I use the expression “knock on wood,” without thinking about it. As in, “I’m sure we have enough gas to make it to the next exit, knock on wood.” Unfortunately, rapping the plastic wood on the dashboard never seems to overcome my poor planning.

The phrase actually derives from the Celts, who lived in ancient Europe, painted their bodies blue and worshipped trees (much like present day Boulder). Knocking on wood woke up the spirits to come to their aid. Funny how this expression persists in our lexicon.

The Jews of ancient Jerusalem persisted in a habit adopted from their neighbors, who avoided stepping on the threshold when entering a place of worship. This derived from an incident long past where the Lord showed his power over the Philistine god Dagon, by miraculously busting up the idol and laying its head and hands on the threshold. No serious Dagon-worshipper ever stepped on a threshold again.

To the shame of many in Israel, they adopted the habit of stepping over the threshold when they appallingly embraced the worship of Dagon.

The prophet Zephaniah points out their error: On (the day of the Lord’s sacrifice) I will punish all who avoid stepping on the threshold, who fill the temple of their gods with violence and deceit.

The Lord proved the hollowness of such worship again and again, but people persisted in turning away from the Lord towards safer, shinier gods.

My heart is no different. Safer, shinier gods pop up all around. These gods I can manipulate and control, pulling my hope and trust. But like Dagon, they exist as a hollow shell.

Today—as an act of worship—I’ll step on every threshold and I won’t knock on any wood. I don’t need the spirits of the trees when the Spirit of the Living God lives within me.

Zephaniah 1 in reading the Bible cover to cover in 2022

Photo by veeterzy