If you’ve ever skipped over the censuses at the beginning and end of Numbers—you’re not alone. But in doing so, you may have missed one of the most sobering lines in the entire book:

“Not one of them was among those counted by Moses and Aaron the priest when they counted the Israelites in the Desert of Sinai. For the Lord had told those Israelites they would surely die in the wilderness…”
— Numbers 26:64–65

The generation that left Egypt—the ones who experienced the plagues, crossed the Red Sea, received the Law at Sinai—died in the wilderness. They never entered the Promised Land.

If you had known that would be your fate—that you would wander for forty years, come to the edge of Canaan, and then die before stepping foot in the land—would you have kept going? Wouldn’t you have asked, “What’s in it for me?”

Our American mindset is hardwired for individual reward. We want results. Preferably in our lifetime. And if not for us, then at least for our kids—who, let’s be honest, often function as extensions of our own legacy. We’ve been catechized in the gospel of “me.”

But God’s plan isn’t centered on me. It’s generational, not just individual. While He certainly uses individuals—Moses, Joshua, Ruth, David—you and I are only small pieces in a much grander story.

God’s redemptive arc moves through centuries. Through family lines. Through generations. It’s a covenant promise for generations. This is the heart of covenantal theology: God binds Himself to His people across time, with promises that often outlive the promise-bearers. This stands in direct contrast to the prosperity gospel, which falsely teaches that God’s blessings are immediate, individual, and transactional—“if I obey, I get rewarded now.”

Trish Warren Harris writes about a friend who said, “We all kind of believe the prosperity Gospel, don’t we? We expect God to make our life work out. And that if we do our part, he has to make things go well for us.”

But those names we skim over in Numbers show us that biblical faithfulness isn’t about instant reward. It’s about trusting that God’s promises are true, even if we don’t see their fulfillment.

Just like those Israelites who never entered Canaan, we may labor faithfully and never see the fruit. But that doesn’t make the work any less worth doing. Because the story isn’t ultimately about us—it’s about the God who keeps His promises, to a thousand generations.