Leviticus 10

Chapter 10 proffers the only real story in Leviticus, and unfortunately, it's not a particularly heartwarming one. Two of Aaron's sons, Nadab and Abihu, offer an "unauthorized fire before the LORD," (verse 1), and in return, God sends out some fire of His own, incinerating the two hapless souls.

This tragedy puts into stark perspective just how dangerous God's holiness can be to mere mortals. The very nature of our sin would cause us to be blown into oblivion in the Lord's presence if it weren't for Christ's sacrifice. Still, this is small consolation (or no consolation, really) to Nadab and Abihu. We can all chortle at the Darwin Awards and the utter dopiness of which mankind (and Darwin Award recipients are overwhelmingly men) is capable. These awards do provide warnings about the perils of doltishness, but no one wants to be this wretch who jumped out of an airplane while throwing the pin of the grenade back into the aircraft. (Guess which part of the grenade he was still holding as he plummeted to the ground.) Nadab and Abihu's mistake was probably just as stupid as those that Darwin Award recipients make, and they paid the price.

But put yourself in Aaron's shoes. Your beloved sons made a boo-boo, sure, but it's still devastating that they had to pay with their lives for that mistake. His reaction after Moses's remonstration is just heart-wrenching: "Aaron remained silent" (verse 3). Furthermore, God tells Aaron and his sons that they cannot mourn for Nadab and Abihu, on pain of death (verse 6). Having just undergone a loss myself, I don't know how I'd react if I learned that I couldn't mourn or shed tears for a loved one. Tumultuous emotions can cloud one's judgment; would my anguish cause me to say, "Screw it, I can't handle this pain anymore. I'm going to mourn this loss, come what may"? Even worse, everyone else is allowed to mourn the death of Aaron's two sons, pounding the nail in even deeper.

However, I know that we aren't getting the entire story here. Maybe Aaron was at fault to some degree for his sons' death. At the end of the chapter, Aaron makes his own mistake, but because he was sincere instead of willfully negligent, he mollifies Moses (and, because he doesn't receive a smiting, God). This addendum suggests that maybe Nadab and Abihu didn't take their duties seriously or had the intention of dissing God when they made their blunder--contrasting with Aaron's honest mistake. I guess this makes me feel a little better, but all I can say is that I'm glad that we have Jesus.

This has been a pretty heavy chapter, so I'll end with a lighter observation: In verse 14, we learn that Aaron's daughters, as well as his sons, may eat the breast and thigh used in the wave offering. Finally, a small win for the women of the Old Testament.

Leviticus 9

After Aaron and his sons hang out around the tent of meeting for seven days, they get to perform--you guessed it--more sacrifices. However, this time, the Israelites are to offer a sin offering, a burnt offering, and a fellowship offering to accompany the offerings of the priests. A lot of the content of this chapter repeats what's been said before; you can even sense a bit of "sacrifice procedure" fatigue in the author when he writes, "He brought the burnt offering and offered it in the prescribed way" (verse 16). I guess he figures that after all the meticulous details and repetition, the reader should know how to sacrifice burnt offerings by now.

One detail that I'm sure has been mentioned before but I just caught now is that Aaron washes "the internal organs and the legs" before he burns them (verse 14). I guess that kind of make sense--even though it's all going to be incinerated anyway, you want the body parts to be clean before you offer them to God--but I do wonder why this passage specifies just the internal organs and the legs. What about the head, torso, and other flesh?

After God sees that no one screwed up (that will happen in the next chapter), He reveals His glory to everyone: "Fire came out from the presence of the LORD and consumed the burnt offering and the fat portions on the altar. And when all the people saw it, they shouted for joy and fell facedown" (verse 24). First, a note to all grammar pedants: Here we have a sentence starting with "and." If it's good enough for the Bible, it's good enough for me. (OK, I'll admit that I have traces of a grammar pedant in my blood, at least as far as formal writing is concerned. But even I think that if you use the grammatically correct "It's I" instead of the colloquial "It's me," you sound like some conceited character from a fantasy novel or video game.)

More to the point, most everyone's awed by fireballs. At Disney's California Adventure theme park, there's a show called World of Color, consisting mostly of colored water fountains and images projected on mist screens. But at a couple points in the show, these flame jets start going off, and that's when everyone oohs and aahs. (On cold nights--and yes, I know California never truly gets "cold"--the jets also provide some welcome warmth.) And when the segment ends with a towering pillar of flame shooting to the heavens, everyone inevitably cheers and applauds. We're all pyromaniacs at heart. The Israelites are no exception, shouting for joy and falling prostrate before God and His ultimate flamethrower.

Leviticus 8

When God ordains Aaron and his sons as priests, He has the people perform the sacrifices in a specific order: first the sin offering, then the burnt offering, and finally the ordination offering (which includes a wave offering). Logically, this makes sense; Aaron and his sons must first atone for their sins before they become God's appointed ones. After that, they sacrifice the burnt offering as an act of thanksgiving and fellowship with God, strengthening their relationship with Him. Finally, they get ordained as priests to do God's holy work, ending with a friendly wave toward God. ("Hey, Dad! How's it going?")

After these sacrifices, Aaron and the other priests must stay at the entrance of the tent of meeting for a whole week "to do what the LORD requires" (verse 35). I knew if I had to stay in one place for a whole week, I would get a bit antsy. OK, maybe if it were my room and I had access to my books and music (as well as sustenance and a place to send those brown Rebels down the Sarlacc pit), I would be fine, but of course Aaron and his sons didn't have the benefits of media and entertainment. They had the benefit of something much better: the honor of doing God's work. When God nudges me to do something, I know I should consider it the highest privilege and pleasure to do His bidding, but all too often I feel like a languid, selfish bum--which once again evinces how much more I need to devote myself to Him.

OK, so Aaron's a priest now--but wait, didn't he just commit a massive blunder a few chapters ago with the whole golden calf thing? As heinous as that was--and remember, Aaron also told a rather farcical lie to Moses in a pathetic attempt to cover it up--God still gives Aaron another chance. He knows that we make mistakes, and although He doesn't like sin, He still loves us and wants us to push to our best.

Thus reminds me of this TV show I used to watch as a youngling called The Puzzle Place, which was a rather moralizing show with what looked like second tier (or below) humanoid Muppet-like characters. In one episode the characters are running a relay race when one character, whom I'll call Keyser Soze, drops the baton, causing his team to lose the race. The characters spend the balance of the episode belittling poor Keyser, calling him "Butterfingers." But of course, they somehow realize the error of their ways and, as an apology, they present the race trophy to Keyser. Well, you know where this is going. That's right--Keyser drops the trophy. My brother and I were laughing like idiots, so I honestly forgot how the episode ended; maybe the characters decided to decapitate the hapless Keyser.

Anyway, the point is that God still gives us chances, even if we, like Keyser, keep screwing up--and I thank God for that while also knowing that I shouldn't exploit His grace. And as a final tangential note, now whenever I think of relay races/batons, I always think of this scene from one of my favorite comedies, the utterly hilarious 21 Jump Street. (Contains some salty language; if you're not into that stuff, you can stop at 0:40.)

Leviticus 7

Everything related to God's nature is holy, but we learn that the guilt offering is "most holy" (verse 1). Now, I don't think this means that the guilt offering is the most holy thing ever, because we know that title belongs to God. Instead, God seems to be emphasizing that the guilt offering's "Holiness Level" is higher than that of the other offerings. In Pokemon, if you raise a Pidgey to level 70, it still won't have anywhere near the same stats as a level 70 Mewtwo; Mewtwo is just inherently better. (That's why almost everyone puts their Pidgey into storage right after they catch it, but I digress.) Likewise, something about the guilt offering puts it at a more relatively empyrean level of holiness. Why? I suppose we'll find out once we kick the bucket.

God also make an important distinction between thankfulness fellowship offerings and vow/freewill fellowship offerings. One must guzzle down the tasty morsels involved in the thankfulness offerings on that day, but one can wait two days to partake of the vow/freewill offerings. The thankfulness offerings are thus like an all-you-can eat buffet: you can eat freely when you're at the restaurant, but you'll face a good scolding if you try to leave with any of the food. On the other hand, the vow/freewill offerings are like getting pastries: you can bring them home and eat them up to a couple of days later, but after a certain point, they just don't taste that great. I guess there's no equivalent to curry or certain types of Indian and Afghan cuisine that taste better as time goes on (to a certain point, of course). Cheese and wine are even more extreme in that regard, but I can only handle certain types of cheese and I don't really drink.

Finally, God provides some final edicts regarding the wave offerings. The priests get to eat the breast and the right thigh of the sacrificed animal. When we eat turkey, for example, breasts and thighs are among the parts of the animal that we gobble. But just the right thigh? This reminds me of the word "sinister." (Perhaps the best use of that word is in the modern--well, I think it's modern--Disney classic Aladdin when the Genie refers to the villainous Jafar as a "tall, dark, and sinister ugly man.") Sinister derives from a word that means "left" in Latin, which I'm sure warms the cockles of every lefties' heart. I'm right-handed and thus haven't had to suffer the travails of a society that assumes that you're right-handed--unless, of course, you're a pro athlete, in which left-handedness is perfectly fine. While I'm on this tangent, I'll mention that I used to play the clarinet, and of course both your hands need to be nimble if you want to play with any degree of proficiency. In fact, the left hand, especially the thumb, is slightly more active that the right hand. In any case, we can thank God that He doesn't call us to sacrifice the left or right portions of any part of our own bodies.

Leviticus 6

Trust. Not only is it the name of the hideously incongruous Prince song from the 1989 Batman movie (thank goodness the movie had Danny Elfman to provide the dramatically appropriate and masterful musical score), but it is also the very foundation on which human relationships are built (along with bacon, of course). We shouldn't need God to tell us that we have an obligation to sedulously care for anything or anyone entrusted to us. If you're a tenant, you trust that your landlord won't sneak into your domicile and, chortling all the while, abscond with your prized possessions. I have to trust that the US Postal Service will deliver my checks to the credit card company and that no one will steal any packages left on my doorstep. And we all have to trust that the Motion Picture Academy will do the right thing and not give the Oscar for Best Original Score to Sicario. (I guess we'll know in a week or so whether the Academy has betrayed our trust.)

So yes, it seems just and all that the malefactor has to make restitution plus 20% with his or her guilt offering, but the knowledge that someone has betrayed your trust can hurt more than what any reparation can cover. I don't like it when people betray my trust (though I'm lucky enough that I've only had it happen with small matters), but I know that I betray God's trust whenever I willfully sin. Of course, I feel like crap whenever I sin, but that doesn't stop me from doing it again. I don't have to sacrifice a ram every time I screw up, but shouldn't I devote just as much spiritual effort, if not more, into developing my relationship with God as the Israelites did in preparing their offerings?

The chapter then segues into additional morsels regarding the myriad offerings. For the burnt offerings, God says that "the fire must be kept burning on the altar" (verse 9). The connection here is obvious, but I'll make it anyway (because you know just how utterly profound I am): Christians must also be vigilant about keeping their fire and passion for God and His people burning within them. If we don't tend to fires, they go out eventually (even if it takes billions of years, as it does with stars), so we must also continuously strive to keep our fires alight--not through our own efforts, but through continual mindfulness of and dialogue with God.

Finally, matters circle back to food (as they always seem to do). Yes, priests can eat certain offerings, but they must do so "in the courtyard of the tent of meeting" (verses 16, 26). The priests aren't supposed to horde their provender, though their male family members can eat the sin offering (verse 29). Why not women? Women are not inherently more or less holy than men, right? This is another point in the Bible that I admit causes me some consternation.

Interestingly, when a sin offering is cooked in a clay pot, the priests must break the pot. If you were a pot in the custody if ancient Israelites, you'd definitely want to be a copper pot. Your hapless fellow clay appurtenances would be dashed to pieces after use, but you'd not only survive, but also receive the benefits of complete ablutions. Of course, it's preferable not to be a pot at all--your sole purpose would be to hold scrumptious food, but you'd never be able to consume it. Imagine the torture.

Leviticus 5

Although some sins mentioned in Leviticus no longer apply today--most of them having to do with touching anything "ceremonially unclean" (verse 2)--the sin opening up chapter 5 is just as relevant today as it was back when people had to wave pieces of bread at God as an offering. Verse 1 basically says that if you're called to testify, you should speak up and not withhold any information. I've never been called to testify in court, but that doesn't mean I should keep my mouth shut if opening it up would help other people. I can find this difficult because I'm a shy, non-confrontational person by nature. I haven't done anything as drastic as shout, "Stop!" to save someone from being hit by a cement mixer, but I have spoken up about small matters here and there to help people. I don't want to go into detail because this is not my Ego Hour (it won't start for another four hours), but I will say that there have been times that I maybe should have spoken up. Yes, someone else took the initiative in those situations to prevent any mishaps, but I shouldn't wait for others to do something clearly within my abilities. (Sorry for not being specific here, but I do want to respect the privacy of the parties involved.)

We learned about bulls and sheep for sin offerings in the last chapter, but now we see that those suffering from privation can bring doves, pigeons, or flour. God, of course, understands that not everyone is blessed with Harris Ranch-sized fields of cattle, so He allows plebeians to bring sacrifices within their means. God doesn't ask for what He knows you can't provide, but He sometimes asks for what we don't want to provide. I'm relatively comfortable in my cozy little life, and I know that I need to deepen my relationship with God so that I value Him more than certain entertainments in my life.

When someone commits a sin with a set financial value (I'm guessing thievery or destruction of property), they must not only sacrifice a ram, but pay the value back with 20% interest. Rams are pretty hefty animals, and 20% is a pretty high interest rate (well, OK, it depends on what kind of interest we're talking about, but still), which should provide an efficacious deterrent to further nefarious avocations. God doesn't say here whether the priests get to eat part of the ram; if they didn't, I wonder if they were crestfallen as lamb is pretty tasty. (At least I think it is.) We know that these sacrifices don't apply today, but imagine--What if every time you committed a sin with a financial cost, you had to not only pay it back with a 20% indemnity fee, but you had to sacrifice your Ram pickup truck as well?

Leviticus 4

Sin is a quality that God doesn't particularly enjoy, so it makes sense that He would require atonement--and in Old Testament times, that atonement consisted of the curiously monikered sin offering. The procedure is much the same no matter who commits the sin--the major difference being what animal you're supposed to knock off. The priests and the community must sacrifice a young bull, leaders sacrifice male goats, and normal folks sacrifice female goats or female lambs. Those lucky male sheep get off scot-free as far as sin offerings are concerned. (We'll learn later on that male sheep/rams have to worry about guilt offerings.) I would say that's maybe why Lambert the Sheepish Lion wanted to be a sheep, but that doesn't make sense because the Israelites didn't have to sacrifice lions.  But when you're blessed with the benefit of having Winnie the Pooh narrate your life's story, you can't complain too much, can you?

When the priest sins, he brings "guilt upon the people" (verse 3)--a rather weighty onus. If I were a priest, I would probably would feel so utterly wretched every time I sinned--of course, I feel bad when I sin anyway, but knowing that you're disseminating your guilt to the whole community would just add a watermelon-sized cherry on top. (One of those fake-looking cherries that taste like sugared plastic.) It would be even worse than learning you were solely responsible for popularizing the "Friday" song or one of those other cringe-inducing viral videos.

If a priest or the community sins, then, it's logical that they would need to sacrifice the same animal--a young bull. (Cows get whatever the opposite of the short end of the stick is. Which would be the long end of the stick?) In an era of individuality and personal responsibility, it can be difficult to grasp the notion of collective sin. The concept brings back bad memories of those times in elementary school when a handful of moronic dolts forced the teacher to punish the whole class, the innocent along with the guilty. Here, though, God is probably talking about such ignoble misdeeds as the Golden Calf Fiasco. In today's world, it's easy to point at, say, the North Korean government as an example of a whole community sinning. However, we must also watch ourselves and make sure that we aren't condoning immoral behavior in our community, even implicitly, while also recognizing the impracticalities and impossibility of personally changing every single thing wrong with our society.

The most salient point regarding the sins mentioned in this chapter is their unintentional nature. I don't know about you, but when I sin, I often know that I've screwed up--sometimes as it's happening and sometimes immediately afterwards. It's as if I'm choosing to take an expedient but selfish path littered with the banana peels of sin; whether I actually notice when I'm stepping on one or not, I definitely know once I slip and land on my butt a few seconds later. I don't know if intentional sins are any better or worse than unintentional ones in God's eyes--though sin is sin--but they're certainly more avoidable. I don't know whether I've committed many unintentional sins, but that's why I need interaction with God and fellow believers to keep me accountable.

Leviticus 3

More animal slaughtering fun. For the fellowship offering, whether one brings a lamb, goat, or herd animal, the procedure is mostly the same. The offerer and priest must remove the internal organs, fat, kidneys, and the "long lobe of the liver" (verses 4, 10, and 15) and set them ablaze. Why does God single out the liver and kidneys? Why not specify the pancreas, gall bladder, or small intestine? I admit that I'm not that adventurous an eater, and though I must have had liver at some point, I don't remember ever eating kidneys. I do know that people eat them, though I can't help wondering if they taste like kidney beans. Maybe out of all the organs, the kidneys and liver are the "tastiest," and thus offer the most pleasing aroma to God.

Then, of course, there is the fat. I've always found animal fat by itself a little disgusting. It looks rather nasty, and the texture is unappealingly rubbery as well. Is there anyone who prefers those little white fat globs on ribs to the actual meat? But of course, fat in the meat infuses the flesh with all that delectability. It's actually similar to butter in that respect: few people would eat a stick of butter by itself, but mixed in with other ingredients, it's delicious.

However, in verse 17, God states, "You must not eat any fat or any blood." As I've written before, only vampires would have found the latter stipulation exasperatingly stringent, but not being able to eat fat? At all? Might as well not eat meat or dairy at all. Of course, I lack the expertise to know if this verse really means all fat--after all, it might just mean the aforementioned chunks of fat that you find on ribs and certain other cuts of meat. Then again, maybe this was a way for God to motivate the Israelites to carry out productive pursuits instead of just standing around chewing the fat.

I apologize for that bad pun, so let's move on to the whole purpose of these offerings: fellowship. Fellowship seems like a word that only Christians use frequently; most others just say, "hanging out." And even then, fellowship brings to my mind that specific time after a worship service when everyone stands around and talks while blocking access to the snack table. Of course, fellowship can take many other forms, such as standing around asking each other where we want to eat and responding, "I don't care." But although fellowship with others isn't a foreign concept, fellowship with God is…not a foreign concept to me either, but it's one of many that I often gloss over. We should delight in being able to "hang out" with God, bringing to Him not just our grievous blunders, anguish, and empyrean triumphs, but also those everyday thoughts that we share with our closest friends. I shouldn't be afraid to talk with God about the seemingly inconsequential matters of life or quirky observations. He is the creator of the universe, but He is also our closest friend.

Leviticus 2

I don't know about you, but I find this chapter fairly mouth-watering. (Maybe it's just because I'm hungry right now.) Sure, we're just talking about basic ingredients here--grain, flour, yeast, salt, and olive oil--but some of the most scrumptious dishes can be the simplest. I mean, naan isn't all that fancy (though I suppose it does have yogurt, but it's not like we're talking about caviar or filet mignon), but it's just so delectable. Then, of course, there's rice, the delicious mainstay of many of my meals.

It doesn't take a whole lot to please my palate--I like McDonald's McChickens, even if I don't like their burgers--and I don't eat a whole lot either, so it may surprising to hear that I used to like perusing cookbooks. I don't have a passion for cooking--I'm not even that great at it either--and I'm also not really a fan of cooking shows. So why, you may be asking, am I so weird? For whatever reason, reading about food activates my salivary glands, but often not enough for me to get off my derriere and get a snack from the kitchen. It's probably just God's sense of humor in creating my little quirks. And yes, I fully realize that that was a bald-faced, ungainly attempt to get this desultory post back on topic.

The grain offerings aren't to be totally consumed by a conflagration as the burnt offerings are. Instead, much of it goes to Aaron and his sons--sustenance, if you will, for the priests. Another interesting contrast between the burnt offerings and the grain offerings is the preparation. The animals for the burnt offerings come all ready to go, as it were, and the preparation involves bumping them off and arranging their insides in pretty designs before torching them. The grain offering starts out as simple ingredients that have to be prepared and then baked or griddled into bread. (By the way, according to my web browser, "griddled" is not a word.) I suppose few people want to eat animal innards that aren't specifically prepared for eating (though I don't know if any person or animal is ever ready and prepared to be eaten), but it would be a bit of a waste to bake bread and just burn all of it up.

Finally (well, not finally for the chapter but finally for this post), God says, "you are not to burn any yeast or honey in a food offering presented to the LORD" (verse 11). Once in 8th grade science class, we did an experiment in which we were supposed to boil a solution of salt water until the water evaporated (a step down from dissecting the cow eyes and sheep hearts from 7th grade, but still thrilling as it involved open flames). Well, the water reached 100º C, and our teacher was wondering why everyone was taking so long. I mean, salt does raise water's boiling point, but not that much. A few minutes later, the water started to turn all black and disgusting (and cool--remember, we were in 8th grade), and that's when the teacher realized that we had been provided with sugar and not salt. Honey does contain a lot of sugar, so perhaps God reasoned that burning it could create a mess if not done properly.

Leviticus 1

Leviticus kind of has the reputation for being the "dull book in the Bible that everyone skips." Sure, Exodus, Numbers, and 1 Chronicles have portions that are, well, less engaging than they could be, but they also boast their fair share of rip-roaring stories. In contract, Leviticus features only one real story, the balance of the book containing laws and regulations that no longer apply to a world in which Jesus' death has forgiven all our sins. Still, it does contain its own fair share of discussion points. I have to believe that--otherwise, why would I be writing a post on each one of its chapters? (he asked in an endearing tone of naive sanguineness.)

All the burnt offerings, whether they be bulls, sheep, or goats, are supposed to be male. (The Bible doesn't specify whether the birds have to be male, but I imagine it's rather more difficult to make a distinction. Imagine frantically chasing after a bird all the livelong day, desperate to have something to sacrifice to God, finally throwing your spear or whatever at it for the 245th time only to find out that it's a female.) Many societies have emphasized male superiority (probably more attributable to testosterone than any reasonable justification), but if you were a goat in Old Testament times, you'd probably want to be a female so you'd have less of a chance to have your blood sprayed all over creation like you were some unfortunate Sweeney Todd victim. And in any case, the Israelites would have been rather hard-pressed to find a female bull.

I find it fascinating that God specifies on which side of the altar various tasks should be done--north for the slaughtering (verse 11) and east for throwing away the crops and feathers for the birds (verse 16), which I guess are body parts that God isn't such a fan of. Also intriguing is the arrangement of the head, fat, internal organs, and various other pieces of the animal before every part is burned to a lovely crisp.

Perhaps such formal rituals helped the Israelites to keep a reverent mindset while doing God's work. And the burning of the whole animal (or most of it, in the case of the birds and the bulls) perhaps represents the wholehearted attitude with which we should offer our gifts and resources to God. Shades of Cain and Abel--I shouldn't be grudging about holding back my money, time, or talents from God because He entrusted them to me in the first place. And when I squander my time watching video game fails on YouTube or reading those listicles that make my IQ drop by several points, I'm telling God that I don't value what He's given me. While I should of course heed all the practicalities and logistics required of a livelihood on Earth, I should also be continually mindful of the kingdom of Heaven.

Exodus 40 and Book Conclusion

Now that the Israelites have donated their resources and helped manufacture the furnishings for the tabernacle, it's up to Moses alone to actually assemble the darn thing. I trust he didn't have the kind of trouble that Russell did in Up:

We learn in verses 34-38 (the last verses of the book) that "the glory of the LORD filled the tabernacle" (verse 35)--so much so that not even Moses could enter when God's glory was present. Therefore, it makes sense that Moses, God's chosen servant, should be the one to actually construct God's dwelling place on Earth. Of course, God is omnipresent, but the Bible has several instances in which God's presence seems more, I don't know, concentrated? How God could be everywhere and yet also in a particular location is a conundrum that we'll never understand. 

This brings up another issue: From time to time, Christians "feel" God's presence in a more gloriously tangible manner--whether it be during a church retreat or deep mediation. Other times, we wonder if He's left us to take care of more important matters, or if He even exists at all. Is God really more present with us at certain times, or is that just a reflection of our own spiritual state? Or does God have a reason for being seemingly distant, even in times when our faith is fervent? Well, if I had the answers, I certainly wouldn't put them up on a blog to read for free. I'd write the answers in a book and make you pay for it. (Just kidding.)

Conclusion

Whereas Genesis comprised a bunch of different stories (though most of them were about one family), Exodus was pretty much a single narrative, transitioning to a list of laws and DIY instructions in the latter half. The first half provides enough thrills and chills to make even Hollywood sit up and take notice (with studios having the added benefit of not having to pay royalties or fees to option the Bible). Although the story of the exodus teaches several valuable lessons about God's grace and how He can use us as His instruments even in our weaknesses, the second half proffers lessons of its own. In our fallen nature, we will be tempted to stay from the path God has set before us, and we will sometimes give in to that temptation. But as long as we come back to Him and strive to develop a relationship with Him (even if it requires a good scolding, as the Israelites needed), He will continue to walk beside us and support us.

Exodus 36-39

As I mentioned in my last post, most of the remaining chapters of Exodus laboriously restate the instructions for building the tabernacle and its furnishings. However, chapters 36-39 do contain two new points of interest. The first is in 36:1-7. Because God did not require the Israelites to offer anything, from a worldly perspective one would think that only a small percentage of people would feel like giving anything. And yet the craftsmen end up saying to Moses, "The people are bringing more that enough for doing the work the LORD commanded to be done" (verse 5). True, they might have been motivated because God just threatened to destroy them, but in that case, wouldn't the Israelites just have offered what was needed to avoid a smiting? They actually had to be told to stop giving, the offerings were so profuse.

The golden calf was a Starkiller-sized blunder, but the Israelites (or at least the faithful remaining after the Levites' little purge) show that they still respect and honor (for the time being) the God who saved them. They gave not out of obligation, but out of faithfulness and devotion. We all pay our bills, taxes, and loans (or at least we should), but I don't know anyone who says, "You know what? I think my credit card company could use some more dough in its coffers. I'm going to donate them some of my well-earned spoils!" When we're obligated to pay something, we give the least amount we can get away with. God doesn't require us to tithe a specific amount, but if we truly have a relationship with Him, we should be thrilled and even roused to use our resources to further His kingdom. But that impetus has to come from us, which in turn comes from a healthy relationship with God.

The other point of interest is 38:21-30, in which we learn just how much gold, silver, and bronze the Israelites donated. They offered a ton of gold, almost four tons of silver, and 2.5 tons of bronze. If nothing else, the Olympics have taught us the relative values of gold, silver, and bronze, so I find it somewhat surprising that people offered more silver than bronze. (Then again, in a way it's a reflection of the odd psychology behind Olympic medal winners: some bronze medalists are happier than silver medalists. Some experts posit that silver medalists beat themselves up over just missing gold, while bronze medalists are just thrilled to have won a medal at all. Because that's exactly what's going on here with the ancient Israelites.) Still, that's quite a stash of precious metals, and it's probably not even all the Israelites had. You'll be disappointed to hear that I don't have any gold bullion in my possession, but I do know that I could probably devote even more of my money to worthy causes. Even if my contribution seems a pittance, it can still make a difference. And I apologize for making that sound like an inspirational cat poster.

Exodus 35

From here to the end of Exodus, we get a whole lot of repetition of what we've already read. Now that the Israelites have received God's instructions on how to build the tabernacle and its various doodads, we readers get to enjoy the delights of a blow-by-blow account of the Israelites actually building and manufacturing these items. You know how certain Jews memorize the Torah (the first five books of the Bible) by age 12? Well, I can imagine how much a pain it is to memorize the instructions for the tabernacle furnishings, but at least for the last few chapters of Exodus, you can pretty much repeat those instructions and just change the verb tense.

Here, though, we do get a few new tidbits of interest. First, verse 5 says, "Everyone who is willing is to bring to the LORD an offering…." God is not bullying anyone like some minatory overlord; offering is a voluntary act. If one chose to devote one's life to God in Old Testament times, then of course one had to abide by the burnt offering stipulations and whatnot. However, it's not like God stands behind us with a cattle prod saying, "Give me your money!" And it's not always about money either; verses 25 and 26 show that the Israelites also used their talents to help prepare the materials for the tabernacle.

Intriguingly, verse 26 specifies, "All the women who were willing and had the skill spun the goat hair." Which brings up the age-old question: Why goats? Of course, I really mean the issue of those who are willing but don't have the skill. Take Ed Wood, for example--he was a film director who had a passion for moviemaking, but his films were just terrible; one in particular, Plan 9 from Outer Space, is many critics' least favorite movie of all time.

I'm glad that I don't have a passion for math, because I suck at it; I'm sure high schoolers and most middle schoolers could run rings around me, chortling with derision. And I'm also glad that I'm not a mathematical prodigy, because I find math to be such a slog. (Yes, I knew calculus once upon a time, but I'm afraid most everything beyond algebra has gone right out the window. I do remember what combination of sides and angles do NOT work for the triangle similarity theorems, because it was the one that spelled a naughty word. Also, I remember that trying to memorize the trigonometric identities sucked.)

As for my passions, I love animation, but even my stick figures look like those Jackson Pollock would draw if you asked him to draw with his foot and if said foot had the same dexterity as one that has just stepped on a LEGO brick. I have to believe that God has given each of us at least one gift that's also a passion. A smattering of kind folks--pretty much all friends and family--have intimated that my writing is at least above average, so I suppose that's my gift. But if it's not, I also have the much-vaunted skill of knowing the names of all of Steven Spielberg's films and the year each one was released.

Exodus 34

God apparently isn't too miffed at Moses for hurling the stone tablets to the ground in exasperation--after all, God pretty much felt the same way as Moses did. I just like the way that God refers to the first tablets, "which you broke" (verse 1). As if Moses needed a reminder.

Before God restates some of the covenant laws to Moses, He elucidates just some of the meanings of His holy name. For much of Exodus (and Genesis as well), we've been seeing a lot of the "smiting" God, dealing harshly with people who just can't take a hint. However, He is also "slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness, maintaining love to thousands and forgiving wickedness, rebellion, and sin" (verses 6-7). In other words, it takes an awful lot to set Him off, which should show you just how recalcitrant the Israelites could be. Of course, I'm not exactly some shining saint either; God has graciously and heartrendingly forgiven so many of my grievous errors. But if I am to truly accept and value that forgiveness, I should strive to rid myself of sin--not through my own power, but by relying on Him. I mean, knowing that I don't have to overcome sin on my own but can depend on the grace of God--how hard can that be? Yet my laziness and selfishness contrive to distance me from Him--and I'm sad to say that they often succeed.

But God also "does not leave the guilty unpunished" (verse 7). I often wonder if God draws a line between punishment and forgiveness. I know that's not a healthy way of thinking, because then many people (including me, most likely) would just creep all the way up to that line without crossing it, feeling comfortable that God will forgive all their other little peccadillos. No one wants to get to heaven and hear from God, "I don't know you." That would be more painful than being rejected by your sweetheart or celebrity crush. But if we aren't doing His work here on Earth, we face that risk.

When Moses comes down from the mountain, his face is utterly ablaze with God's glory. Nowadays, even the most godly person doesn't receive the boon of an incandescent countenance, but people should be able to easily see the figurative light emanating out of those who claim to follow Christ. Can I say that about myself? I don't really think so, and I know I have to change that. True, I'm not actively cruel to anyone--I feel like a miserable, contemptible wretch when I merely have to raise my voice at someone--but that may be just because I dislike confrontations, especially if they're in-person. And I've written this before, but it's so much easier for me to enjoy the company and repartee (though I'm mostly on the receiving end of the latter) of those whom I get along with. But my "radiant" face shouldn't have an on-off switch like some sort of flashlight; I should strive to act as Christ would with everyone in my life. Even those who think DreamWorks Animation is better than Disney/Pixar.

Exodus 33

Exodus 33 contains three separate "stories" that, on the surface, seem a little disjointed and scatterbrained. However, upon closer inspection, one sees that all three passages do share at least one common thread: they reveal aspects of God's nature. Yes, I know that pretty much everything in the Bible does that, so maybe I'm grasping at straws. Still, I think it wouldn't hurt to explicate what I've learned here, if only for my own edification.

First, God yet again recapitulates part of the covenant He made with His people. But this time, He adds a barbed little addendum: He calls them "stiff-necked," saying, "I might destroy you on the way" (verse 3). Not exactly reassuring, but at least He's being honest here. The threat of punishment is enough to send the Israelites wallowing in self-pity. Now, did God really want to make everyone all sulky and petulant? I don't think God wishes us ill will, but at the same time, He probably knows that sometimes, pain can be the only way to make us change our oft-inveterately sinful ways. Of course, that's not to say that all who suffer necessarily deserve it--we do, after all, live in a broken world. I'd guess that, in this passage, God is using the threat of force to get the Israelites to repent. Of course, they've just witnessed the Levites cutting down many of their brethren, so that's undoubtedly still lingering in their minds. God knows what will spur us into action, even if it involves a measure of suffering.

When Moses talks to God, he moseys on over to a tent while everyone else watches. I'd imagine if Moses were living in today's world, He'd be swarmed by paparazzi and reporters. "Hey, Moses! Look this way! C'mon, give us a duck face!" He could even have Joshua as his bodyguard, helping usher Moses into the limo tent while warding off the swarming leeches. On a more serious note, God speaks "to Moses face to face, as one speaks to a friend" (verse 11). Pretty remarkable, especially in an era before Jesus came down as a man. This wonderfully intimate portrayal of God contrasts starkly with the formidable being emitting lightning, thunder, smoke, and fire from the top of Mount Sinai.

And even within this chapter, we get another reminder of just how mighty God is. Moses rather audaciously asks to see God's glory, but God reminds him that "no one may see me and live" (verse 20). Moses may view God's back, but even then, God will have to cover Moses with His hand as He passes (verse 22). And yet our awesome God can still talk to us like we would talk to a friend. Maybe He would frown on some of the more ribald topics that we sometimes sink to, but we should be comfortable sharing our innermost thoughts and concerns with Him. Yes, He knows them anyway, but I get the sense that He does get a kick out of our individuality and how we choose to express ourselves to Him (as long as it's not malicious, of course--I doubt anyone, much less God, would accept killing or hurting others as an appropriate way of "expressing themselves.") And by expressing ourselves in our own unique way, we're proving that we're forming a relationship with God out of our own free will--God's not forcing it upon us.

Tyler Durden from Fight Club says, "You are not a unique and beautiful snowflake." Well, you are (not literally), but you have to remember that everyone else is a unique snowflake as well--not just you (which does match the railing-against-self-entitlement that Durden was going for. However, I do disagree with his vehement characterization of society as the "all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world." Mr. Durden obviously hasn't heard me sing or watched me dance. But I digress, as is my wont.) God takes delight in each and every one of His unique children.