In 1981, thousands of orange-clad worshipers quietly assembled in the middle of Wasco county Oregon. They brought trailers, tractors, architects, engineers, and a lot of money. After reaching a large stretch of ground called “The Big Muddy Ranch,” they set up camp. It was the middle of nowhere—literally. The strangers followed instructions: they came, they saw, they bought.   

The contract spelled out the terms. 5.7 million dollars for 64,000 acres (that’s roughly the size of Orlando). Somewhere in small print it read “to establish a small agricultural community.” But the Rajneesh had a much more ambitious plan in mind than farming.

You wouldn’t be impressed if you looked at them. Honestly, nothing stood out besides their bright orange and red clothing. Their community had the look and feel of a hippy gathering. They sported long, shaggy hair. They loved to hug, sing, laugh, and kiss—lots of PDA. Their gathering resembled a Woodstock reunion. But the Rajneesh weren’t hippies. And this meeting wasn’t about making music.   

They named themselves after their beloved leader, Indian mystic Bhagwan Rajneesh. He sent them to America with simple instructions: find a permanent dwelling place for the movement. Settle. Build. Thrive. He wanted to show the world what humanity was capable of. He spoke of an “awakened man” and lamented how humanity failed to reach its true potential. He called for a new, united community—a paradise in the plains of Oregon. 

Master engineers met with architects to design the layout. Lawyers drew up contracts and incorporated the ranch into a city so they could dodge red tape. The plan was impressive. The sheer effort required to build a city from the ground up was intimidating. But the Rajneesh had everything they needed—including 4,000 workers and free labor.  

The speed of construction astonished the world. The people worked tirelessly, often through the night. Everyone contributed. Doctors, lawyers, professors, everyone rolled up their sleeves and got busy. Through unity, ambition and devotion, a bustling town emerged. Rajneeshpuram was born. And they made quite a name for themselves, which was their goal all along.  

Organization? The city featured a fire department, police force, and post office. Recreation? It sported beauty salons, discos and restaurants. Transportation? It boasted a Mass transit system including an airstrip, 2 lear jets, and 85 school busses. A water treatment facility, dam and customized power station ensured drinkable water and clean power. They even built a hotel to house traveling admirers. Their city had everything—or so they thought.   

Their plan was to settle, unite, build, and thrive. To find freedom and leave a legacy. Instead, they found failure—and eventually, disgrace. Big problems emerged at the Big Muddy Ranch. 

Rumors circulated of illegal activity. Assassination plots, voter fraud, food poisoning. Investigations were launched and their paradise began to unravel, one allegation at a time. There were reports of attempted murders and forced sterilizations. The Wasco County Planning Department mysteriously burst into flames. That was just the beginning: an arms race, biological warfare, espionage, drugs, sexual deviancy, and the biggest immigration fraud case in U.S. history.  

So much for a peaceful utopia. Accusations continued to pour in, crushing the city’s morale. Tales of violence, perversion and greed surfaced. Illegal wire-tapping, sedating unwanted residents and dropping them off in a nearby town. Their leader, Baghwan came under federal investigation. The National Guard raided the city. Multiple arrests were made. Leaders fled. Followers scattered. Baghwan was deported to India. Paradise lost.   

Finally, in 1986 the city of Rajneeshpuram, now valued at over 120 million dollars filed for bankruptcy. With unfinished plans and a population of 7,000 disenfranchised residents, their work ceased and they left their dream in the desert behind. It began as a united, ambitious, religious new humanity. It ended as a monument to failure, pride, and deception. Why? Because God was nowhere in their plans.  

Are we surprised at Rajneeshpuram’s collapse? Not hardly. As we all know, history repeats itself. This wasn’t the first failed city on record. Which brings us to Genesis 11 and Babel. 

You know the story. One people. One language. One goal: to make a name for themselves. It was narcissism at its worst.    

Noah’s offspring were just as self-centered and wayward as Adam’s. God told them to multiply, fill the earth, explore the globe and exercise dominion. Simple orders: Scatter and replenish. Instead, they settled and built. Brazen defiance that led to God’s intervention, that made Rosetta Stone™ a lot of money. 

The account is amazing. Just 9 verses but packed full of rich theology and just as relevant and practical today as it was when Moses wrote it. My goal here is simple. I want to help you avoid a major pitfall we make when reading this passage—and others like it: reading ourselves right out of the story.  

According to Jewish legend, the plan for the Tower of Babel was carried out by 600,000 men who worked steadily for 43 years. The Tower reached so great a height (9 miles) that it took a year to hoist up fresh building materials to the top.

Here’s a quote: “They never slackened in their work. From their dizzy height they constantly shot arrows toward heaven which, returning, were seen to be covered with blood. They were thus fortified in their delusion, crying, “We have slain all in heaven!” 

Now why would intelligent Jewish scholars allow a bogus legend like that to circulate? Follow me here… 

We all tend to put a lot of distance between our lives and the ancient builders of this infamous city. I collect Children’s Bibles—I especially love the ones with detailed artwork. I’ve seen some pretty far-fetched illustrations of this event. The builders are made to look like monsters. Sharp teeth, angry, arched eyebrows, and clinched fists. I can tolerate the bad art. But the bad theology bothers me.   

It seems the only way we can comprehend human beings carrying out such an insanely rebellious scheme against God is to give them fangs. Because only a monster would dare build a city—or a life—without God at the center, right? Surely these are rapists, serial killers, pedophiles, terrorists, your every-day menace-to-society crowd. Radically high-ranking sinners in a league of their own.    

Do you see what’s happened? We’ve shielded ourselves from this kind of fallen potential. If we’re not careful, we’ll look at all the sharp teeth, blood-soaked arrows, clinched fists and angry faces…and we’ll read ourselves right out of the story. 

What we see at Babel is simple. Humanity organized and mobilized without God. Unity, ambition, and devotion—but godless. We can spot their rebellion with ease. We may even scoff at the futility of their plans. Sin makes you stupid. It’s true. But it also makes you blind, oblivious to the bricks and mortar in your own hands and the tiny tower you’re constructing.         

I’ll wager that our kinfolks at Babel were probably just as giddy and excited as the people of Rajneeshpuram. Laughing. Singing. Hugging. Working long hours. Remember, they were united and devoted. Lots of ambition at Babel. Delusional? Without a doubt. But delusional people can unite and accomplish some history-shaping goals—even if those goals are malicious. Remember when the Jews, Romans, Scribes, and Pharisees got together in Jerusalem and made history? (Acts 4:27-28). That’s unity—apart from God. Which is always unity against God.   

The reason this particular sin “so easily overtakes us” is because it cloaks itself. For example, take a look at how the Psalmist describes the mind of a wicked person.   

“The wicked in his proud countenance does not seek God. God is in none of His thoughts” (Ps. 10:4). Another translation reads, “In all his thoughts, there is no room for God.”

Don’t miss what the psalmist is doing. He is explaining wickedness in terms of God being squeezed out of our lives. He’s been replaced by lesser things. On the outside, life appears normal. But when the mind encounters the thought of God a “no vacancy” sign lights up.     

One of the most shocking—but easily missed—statements Jesus made was his description of the generations of Noah and Lot. Before a flood reshaped the earth and heavenly fire melted Sodom & Gomorrah, Noah and Lot were surrounded by what we would consider a notoriously sinful culture. 

But Jesus did not describe those generations in terms of the outrageous sins they committed. Instead, he painted a picture of life that resembles America in 2018. People going about their business, building their lives without God. Check it out: 

“They were eating and drinking, marrying and being given in marriage…buying and selling, planting and building…” (Luke 17:26-30) Do you see it? “In all his thoughts…no room for God.” It’s enough to make one ask, “Is it I, Lord?” And that’s the point, really.  

What Jesus was describing, and what we see at Babel, is idolatry. Call them monsters if you want. Distance yourself from them. Imagine the characters with scary faces. But remember this: what we consider “monsters” are really just wayward “worshipers.” Idolatry is worship gone astray. 

We’re always worshiping. There is never a time when human beings are not religiously devoting themselves to something. When we sin, worship does not stop. It changes directions. In fact, one of the primary Greek terms the New Testament uses for sin (hamartia) means to “miss the mark.” Sin is mis-aiming your worship. The builders at Babel hit the bullseye, but on the wrong target. And so do we.

There’s more here. If we dig deep, this story can help us find and face our own godless ambition. It turns out the reason these builders united was to escape mediocrity, insignificance, an unaccomplished life. Fear gnawed at them, finally driving them to action. Underneath it all, they wanted a name for themselves. The thought of being nameless nomads roaming across the globe unsettled them. They felt vulnerable. They wanted identity and security. That sounds awfully American to me.  

The irony is that God—in the very next chapter—promises those very things to Abraham. “I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and him who dishonors you I will curse, and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.” See it? Identity and security. Both of them untouchable because they come from God. Which also makes them unattainable without help. Gifts of grace. The identity God offers us is received, not achieved. We’re saved by divine accomplishment, not human effort.     

The real kicker, if you’re a Genesis nerd, is to consider the very likely scenario that Abraham was part of the original Babel construction crew. An idolater like the rest of them. God’s grace shines everywhere in Genesis. Perhaps God found and called Abraham at precisely the point he was frustrated, exhausted and hopeless from the failed experiment at Babel. 

Aren’t you glad God makes the same offer to us today in the Gospel? One of the most beautiful invitations from Jesus comes from Matthew 11:28-30. “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” 

Only God can give you a name that lasts and a city that endures. It doesn’t reach up from earth. It comes down from heaven. This story is not simply a warning to unbelievers. It’s a reminder to Christians. Don’t go making mud pies in the slums when God has offered you a holiday at the sea. Your quest for significance apart from Jesus will lead to shame and chaos. 

 I read that Babel once meant “Gateway to God.” Now it represents a place of sin, confusion, and shame—a place of failure and judgment. You won’t find God at the top of your tower. You’ll only find frustration, fatigue, and failure. We don’t climb up to God. He comes down to us. 

If you want to climb up and meet God, the only hill to scale is Calvary. You’ll find death there—the death of human ambition and religion. But you’ll also find freedom, life, and true rest. 

So leave the puny tower building to those who can’t fathom what we have as children of God. Instead, rehearse the mind-blowing gifts you’ve already been given in Christ. 

You’re His! And He is yours—forever! That’s the only identity and security you’ll ever need. You can build your life on that truth. And it will never collapse.