of Zeus, who murdered him. The Hippocratic Oath which all physicians have taken for centuries, as even my husband did only a decade or so ago, is dedicated to Apollo and his children: this Asclepius, and his two sisters Hygieia (cf. our “hygiene”) and Panacea (i.e., a universal remedy).

The Rod of Caduceus has a totally different origin, but it looks similar and has snuck into usage with the same connotations. It consists of two winged snakes, and belongs to Hermes, the protector of tricksters and thieves, who is said to guide departed souls to the underworld – the deity of deceit and death, completely opposite to the god of truth and healing who fathered Asclepius the physician. Research shows that half of the physicians wouldn’t know this difference.

Both emblems have been largely supplanted by the cross. Now appearing on every first aid kit, it was chosen initially as a nod to the Swiss background of the founder of the Red Cross, and reversing the colours of the red background and white cross of the Swiss flag. The white cross used to mark the Swiss soldiers in a battle. Again, this shows that a symbol of death, violence, and destruction — not only of Jesus, but also inflicted by those who followed the religion established in his name to the wrong ends – became transformed into that of emergency response, sacrificial stance, protection, and rescue/salvation. 

Reflection Questions

1. How do you feel about the idea that in today’s OT story, God deliberately sent poisonous snakes to harm the people? 
2. Why did God not take away the fiery serpents, but only enabled the people to survive their bites? 
3. What is your understanding of “the fall”, and what would the world be like if it “never happened”? CS Lewis’ series of books called “The Space Trilogy” (1938-45) is a fascinating exposition of theology through the medium of science fiction. In advance of Holy Week and Easter, consider reading particularly book 2, “Perelandra” (1943), in which CS Lewis imagines the world set on Venus, where its first two human-like creatures are starting to discover the knowledge of good and evil, and a human sent to them from earth tries to prevent them from disobeying their Creator for the very first time.