I still remember my astonishment when first hearing the stories of the children of Israel, only a few weeks after experiencing falling plagues, blood on doorposts, parted waters, and drowned pursuers, pressing Aaron into making a golden calf. More disturbing was Aaron’s willingness to comply.

Even after forty years of repeatedly passing over the same ground—literally and spiritually—as they entered into the land of promise they still showed a bewildering affinity for the gods of the surrounding nations. Despite assurances to the contrary ("We will do everything the LORD has said" [Exod. 19:8 NIV]), their ability actually to embody the sentiments of "You shall have no other gods before me" (Exod. 20:3 NIV) remained strangely elusive. These were people graciously chosen, miraculously delivered, forgiven and cared for—and yet a people who struggled with divided loyalties.

I find myself wanting somehow to account for those divided loyalties. Although I suppose that the effects of multiple generations of bondage in a setting that both suppressed their religious heritage and immersed them in a thoroughly different religious culture might be a contributing factor in their less-than-exemplary performance, the truth is that the problem didn’t start in Egypt. Generations before, the household gods collection seemed to be something that Rachel just couldn’t leave behind (see Gen. 31).

What concerns me even more than my amazement at their chronic blind spots is the persistent way in which we continue to find ourselves pressed—or pressing others—into constructing new golden calves or expanding our own collections. Despite our convictions and commitments to the contrary, in our more honest moments we discover that our lives have become fragmented and our loyalties divided.

Yet, in the midst of their stories and ours these intensely profound, life-altering words are proclaimed: "Hear O Israel: The LORD your God, the LORD is one. Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength" (Deut. 6:4–5 NIV). God is one, and we are called to love God with the totality of our beings. When I listen carefully to this passage, this is what I hear:

First, God is not fragmented. Reality is not broken up into separate compartments with a different deity presiding over each. As someone has said, "God is either Lord of all, or God is not Lord at all." Despite the ways we find ourselves, perhaps subconsciously, being seduced by other often-conflicting "gods" in the way we pursue careers, conduct business, form political sentiments, pursue recreation, or relate to our families, the truth is that reality is not fragmented. God is one. We are not called to bring God into all the various compartments of our lives, but to bring the various parts our lives into the presence of God, and to allow God to set the agenda.

Second, although God is not fragmented, there is a plural quality about God. The doctrine of the Trinity helps us understand that although God is one, he is inherently relational—God is a relational unity. Because we are created in God’s image—not alone but in community with each other—the way we best reflect God’s character and love is also in relational unity. This is what Jesus longed for when he prayed that "all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me" (John 17:21 NIV). According to Jesus, it is when the world sees a community of believers that, despite their diversity, begin to reflect the qualities demonstrated by Jesus in his relationship with the Father and with his followers that the world will have reason to believe. That is what gives us credibility.

The third thing I hear in this passage is that we are called to respond to God with every dimension of our being. This is not just an addition to our lives, but the very core out from which our lives flow—what we live and breathe. The passage continues: " These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates" (Deut. 6:6–9 NIV).

These commandments are to give shape and purpose to the ordinary and routine, structure to our family and community relationships, to be remembered and celebrated in symbol and ritual. In life and liturgy, they need to be practiced and rehearsed. No aspect of our lives gets left out. God is not just one more—or even the most important—in our collection of household gods, but the container into which our lives are poured, and out of which they flow again.

Having said all that, however, idols that have become part of the household collection can prove remarkably difficult to discard. They tend to cling, and even when discarded find their way home. Like those who have gone before, we do not find it easy to keep from slipping into the trap of trying to pour the Kingdom of God into the containers supplied by our culture, rather than letting the Kingdom shape the containers. At our worst, like Aaron, we find ourselves with lame-sounding explanations like "They gave me this gold, and I threw it into the fire, and out came this calf!" (Exod. 32:24 NIV). Even at our best, we don’t always get it right, which is why it is appropriate that the lesson on "Loyality" this week appears in a series entitled "The Forgiven."

It is only in a community that embraces not only deep desire and commitment, but also grace and forgiveness that we can hope to embody the sentiments of the passage and speak with credibility to the world.

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