THE ESCAPE IS A PERSON, A Weekly Reflection by Pastor Lap Dinh on Psalms 31–33; 1 Corinthians 10

We assume our history with God is our safety. Years in church. Baptism, communion, Bible study, the serving rota. We have been through things and come out the other side, and somewhere underneath, we treat all of it as a deposit that guarantees us. Paul looks straight at that assumption and takes it apart.

Look at what Israel had. "Our fathers were all under the cloud, and all passed through the sea... all ate the same spiritual food, and all drank the same spiritual drink" (1 Cor. 10:1–4). Every privilege. The cloud, the sea, the bread from heaven, water from the rock. And Paul adds something breathtaking: "and the Rock was Christ" (1 Cor. 10:4). Christ Himself was their supply in the desert. Then verse five lands like a stone: "Nevertheless, with most of them God was not pleased, for they were overthrown in the wilderness."

They had everything and still fell. So Paul says it plainly: "Let anyone who thinks that he stands take heed lest he fall" (1 Cor. 10:12). Not the obviously weak—the one who thinks he stands. Confidence is not the same thing as standing.

But Paul does not leave us there, and this is where the chapter turns to mercy: "God is faithful, and He will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation He will also provide the way of escape" (1 Cor. 10:13). There is always a door. Always. And here is the thing we keep missing about that door. We treat the way of escape as a technique: a bit more willpower, a better habit, an app that locks the phone. It is not a technique. Look at what the Psalms call it: "In You, O LORD, do I take refuge" (Ps. 31:1). "You are a hiding place for me; You preserve me from trouble; You surround me with shouts of deliverance" (Ps. 32:7). The Rock in the wilderness was Christ, and the hiding place David runs into is the same Rock. The escape is not a strategy. The escape is a Person we run to.

And we will not run there while we still think we can handle it. Hear the psalm: "The king is not saved by his great army; a warrior is not delivered by his great strength. The war horse is a false hope for salvation" (Ps. 33:16–17). Our war horses are impressive: discipline, experience, reputation, the years we have already survived. None of them will carry us. The eye of the LORD is on those who fear Him, "that He may deliver their soul from death" (Ps. 33:18–19).

Lord, we have been trusting our war horses. Bring us home to the Rock.

And if we are reading this having already fallen, the door is still open. David wrote the manual: "When I kept silent, my bones wasted away... I acknowledged my sin to You... and You forgave the iniquity of my sin" (Ps. 32:3–5). Silence rots us. Confession frees us. That is not a threat; it is an invitation, and it is available right now.

So flee to Him. Stop admiring the door and walk through it. And then take this whole thing into the ordinary day, because Paul ends the argument in the kitchen and the office: "whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God" (1 Cor. 10:31). The Rock is not only for emergencies. He is for Friday.

Lord, we have been standing on our record instead of on You. Take our false confidence and give us the Rock. When the pressure comes, make us run to the hiding place instead of to our own strength. And let this whole day—the work, the meals, and the small choices—be lived to Your glory. Amen.

What have we been treating as our safety instead of Christ, and where do we need to actually walk through the way of escape He has already provided?—Pastor Lap