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.