Numbers 5

If you're an American, you probably remember learning in 5th grade history class about the Salem witch trials and some of the rather arbitrary tests used to determine whether one was a "witch" or not. One of the most notorious was the water test--the mob would throw the accused into a lake; if she floated, she was a witch, but if she sank and drowned, then she wasn't. But of course. And who could forget the Monty Python version of a witch trial?

The test for an unfaithful wife seems as arbitrary (though nowhere near as unfair) at first glance. Apparently, a delectable elixir of holy water and nutritious tabernacle floor dust (verse 17) effects some sort of psychosomatic reaction in the accused woman, making her womb barren if she has been unfaithful to her husband. However, God, not "magic," causes this reaction. And if the woman is indeed innocent, she gets off scot-free, presumably leaving her husband with an egg on his face.

But even if the woman is innocent of adultery, she still has to face her husband who was "jealous" enough to accuse in the first place (verse 14). I imagine that such an accusation would strain the couple's relationship--few people react with stars and rainbows when they've been publicly proved wrong, and even fewer react that way when their spouse has basically proclaimed their jealousy for all and sundry to see. I realize I'm viewing this through the lens of modern society, but I do hope that this law made men cogitate for a while before making their accusation.

Rather conspicuously, no test for an unfaithful husband exists. Men could get it on with more than one woman and no one would look upon them with contempt--remember Solomon and all his concubines? Of course, it would be foolish to think that God accepts adultery from men--He certainly had a thing or two to say about the whole David/Bathsheba affair. I'd like to think that the test for an unfaithful wife was also meant to protect innocent women from baseless accusations--after all, they did have a lot fewer rights. I'm afraid I can't write about this topic without being vicarious because I'm (a) not married, and (b) I haven't fooled around with anyone. That said, I'm a firm believer in the value of marriage, even with all its challenges, complications, and the occasional ludicrous moments.

Numbers 3-4

Most of us with siblings have suffered similar misfortunes: Your brother or sister commits some little shenanigan, such as breaking the cookie jar, and thrusts the pieces into your hand just as your mom or dad stalks into the room to unleash parental fury on your sorry head. Your honest entreaties and claims of innocence fall on deaf ears as your parent drags you out by your ear. And as you round the corner to face your doom, you catch one last glimpse of your guilty sibling, who, of course, is smirking like an imbecile. Or, on a similar note, maybe your sibling got an awesome Christmas gift, like a Cabbage Patch doll that eats your fingers or a Hot Wheels car that spews flatulent fumes out of its backside, and you got socks. It's not fair!

I'm sure older siblings think their younger siblings always got it better, while younger siblings probably think their parents favored their older siblings. God has talked a bit in the previous three books about his predilection for the firstborn, but rarely as explicitly as He does here. In 3:13, God proclaims of the firstborn, "They are mine." Now, that doesn't necessarily mean that God will always exalt the firstborn--just look at Esau/Jacob, Leah/Rachel, and Cain/Abel (though it would suck to be either Cain or Abel).

These two chapters further substantiate this concept. Kohath is the second son of Levi (Gershon is the eldest), and yet the Kohathites receive the more sacred duty of carrying the table of the Presence, the altars, the lampstand, and the Ark of the Covenant. (I wonder if Indy was a descendant of the Kohathites.) The Gershonites only get to carry the tabernacle and the tent (though I imagine those would be heavier than the Kohathites' articles). Merari's clan only gets to carry items like tent pegs and cross poles. The Kohathites' exalted status may seem arbitrary until you realize that Moses and Aaron are of the Kohathite line.

Naturally, the more sacred items require more care and instruction: Chapter 4 devotes a whopping 20 verses to the Kohathites' tasks (down to the particular blue, scarlet, and purple colors of the cloth to cover the various accessories), while the Gershonites get eight and the Merarites five. In any case, all three clans didn't get to choose what tasks they would do; they were born into it. Firstborn or not, part of Moses's line or not, everyone's missions were assigned because of factors beyond their control. I am so blessed to have been born where I was to the parents I have and with the skills that I possess. Every time I feel despondent about my failings (of which there are legion), I count the ways that my life doesn't suck--and those ways are innumerable. I can't change how I was born, so why fret? Instead, I should, with Christ indwelling in me, do the best I can with what I've been given.

Numbers 1-2

Around the 1950s and 1960s, Hollywood liked to semi-regularly churn out historical epics, some of which had a Biblical foundation to their story lines or characters. Most of these epics were so-monikered because of their sprawling stories, breathtaking widescreen vistas, grandiloquent musical scores, and scenes with colossal crowds. The Ten Commandments, Ben-Hur, Spartacus, and Lawrence of Arabia all feature scenes with innumerable extras. (Cleopatra does too, apparently, but I haven't seen it.) Nowadays, with newfangled CGI technology, filmmakers can create enormous hordes without having to hire thousands of people. While The Lord of the Rings films are particularly impressive in this regard (and do feature their fair share of actual extras), most other modern films with a multitude of CG extras just don't create the same awe-inspiring effect.

In the first few chapters of Numbers (what a name for a book of the Bible), Moses and Co. take a census of all the battle-ready men among the Israelites--and it's a rather gargantuan 603,500. The NIV Study Bible says that extrapolating this number to include women, children, and the elderly would bring the total number of Israelites to two million. That's almost the population of Chicago! Some scholars are dubious that such a large number could move around or camp with any sort of efficiency, leading them to believe that the numbers were either corrupted somewhere along the line or were symbolic rather than mathematical--but the point is that the Israelites make up a rather formidable force, fit for an old-fashioned Hollywood epic. Like maybe The Ten Commandments.

After Moses relays the instructions for the census, Numbers 2:34 says, "So the Israelites did everything the LORD commanded Moses." (1:54 says something similar.) Spoiler alert: This obedience doesn't last. Why? Well, I can make a couple of uninformed suppositions.

1. The Israelites have just heard 27 chapters' worth of laws and provisos read to them, so it's probably fresh in their minds. I know I'm more likely to obey God when I pray and listen to Him or after I read the Bible. If I don't, I tend to place my priority in other matters, straying from God's path for me.

2. Although mustering for battle (as the Israelites are basically doing here) involves intricate planning and effort, it's just preparation. They're getting ready to march into Canaan, but they haven't actually had to commit to any real action yet. I jog three mornings a week, and it would be so easy for me to do all the stretching and the warm-up walk, and then just climb back into bed for another hour. Starting the jog, taking action after all that preparation, takes a good bit more willpower. Maybe the Israelites were OK with doing the easy stuff, but when God told them to actually get off their sandy behinds and conquer Canaan, they balked.

Censuses don't exactly make the most thrilling reading, but even I, with my meager analytical skills, was able to glean a modicum of substance from these two chapters. As a final note, the word "census" always reminds me of the Senses-Taker in Norton Juster's whimsically profound and witty The Phantom Tollbooth.

Leviticus 27 and Book Conclusion

If you've ever wondered about the monetary value of men, women, and children, then Leviticus 27 has the answer! Here, laid out clearly and succinctly, the author lays out the worth of each member of society in shekels of silver. Here's the list, from most to least valuable:

Male (age 20-59, upper range)--60 shekels
Female (age 20-59)--30 shekels
Male (age 5-20 or 20-59, lower range)--20 shekels
Male (age 60+)--15 shekels
Female (age 5-20 or 60+)--10 shekels
Male (1 month-5 years)--5 shekels
Female (1 month-5 years)--3 shekels

I do understand that people had to do more hard labor back then, so it does make sense that those able to complete arduous tasks would be more valuable to society; males on average tend to have more muscle mass than females. Men aged 20-59 are the only group to have a range--at the highest, they can be worth twice as much as the next highest tier, but at the lowest, they're worth less than women aged 20-59. I guess God knew that men like Homer Simpson wouldn't justify such a high price.

However, I don't get why boys under 5 years old were worth more than girls under 5--young girls and boys have the same capacity for physical labor, which isn't a whole lot. If you're building the pyramids, you don't ask a horde of toddlers to build it, and even if you were screwed up enough to do so, why on Earth would you think that boys would do a better job than girls? I know that's an extreme example, but even if you had your tykes help pick strawberries, boys and girls under 5 would do equally poorly.

Finally, God mentions tithing, specifying, "No one may pick out the good from the bad or make any substitution" (verse 33). I shouldn't just tithe my "leftover" earnings to God, making offerings only when I've secured my own desire. Instead, I should make tithing my priority--after all, I can't take my money or anything it buys with me once I croak, so I should be more sedulous about giving my first fruits to God.

Conclusion

Much of Leviticus features rather abstruse procedures written specifically for the Israelites. Even though Jesus' sacrifice obviates the need for many of these regulations, we must still strive to follow God's directives. In fact, the meticulous nature of all these sacrifices and stipulations only reminds us of how unconditionally holy God is, and thus how powerful Jesus' death on the cross had to have been to overcome the need for all these policies. God also knew that his instructions in Leviticus would help the Israelites devote themselves to Him as His chosen people, but no one is an ancient Israelite anymore. People have changed, society has changed, even our values have changed, for better and for worse. But God has remained constant.

Leviticus 26

At some point in our education, most of us have thought that some teachers assigned barbarously difficult exams or assignments just because they were sadists. And every time, they'd say something like, "I want you all to get 100%," which made me grumble to myself, "Well, if you really believe that, then why don't you just make the wretched thing easier?" I experienced this the most in math classes; many English assignments were rather rigorous as well, but I was able to get away with writing most of the essay the night before and still get an A--which fortunately (or unfortunately) was my modus operandi in college as well. To this day, I feel like a bit of an indolent cheat, but hey, it worked the vast majority of the time.

Anyway, now that I'm in the education field myself, I now know the real reason for teachers wanting their students to get 100%: Perfect assignments are so much easier to grade, and eloquent papers are so much more fun to read. Likewise, Leviticus 26 contrasts the ease of obedience with the nasty convolution of disobedience. The chapter devotes its first 13 verses to rewards for obedience--if the people follow God's decrees, He will make their lives awesome. Simple, straightforward, no fuss. However, the chapter then treats us to a whopping 33 verses on punishments for disobedience. 

Said punishments remind me of the discipline section of my middle school and high school handbooks (and yes, I actually read those--that's how hopelessly and inveterately dweeby I am). First comes a warning, followed by a trip to the principal's office, which leads to a review by the school disciplinary board (whatever the heck that is). Then, of course, are the delights of detention, Saturday school, suspension, and expulsion. God offers similar escalating deterrents, including the unexpectedly literary threat of making the sky like iron and the ground like bronze (verse 19). The image of a region dominated by metal reminds me of Brandon Sanderson's fantastic novel Steelheart, and yes, a city composed entirely of metal is as bleak as it sounds. Verse 16 offers a particularly fine morsel: "You will plant seed in vain, because your enemies will eat it." That sucks, but the juvenile part of me still finds it kind of funny.

The punishments get more horrid from there, but God still offers a way out: If the people repent, then God will remember His covenant with them (verses 40-45). The Israelites can avoid all these harrowing penalties if they just confess their wrongdoing and turn back to God. As I've mentioned before, whenever I sin, I feel like crap and ask for God's forgiveness. However, if I'm truly sorry for what I've done, why do I keep taking advantage of God's grace?

Leviticus 25

This year, the Academy Award for Best Original Score went to Ennio Morricone for The Hateful Eight. Among film composers, Morricone is a legend whose expertise at his craft is matched by only one other living film composer: John Williams. If you're a Tarantino nut like I am, you've certainly heard Morricone's music before, particularly in the Kill Bill films. Perhaps his best known composition is his theme to Sergio Leone's peerless Western, The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.

If you enjoy that cue (i.e., you have great taste in music), other exhilarating tracks from that score include "Il Triello" (The Trio) and "The Ecstasy of Gold;" Metallica uses the latter track to open up their concerts. Other illustrious scores by Maestro Morricone include Once Upon a Time in the West, The Untouchables, Once Upon a Time in America, and The Mission (the theme of which Morricone used as the basis for the song "Nella Fantasia," which has been covered by luminaries from Sarah Brightman and Il Divo to Jackie Evancho. I've covered it too in the shower, humming it instead of singing it because I don't know the words, and I'm confident people would pay oodles of cash not to hear my version.)

Just as impressive as the quality of Morricone's work is the sheer quantity. He was written over 500 scores. Five hundred! What's more, he's still going strong at age 87. He's definitely someone who hasn't retired, who loves what he does so much that he wants to keep working. While I suppose I'll always love writing, I'd be perfectly happy if I retired early. (To work more on writing, I tell myself, but to be candid, I'd probably spend a lot of time lazing around, reading and watching movies.) However, working does keep my mind nimble and allows me to use my meager gifts for the good of society and all that.

Still, a whole Sabbath year as mentioned in Leviticus 25 sounds pretty tantalizing to me because you don't have to work--and that's without the added benefit of strengthening one's relationship with God. Then, we have the Year of Jubilee (which reminds me of cherries jubilee; I've never had it, but it sounds delicious. Even if dogs made it, as in the movie Up.) Debts are canceled, land returns to its original owner, and hired Israelite works are to be set free. (No luck for foreign slaves, unfortunately, as verse 46 says they are "slaves for life.") As God forgives us, the Year of Jubilee helps the Israelites develop and manifest their own senses of forgiveness. In modern society, the Year of Jubilee would create a massive bureaucratic mess, not to mention those who would take advantage of the provisions, such as racking up mammoth credit card debt just before the Jubilee. While I don't want to treat those who've wronged me with indulgence, I do need to work on reflecting Christ's magnanimous nature to everyone in my life.

Leviticus 24

For those of you who find Leviticus (and my ramblings on it) soporific, chapter 24 finally offers another story for your reading pleasure--and again, it's not a particularly pleasant one. A hapa son of an Israelite and an Egyptian curses God's name, which entitles him to a lovely stoning. God's name here is referred to as "the Name" (verses 11 and 16), an effect that lends His moniker a sense of nigh-inscrutable holiness.

Nowadays, people use God's name in vain all the time, so much so that it crops up kids' movies. Most people, however, do so mindlessly because it's become a phrase you just say to express surprise, horror, disgust, disappointment, elation, boredom--well, just about anything, really. I'm not going to cast aspersions on anyone who does this, but it does sadly reveal how God has become less relevant to Western culture.

In fact, colorful language in general is no longer as frowned upon as it once was. Remember when those movie previews appropriate for "all audiences" actually were appropriate for all audiences? Now, some of those trailers include violence, sexuality, and just about every curse word except the three biggies (starting with "f," "s," and "c"). In the movie Kick-Ass (whose title alone contains a slightly naughty word), a preteen girl drops an f-bomb and a c-bomb almost right out of the gate; while it's dramatically appropriate (and hilarious) in the context of the film, it wasn't too long ago when filmmakers wouldn't dare to write a character like that. On the other hand, more than three f-bombs in a movie automatically warrant an R-rating, which makes no sense to me. Is any expletive really beyond the boundaries of PG-13? And I personally think that a movie rated R just because it has salty language (like The King's Speech or Ed Wood) is much more innocuous than an R-rated film with brutal violence or explicit sex.

What a mess. Remember the good old (or bad old) days when teachers admonished you for using "stupid" because it was a bad word?

I know I've written something like this before in my discussion of the Ten Commandments, but I try not to swear myself, at least not out loud. In elementary school, swearing was the most awful thing in the world, and I cringed whenever I heard a bad word in a movie or TV show. My classmates didn't really swear either, but as soon as I got to 6th grade, the floodgates opened and everyone started talking like they were in a Quentin Tarantino movie. (In terms of swear words, not the wittiness of the repartee.) I admit that curse words don't bother me, unless they're uttered in the presence of very young children. However, I strive to avoid them myself to keep discourse as civil as possible.

I might be a bad judge of how offensive profanity is because I mostly hear it in movies, and I'm not affronted by most R-rated movies. (Unless they're just bad movies.) But in real life, heartlessly lambasting or belittling someone is just cruel, and obscene language can augment that animus. Why, then, should we lambast or belittle God by blaspheming His name? (Or Name.)

But enough about blasphemy; the real standout of this chapter is, of course, the food. Verse 5 specifies that the loaves of bread used for offering should be two-tenths of an ephah--which is about 7 pounds. Given that the average loaf of bread weighs about one pound, these are some seriously gargantuan loaves we're talking about here--and a dozen of them, no less.

Leviticus 23

Who doesn't like festivals? If you answer, "An introvert like you," you'd be exactly right! Or you would be if we were talking about me as a kid. As a youngling, I remember going to an Obon festival (I think that's what was; it was Japanese in any case) at a local park a few blocks from our house. Unlike some kids, who were undoubtedly thrilled by the colors, sounds, jollification, and, well, festivities, I would much rather have been at home reading a book. As such, I don't remember anything specific about the festival with one thunderous exception: the taiko drums. I don't think I'd ever heard such a ferocious, resonant sound in my life; I have vivid memories the sonorous sound waves of the drumbeats causing my very coelom to vibrate.

Even at Disneyland, I was never a big fan of the daytime parades or "dance parties;" all they did was make certain parts of the park more crowded when you were trying to make your way to another ride. The parades, while vibrant and upbeat, don't come close to matching the sheer spectacle of Fantasmic or the other nighttime spectaculars.

So am I just one big party pooper? Well, yes, but I've actually come to appreciate festivals more; unlike film, books, or TV shows, they involve live entertainment that will never be performed in exactly the same way again, creating a sense of immediacy. This year, I attended the Rose Parade for the first time in person, and it was a more scintillating experience than just lounging on the couch and watching it on the telly--and I don't care how many meters long your enormous flatscreen TV is. At one point, the parade got held up for about 30 minutes, right as a high school marching band started to pass in front of us. They continued playing in place for about 10 minutes, but when they had exhausted their repertoire and it was clear the parade wasn't going to start moving again anytime soon, they stopped and started chatting with each other.

That's not something the networks would include in their broadcast, but I did get a kick out of seeing one of those inconsequential, rehearsed moments that you can only witness in person. The communal sense of celebration in a festival or parade also reminds me that I can't spend all my free time with my nose submerged deep in the bowels of a book.

The festivals in Leviticus 23, though, aren't just for fun--all of them serve to honor God. But who says that honoring God has to be totally bereft of merrymaking? God specifies that the Israelites are to do no work during the festivals. Of course, that doesn't mean that they were given leave to indulge in debauchery, but when we honor God, we get to luxuriate in the benefits of His company--and certainly that's a boon worth celebrating with others. Even if it involves waving two lambs around (verse 20)--as if you were trying to lasso something with the lambs because you had somehow misplaced your rope.

Leviticus 22

Although the latter half of this chapter elucidates the requirements for a sacrificial animal, much of it further discusses the requirements for priests. As such, I think it's appropriate to expand upon the thoughts of responsibility I made in my last post in the form of a rambling tangent.

If you're over a certain age, you might remember a little computer game called Myst. Before Pokémon and Call of Duty, Myst took the gaming world by storm with its immersive visuals, brain-busting puzzles, creepy atmosphere and, best of all, hammy acting from its creators, Rand and Robyn Miller. The enigmatic--some would say nonexistent--storyline didn't really resolve or provide much of an explanation once you finished the game, but the world was so alluring that you couldn't help thinking, "Well, what the heck was that all about? Now what happens?"--if you were smart and demented enough to actually "beat" the game. (Or if you were like me and cheated by using a strategy guide out of frustration.) I mean, the Mario games are fantastic, but you don't stop and wonder where Koopas come from and why they can kill you with just a touch. You don't wonder why all these boxes with question marks on them are just floating in midair, and how they can tell to spit out mushrooms if you're small or fire flowers if you're big. (And, of course, why you can only move in two dimensions, but that was rectified in Super Mario 64.)

But Myst's world was laden with intriguing possibilities that demanded explication, and such explication came in the form of three spin-off novels. The first entry, The Book of Atrus, is actually a fine fantasy novel in its own right. The basic premise is that a civilization of humans, called the D'ni, lived under the earth in a massive cavern. They figured out how to "link" to other worlds (called Ages) by writing books that described that world. However, they knew that they weren't actually creating the Ages, but instead forming a link to one of an infinite number of possible Ages. The D'ni thus saw themselves as stewards of these Ages, but not the creators. In The Book of Atrus, a character named Gehn (who is the villain in Myst's even more sumptuous--and even more infuriating--sequel, Riven) somehow gets it into his balding pate that he actually is the creator of these Ages, to do with as he pleases. As many of these Ages are inhabited, you can already see the potential for drama and despotism.

I doubt any of us are stewards of entire worlds, but we are stewards--not owners or creators--of everything God has given to us. I've written a bit about how I need to be more munificent with my funds and more gracious in how I interact with certain people, but I also need to be a good steward of my talents (such as they are). My writing doesn't create a link to some other Age, but words have the power to shape and disseminate ideas. Luckily for you, I rarely have any original ideas that I can subsequently belabor you with, but I must still avoid using my skills in ways that dishonor God.

Leviticus 21

According to everyone's favorite wall-crawler (just as long as he's not being directed by Marc Webb), "With great power comes great responsibility." The Israelite priests' power, though it comes from God, involves making sacrifices, taking the burden of the people's sin and bringing it before His holy presence. As such, God expects them to serve as the epitome of purity and reverence by following stipulations such as, say, steering clear of making their faces resemble those of ZZ Top's.

Although priests may make themselves unclean for the sake of close, consanguine (remember that word?) relatives, but the high priest can't even do that (verses 10-12)--which I suppose explains the whole fiasco with Aaron's sons in Leviticus 10. If he is to mourn, he must do so without manifesting it. I know I wouldn't be able to do that--which is why I probably wouldn't have made a very good high priest.

Actually, I definitely couldn't have been a high priest because my vision is so poor, it pretty much qualifies as an eye defect--and those with eye defects can't become priests, much less the Grand High Priest of the United Galactic Federation. Without glasses or contacts, I'd qualify as legally blind. God is so holy and perfect that He cannot stand any flaws, even physical deformities and illnesses. From our point of view, this is unfair--sick people or those who don't look like supermodels aren't necessarily worse human beings. Fortunately, Jesus' death and resurrection abrogates the requirement of physical perfection--and no one is perfect anyway; flaws make us human. I'm sure even Grace Kelly had imperfections she hid from everyone.

However, as with much of Exodus, we come to the "So what?" of this chapter. Few of us will become priests, and no one will become a Leviticus-era Israelite priest ever again. Riffing off of Spidey's catchphrase, the title character of director Matthew Vaughn's superb film Kick-Ass says, "With no power comes no responsibility"--but as he realizes right after he says that little nugget, that's not true. We all have power of some sort--a reasonable amount of it too, if you have the resources to read these words. I may not be in a leadership position, but I have the power to help the less fortunate and treat everyone in a Christlike manner.

Leviticus 20

Now that we've read a whole bevy or rules, directives, decrees, and regulations, we finally get to the crunchy bits: punishments for disobedience. To quote a line from the song "The Court of Miracles" in Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame, "We like to get the trial over with quickly / Because it's the sentence that's really the fun!"

Most of the sins listed here are punishable by death, so, somewhat paradoxically, I sit up and take notice when a sin doesn't lead to the death penalty. Said crimes include consulting mediums (verse 6), men marrying their sisters (verse 17 and 19), consummation during a woman's period (verse 18), and getting busy with one's aunt or brother's wife (verses 20-21). The consequence for most of these is being cut off from everyone else, while the sins in verses 20 and 21 result in barrenness. I get why the period thing (verse 18) wouldn't result in as severe a punishment, but I'm puzzled about the rest, as most of them seem no less horrible than the sins punishable by death.

The most severe punishment, however, comes in verse 14: "If a man marries both a woman and his mother, it is wicked. Both he and they must be burned in the fire, so that no wickedness will be among you." Death by fire is a particularly painful way to go out. Perhaps Robert Towne, the screenwriter of the classic (and depressing) film Chinatown had this verse in mind when he crafted one of cinema's most realistically reprehensible villains (portrayed with malignant amiability by John Huston, no less).

A recurring statement in this chapter is, "their blood will be on their own head" (e.g., verse 9). In the last chapter, blood represented one's life force, but now, it represents guilt. (We all remember Lady Macbeth and her little quandary regarding blood.) Some sins are difficult, if not impossible, for an outside observer to espy, but to God, they're as vivid as a mandrill's tushy.

Somewhat amusingly, after God reminds the Israelites of their role as His chosen people, He closes the chapter rather abruptly with another decree, this one involving mediums. I wonder why this verse wasn't placed right before or after verse 6, where it would make more sense thematically. Many of the sins stated in the chapter, however, are punishable by death.

Leviticus 19

Do you know why so many websites feature listicles? Having written a few unpublished (and unsubmitted) ones myself, I have an idea why: They're easy to write, eliminate nuance, and you don't have to worry about pesky organization like you do with actual articles or essays. Leviticus 19 isn't actually a listicle, but it does feature a set of rules that don't seem to be organized in any discernible manner. Some of them reiterate the Ten Commandments using different language (so the Israelites can get them into their thick skulls), but many of them are "new."

Verses 9 and 10 promote charity, telling the people to leave some of their harvest behind for the poor. I obviously have enough money to have a computer and an Internet connection, so I certainly have the means to donate some of my resources to the poor. I cover some of that when I tithe, I suppose, but is that really where I should stop?

Verse 16 regards slander, which always reminds me of this gem from the first Spider-Man (the Sam Raimi series, not the Not-So-Amazing ones with Andrew Garfield):

Other rules don't make any sense, like the second half of verse 19 (forbidding fields with two kinds of seeds or clothing with two types of material), verses 23-25 (orchard husbandry), and verse 27 (forbidding the cutting of sideburns or the edges of one's beard). Some of this may have to do this hygiene and practices that will make a crop more fecund, but it might also be like that Van Halen M&M thing--God wants to make sure that His people are paying attention so that they will follow the rules that do really matter. Although I don't own any crops or orchards, I do break the clothing and hair regulations all the time. Some of the Pharisees in Jesus' time would have had fun shaking their fingers at me in contempt, but I know that I have more important issues I need to wrestle with in order to strengthen my relationship with God.

The rule that strikes me the most, though, is in verse 15: "Do not pervert justice; do not show partiality to the poor or favoritism to the great, but judge your neighbor fairly." I don't treat someone better just because they're rich, but I fear that I show favoritism to those with whom I get along. I've written this before, but it bears repeating because I still struggle with this issue: When I'm interacting with someone who has the delightful talent of persistently annoying me, I don't exactly lash out, but I can adapt a deplorably sullen attitude. On the other hand, I'm more cheerful and accommodating to those who are respectful or who make me laugh. But who's to say that the irritating people act that way because they're struggling with something? And even if they act that way just because they're entitled, I should treat them as Christ would: with respect, grace, and forbearance.

Leviticus 18

Chapter 18 deals with a topic that you don't want to bring up in polite conversation: vomiting (verses 25 and 28). Vomit is undeniably disgusting, and its noisome odor can make you want to upchuck yourself, but God's not talking about humans barfing. He's talking about land barfing, so disgusted with its inhabitants that it spews them out as violently as the girl in The Exorcist did when she turned her mouth into a Super Soaker for puréed peas.

Vomiting is, of course, the focus of this chapter, but as a side note, God also mentions all those commandments about sex. In all honesty, the vast majority of them make sense, especially the ones dealing with incest and bestiality. Scientifically, we know that inbreeding has adverse effects on the offspring, as the lack of genetic variation makes one more susceptible to recessive genetic disorders. (And the topic of genetics brings us back full circle to peas via Gregor Mendel.) Even the laws that don't deal with blood relations, like verses 14 and 15, are just common sense. Even if you're not related to a family member by blood (consanguine, to use a fancy scientific word), you don't have sexual relations with your parent's sibling's spouse or your daughter-in-law. You just don't.

More troubling, though, is the implication that all these practices were de rigueur for most of Israel's neighbors. (Yes, I know they're technically not called Israel yet, but what else am I going to call them? The Tribe of String Cheese? The Knights Who Say "Ni"?)  They may have just left Egypt, where such deplorable incestuous practices may have been commonplace, but their neighbors in Canaan also accept such practices (verse 3). The Israelites may be tempted to think, "When in Canaan, do as the Canaanites do," but God calls His people to a higher standard.

How are these regulations relevant in an age when the vast majority of us understand that incest is a no-no? I think the answer may lie in this concept of the higher standard, which also relates to the "in the world but not of the world" message of John 17. Christians do not automatically behave better than others, but knowing that Christ is in us, we should. We are not made superior people because we choose to believe in Christ. Instead, Christ in us makes us the best we can be (he said sententiously).

Leviticus 17

"Eating Blood Forbidden," proclaims the NIV heading to chapter 17. The use of "eat" here and in verses 10 and 12 is intriguing, and perhaps a little disturbing. We usually say, "drink blood" because blood is a liquid; eat describes solid (or solid-ish) provender. Which is why "eat" is disturbing, because to "eat" blood, it has to be solid, or dried. Drinking liquid blood isn't any better, but still….

For any of you hoping to hear juicy (or sanguinary) stories about me drinking blood, you're in luck! (Be warned: This story may enter "Too Much Information" territory.) As a kid, I used to get bloody noses now and again (sensitive blood vessels, apparently), and a couple of times I did what you're not supposed to do when you have a bloody nose--sniff vigorously. Of course, that had the unpalatable effect of making me swallow some of that blood as it went straight from the back of my nose down my throat, bypassing the mouth.

But enough juvenile anecdotes about me. When we think about beings that drink (or eat, if you insist on using that word) blood, what immediately comes to mind? What do we call the blood-sucking creatures in that literary masterpiece, Twilight, portrayed by Kristen Stewart and that other dude? That's right--we call them mosquitos. Think about it--mosquitos and those things in Twilight are annoying, make irritatingly shrill noises, feature countenances lacking anything resembling the range of human emotions, and prove surprisingly difficult to squash.

Other than mosquitos and their Twilight brethren, we have one of the latest horror fads--vampires. (I'm tempted to say that the characters in Twilight aren't "real" vampires, but that's using the pesky "no true Scotsman" fallacy.) Verse 11 says, "the life of the creature is in the blood," and indeed, the concept of a mythical beast that sucks the life force out of someone fascinates many. Although Bram Stoker's Dracula didn't invent vampires, it certainly helped informally canonize many vampire tropes--chief among them the elegance and seductiveness of the creatures of the night.

However, John Ajvide Lindqvist's masterful novel Let the Right One In, along with the film adaptation and its American remake Let Me In (the latter of which proves as wrenchingly poignant as the Swedish original), refreshingly turns the glamor of vampirism on its head. The trials of the main character, a girl who became a vampire when she was a preteen, encapsulate all the challenges, tragedy, and loneliness of being an immortal who needs to kill others to survive. Why do I mention this? I suppose this tangent went longer that I expected, but I suppose I can contrive a tenuous connection: Let the Right One In/Let Me In, unlike the vast majority of vampire films and literature, shows that drinking blood isn't all it's cracked up to be. Exactly what God was saying all along!

Leviticus 16

Before Atonement was a book by Ian McEwan (and later a movie starring Elizabeth Swann and a young Professor Charles Xavier), it was a word representing the restitution we have to make for our sins. Back in the Old Testament days, atonement involved a complex, intricate process involving specific clothing, a multitude of sacrifices, and a bridge troll's favorite animal.

Because of Jesus' sacrifice, the meticulously ordered procedures of the Day of Atonement seem quaint and irrelevant. Indeed, I doubt even the most diligent of Orthodox Jews carry out all these steps to the letter, especially the ones involving the animal sacrifices. (And, of course, there's no longer a single tabernacle containing the Most Holy Place, and the Ark of the Covenant, as everyone knows, has been collecting dust in a voluminous US government warehouse ever since Indiana Jones found it.) However, God ordained all these steps for a reason, even if it makes no sense to us now.

Have you ever read a book or seen a movie in which all these seemingly random, disconnected elements come together so perfectly in the end, creating an almost ineffable sense of satisfaction? Fantasy author Brandon Sanderson does that a lot, particularly in his Mistborn trilogy. I'll use Signs as an example--it's just an eh-to-OK movie as I don't want to spoil a good book or film, but skip this paragraph if you don't want to find out how M. Night Shyamalan's last decent movie ends. Signs involves an alien invasion, but it focuses on one family, comprising Mel Gibson, Joaquin Phoenix, Little Miss Sunshine, and the little brother of the guy from Home Alone. Joaquin Phoenix is a failed baseball player, Home Alone has asthma, and Little Miss Sunshine likes to leave glasses of water around the house.

At the end of the movie, an alien threatens the family, spraying a toxic gas into Home Alone. However, he's having an asthma attack and thus isn't affected. Phoenix thwacks the alien with a baseball bat (which anyone, not just an ex-baseball player could do, really), causing the alien to fall and knock over a glass of water onto itself. And, of course, water turns out to be the alien species' weakness. Although this example feels more contrived than some better examples I could have chosen from superior works of fiction, you still get the idea that all these strange atonement procedures will one day make perfect sense when God reveals them to us.

Finally, we witness what may be the origin of the word "scapegoat"--and it's an actual goat onto which people actually transfer their sins. At least poor Billy gets to trot off into the wilderness after all this rather than having to suffer the inimitable pleasures of sacrifice or abuse (verse 10). Ursula K. Le Guin's electrifyingly thought-provoking short story "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas" offers further ruminations on this concept, but Jesus, of course, is the ultimate scapegoat, the epitome of selfless, undeserved sacrifice. Until He came down to Earth, though, I guess people had to make do with goats.

Leviticus 15

Just when you thought that molds and skin diseases would be the most unsavory topics in Leviticus, God goes and drops Leviticus 15 on us: Bodily discharges. Any commentary on this chapter has the potential for a buttload of scatological humor, but I, of course, am above such puerile shenanigans. Reading through this chapter, I'm reminded just how disgusting even a perfectly healthy body can be. As kids, of course, most of us found such literary classics such as "Everybody Poops" and "The Gas We Pass" vastly amusing. I even remember going to the bookstore, contemplating buying this book on the science of disgusting bodily functions (called Grossology or Poopology or something of that nature). I didn't end up buying it, but I did browse through a good portion of it; that's where I learned that your own urine is potable in an emergency.

God starts out talking about unusual bodily discharges from men. When I first read that, I thought, "That sounds an awful lot like a euphemism for, you know…." (Yes, I'm circumspect even when I think to myself--that's how weird I am.) Then, of course, we get to verse 16 where God says it right out. So I guess the unusual bodily discharges actually are referring to genuinely unusual discharges. Like rainbows, because we all know that only girls and unicorns emit those.

I find verse 8 particularly amusing: "If the man with the discharge spits on anyone who is clean, they must wash their clothes and bathe with water, and they will be unclean until evening." Imagine a fellow who not only has an unusual discharge, but he also has to go and be a jerk by spitting on other people. In the immortal words of Calvin (the cartoon strip character, not the philosopher after whom he's named), "Nothing helps a bad mood like spreading it around."

All these bodily fluids, whether usual or unusual (though I don't know if rainbows count as fluids), are unclean, which again makes sense, as they're often the vehicles of certain disagreeable diseases, including STDs. Even normal sex makes one unclean, if for only a brief period (verse 18). Of course, God isn't discouraging sex outright--how else can one be fruitful and multiply? In any case, the focus of this chapter isn't what does or doesn't constitute sexual morality, but rather one's physical and spiritual cleanliness.

Leviticus 14

Learning a new process, especially if it involves many interconnected steps, can seem daunting at first. Driving a car, using a computer, writing markup language for a website, and cooking without using the microwave all require individual steps that must be done in a certain order. Through practice, though, these tasks eventually become second nature. To get didactic for just a moment, that's why schools assign homework--very few of us can master mathematical and scientific concepts or writing and critical thinking skills by just reading about them or watching somebody else do them.

To cleanse themselves from defiling skin diseases, the Israelites had to go through quite a convoluted process with some very specific stipulations--for example, the diseased fellow must bring two clean birds, one of which is killed "over fresh water in a clay pot" (verse 5). The other bird then gets to enjoy the pleasure of being dipped in its late companion's blood before being released. Imagine the scene when the bird gets back to its nest: "Honey, what's that red stuff all over your crest?" "Oh, nothing, sweetheart. It's just the blood of Tweety, who, by the way, will no longer be joining us on our weekly skylarking excursions."

Perhaps the most superficially dismaying stipulation is that the diseased person must shave off his or her eyebrows (verse 9). Those suckers take a long time to grow back; nowadays, we most often hear of people losing their eyebrows involuntarily when they get a little too frisky with the lighter fluid. I know the Japanese women used to pluck their eyebrows, but they painted fake ones on top as a substitute. That makes about as much sense as Human Tetris or any of those other game shows my cultural brethren manage to concoct.

I get the general idea that sicknesses is the result of humankind's sinful nature, so it makes sense that diseases would make one unclean both physically and spiritually. However, just because one gets sick more often or contracts a terminal disease does not mean that one is more sinful. Life on Earth may not be fair, but then again, neither was Jesus' sacrifice. (I know that uses some sort of logical fallacy, but screw it.)

Leviticus 13

The regulations in this chapter concern skin diseases, which isn't exactly a topic you'd necessarily want to discuss around the dinner table. (Feel free to discuss it all you want around the breakfast or lunch table, though; I won't object.) Skin problems can be unsightly and embarrassing, as all of us who have suffered through acne as teenagers know full well. A few times in the chapter, God says, "it is only a rash" (verse 6) or "it is only a scar from the burn" (verse 28), but rashes, scars and burns are still rather untoward, even if they don't turn out to be communicable or deadly.

I suppose a good portion of the Earth's population wants to have complexions as flawless as magazine and TV supermodels, even though we know that there's a whole lot of makeup, airbrushing, and Photoshop going on. The fashion and makeup industry delights in this desire, of course, and further reinforce it with ads and commercials claiming, "You too can look as fake as a porcelain doll!" As a guy, I have to admit that my only experience with makeup was when I acted in school plays in elementary school. We had to wear lipstick, cheek rouge, and that old favorite, eyeliner. In fact, I remember one miscreant putting on enough eyeliner to shame a raccoon, to the consternation of the play's director. I thought I looked like an idiot with all that makeup, though of course I also looked like an idiot without makeup, so I don't know why I cared.

Although all of us boys looked like clowns, I remember thinking that the girls did look prettier. I know that I shouldn't "judge a book by its cover," but I still find certain people physically attractive and certain people (like myself) not so much. I'd like to think that I base my opinions of people more on their actions and personalities than on their appearances, but I still have a ways to go.

That was a bit of a tangent, so I'll try to get back to some actual observations from the chapter. Verse 49 characterizes defiling molds as "greenish or reddish" in color. Not only do I appreciate the translators' use of the suffix "-ish," but these are cheerful Christmas colors as well. So the next time Christmas rolls around and you see all the festive, vivid decorations, just think "defiling molds."

Finally, verse 40 says, "A man who has lost his hair and is bald is clean." Thank God for that.

Leviticus 12

I can't say I've had a lot of personal experience with the conditions mentioned in this chapter, nor will I ever experience them myself. In an age when gender is becoming more fluid, childbearing is still one aspect that indubitably separates a biological woman from a biological man. Discussions about the difference between the sexes can be tricky and controversial, but I think we can all agree that in some areas, such as wages, career opportunities, and civil rights, men and women should be on equal footing.  And while we've made progress, one doesn't have to look beyond the government, Hollywood, or STEM fields, or most workplaces and schools to see just how far we still have to go.

With that in mind, it's a little unsettling, but not surprising, to see that women are unclean for two weeks after bearing a daughter (verse 5) but are unclean for only seven days after bearing a son (verse 2). Even the NIV Study Bible admits ignorance regarding the reason behind this disparity. There's no clear biological reason, as far as we know, so it has to be either a cultural reason or a spiritual reason. God hasn't divulged His explanation, which can only lead us to speculate on a cultural reason. However, I'm no expert on ancient Israelites, so I'll refrain from spewing harebrained theories out of my you-know-what.

Women do have to make a sin offering in addition to a burnt offering after childbirth (verse 6), but lest you think God is condemning the act of childbirth itself, verse 7 explains that the flow of blood makes the woman unclean, not the birth itself. God, of course, knew that blood transmitted all sorts of unsavory little diseases long before any human did, so it does make scientific sense that a woman who had given birth would be unclean. However, I don't think there's any evidence that giving birth to a daughter generates more blood than giving birth to a son.

And that's about all I can write about without venturing into mysterious realms with which I will never be intimately familiar. I guess the one lesson we can definitively take away from this chapter is that blood can be insidious--and not just because of its red color. (As a kid, though, I liked the color red. Red and black were also my high school's colors, much cooler than our rival school's rather wimpy white and green. A childish thought, I know, but what other word would you use to describe homecoming week, rallies, and school spirit events? And in any case, the rival school's colors were the least of its problems.) It's amazing to contemplate that the fluid of life, with all its essential and protective corpuscles, can also be so virulent to others.

Leviticus 11

God provides Moses and Aaron with a litany of animals that the Israelites may not eat. The NIV Study Bible notes that while some scholars have tried to explain the cleanliness/uncleanliness of specific animals via hygiene concerns, the truth is that there's no consistent, logical dividing line between clean and unclean animals. Surely God had a reason for not allowing His chosen people to eat scrumptious pork, ham, bacon, and baby back ribs, but He probably meant said reason to remain cryptic until we get to Heaven. ("Crypt" is a good word to use in Hangman if you want to use a word people will actually know.) I mean, the overwrought, hammy (sorry) histrionics of Wilbur the Pig certainly don't do pigs any favors. (In the sage words of Templeton the rat, "It says, 'Crunchy.'")

God is oddly specific about the different kinds of owls that the Israelites aren't supposed to eat. It is just a tad creepy how far owls can turn their heads around, so why eat something that freaks you out? Contrary to popular belief, owls are not necessarily wiser than other birds; A. A. Milne was on to something. A few factual errors pop up in this chapter as well; insects do not have four legs (verse 20), though I suppose if you were one of those little hellions who liked to roast ants with a magnifying glass and pull the wings off flies, it isn't too much of a stretch to wrench two of an insect's legs off. And bats aren't birds. (They aren't bugs either, as Calvin found out the hard way.) I wouldn't be surprised if these were semantics/translation issues, though.

This chapter has made me aware of the existence of three animals, though: the hyrax (verse 5), the hoopoe (verse 19), and the skink (verse 30). The hyrax, despite looking like a small rodent, is actually closely related to the elephant and the sea cow; all three species store their testes inside the abdomen. Hoopoes are small birds with zebra-striped wings and impressive crests. (I actually remember the word "hoopoe" from when I read through the Bible back in middle school because the word sounded so funny. But this was in the days way back before the wide use of the Internet, so I was too lazy to go to the library and look it up.) Finally, the skink is a lizard (not a relative to the skunk); I know lizards aren't newts, but I can't help thinking about Sir Isaac Newton from Beatrix Potter's The Tale of Jeremy Fisher when I look at pictures of the skink.

God makes the point that one becomes unclean if an unclean animal "dies and falls on something" (verse 32). I know the death of an animal is usually no laughing matter, but I can't shake the image of this eagle flying around, minding its own business, when it suddenly dies and plummets to the ground, only to land on the sorry head of some consternated Israelite. "Gee, not only did I have this huge honking eagle land right on my head, but now I'm unclean to boot!" Yet even if one's uncleanliness arises from mischance, God still tells His followers to "be holy, because I am holy" (verse 45). If I am to be holy, I can only be so with God's guidance and power in me.