Numbers 23

In the film Ratatouille, directed by the incredible Brad Bird, a Parisian rat named Remy has a zeal for cooking. Needless to say, the last thing any respectable restaurant wants is a rat in its kitchen, so Remy is initially limited in how he can manifest his culinary ardor. A series of wooly vicissitudes give Remy a chance to pursue his passion by teaming up with a hapless chef named Linguini (whose first name, of course, is Alfredo). By pulling on the chef's hair, Remy can control Linguini like a puppet. (Given all the harebrained notions of the film, it's a supreme testament to Bird's consummate storytelling skill that he made the film not just believable, but also sublime).

I wonder if Balaam felt similar to Linguini as God gave him messages that he was forced to utter. Although Balak wants Balaam to curse Israel, God puts "a word in Balaam's mouth" that ends up being a blessing (verse 5). Rather amusingly, after the first blessing, Balak tells Balaam to move further away so that he can see "only the outskirts of the camp" (verse 13), as if location and distance had anything to do with God's influence. Then again, maybe Balak was used to worshipping idols with limited "power."

Balaam probably was ambivalent about Balak's request; his first message, although it comes from God, contains a smattering of Balaam's own voice from which we can discover his point of view. In verse 8, he seems to be speaking to Balak, asking if he can curse or denounce those who have God's favor. He even says in verse 10, "Let me die the death of the righteous / and may my final end be like theirs!" Even this foreign diviner discerns that God has set apart the Israelites for a holy purpose, a purpose of which Balaam wishes to partake himself. OK, maybe he had selfish reasons for wanting to have God's favor, but he does recognize God's sovereign will for the Israelites.

The second message has fewer of Balaam's own interjections and more of God's voice. He stresses God's steadfast nature in verse 19 and in verse 21 uses the wonderfully evocative image of "the shout of the King." God's stentorian, authoritative voice is not one to be disdained or spurned. Verse 24 says, "The people rise like a lioness; / they rouse themselves like a lion." The specific diction used in these paired lines is marvelously apt. Lionesses do all the hunting (as anyone who's seen The Lion King knows); they "rise" out of the savanna to find sustenance for the pride. Lions in general sleep for about 20 hours a day, but when "roused" out of their slumber, they can prove ferocious (and visually formidable, if nothing else). The vampiric line that closes verse 24 is an oddity, though--I can accept that lions drink blood, but the Israelites themselves are specifically forbidden to do so. Such dissonance may betray the tension between God's message and the attitude of the messenger, Balaam. Or I could be overanalyzing it, as English majors are wont to do.

Numbers 22

I admit that I was never much of a fan of the Shrek films, but I do think Eddie Murphy did an admirable job voicing the ingeniously-named Donkey. In fact, I'd say that his voice work, along with the musical scores by Harry Gregson-Williams (with the score for the first film co-written with John Powell), remains the high point of the series. (The low point? Well, many of the forced pop-culture jokes, dance parties, and dated references are cringeworthy, but the abominable design and animation of the human characters make Andy from the first Toy Story look downright cuddly.) Pacific Data Images, which was since been subsumed by DreamWorks Animation, actually based Donkey's design on a trio of donkeys that resided in a park behind my high school. Every now and then, I'd bike over to take a gander at these fine creatures.

The donkey belonging to Balaam, the Biblical equivalent of a quack psychic (are there any other kind?), actually proves rather astute even before he opens his mouth. Three times the angel of the Lord blocks Balaam's way, and each time, the perceptive donkey moves out of the way, causing his oblivious owner to beat the poor beast. When the animal does start talking, Balaam responds to it as if it were perfectly natural to hold conversation with a donkey. The donkey even uses rational logic to shut down Balaam's hotheaded expostulations, saying, "Am I not your own donkey, which you have always ridden, to this day? Have I been in the habit of doing this to you?" (verse 30). Balaam's response is merely a terse "No." You can almost imagine him seething, trying to think of another argument to hurl but totally stumped by his steed's sound reasoning. It's safe to say that God or an angel was speaking through this donkey, but it still must be embarrassing to be outwitted by a heretofore "-dumb" animal.

Anyway, the whole reason for Balaam's little jaunt is that the comically frantic Balak, king of the Moabites, is worried that the Israelites will attack him, causing him to ask Balaam to curse the Israelites. Although Balaam is far from a role model, his attitude toward God is more complex than you'd expect from a diviner. Even before the donkey incident, he acknowledges God's authority to some extent; after God tells him not to go to Balak, he says to the king's messengers, "Even if Balak gave me all the silver and gold in his palace, I could not do anything great or small to go beyond the command of the LORD my God" (verse 18).

God does end up allowing Balaam to go, but why does He get so ticked off at Balaam for following His instructions? I suspect that Balaam saw God as just one of an innumerable number of deities--and as long as he stayed in the good graces of a particular deity, he could take advantage of the "power" of that "god." However, God, as we'll soon see, has other plans for Balaam.

Numbers 21

In the Indiana Jones and the Temple of the Forbidden Eye ride at Disneyland, the story is that Indy has uncovered a temple where a being known as Mara chills all day, granting gifts of eternal youth, endless riches, or prescience--as long as you don't look into its eyes. If you do, you're doomed to the wretched, inconceivable torment of experiencing one of the best, most thrilling theme park rides extant.

Anyway, Indy has gone missing in the bowels of the temple, causing his trusty friend Sallah to open up the temple to all and sundry in hopes that they'll blunder into the intrepid archaeologist. The ride starts with you running right into Mara's fiberglass countenance. Irked that you made eye contact, the misanthropic Mara sends you on a wild and wooly adventure that represents the height of Disney Imagineering. Of course, this is a ride; Mara, who isn't a real being, let alone a god, gets ticked off at you whether you look at its eyes or not. In fact, Mara blusters just as much at an empty ride vehicle as one filled with slack-jawed tourists.

This chapter features a bronze snake that is the antithesis of Mara. When the Israelites complain yet again--at this point, it's more surprising when they don't complain--God sends a den of poisonous snakes to nip at the heels of His recalcitrant people. When they repent, God tells Moses to make a bronze snake on a pole; "anyone who was bitten by a snake and looked at the bronze snake, they lived" (verse 9). While Mara dooms all those who don't avert their eyes, the bronze snake saves all those who gaze upon its lustrous form. One wonders how Indy himself, with his ophidiophobia, would have fared.

I wrote that it's surprising when the Israelites don't act like querulous brats, but they actually act relatively admirably for the balance of this chapter. They rely on God's provision--which He grants--to defeat the king of Arad (verses 1-3), which foreshadows the further victories against the Amorites and the wondrously named King Og of Bashan. See? It's not all doom and gloom. With these victories, why were the Israelites so afraid of conquering Canaan some 40 years prior?

Some fears are justified, but many turn out to be unfounded. Anyone who knows me knows that I stink at math, and yet I somehow managed to get into AB Calculus AP in 12th grade. I was dreading the AP test, especially as I found the class a struggle. As it turned out, the class was much more rigorous than the actual AP test; I finished the test with confidence and sure enough, I got a 5. (If you gave the test to me now, though, I'm pretty sure I'd flunk it.) I don't remember being especially prayerful about the test, but I still did well. How much more, then, will God provide and make me grow spiritually if I continuously place my trust in Him--especially in issues more eternally consequential than an AP test?

Numbers 20

Remember those "true or false" questions on exams and how the teacher told you to write out the complete words "True" or "False"? The reason, as any self-respecting student will tell you, is because it's all too easy to write "Ts" and "Fs" that look like each other. Shrewder teachers use Scantron bubble forms--no room for ambiguity or arguments about misread handwriting there. Scantrons certainly would have kept this genius delinquent from flunking the test for the sake of showing off his or her shenanigans (or trolling skills, to use the common parlance):

(Image from http://i.imgur.com/ONFRysx.jpg)

Just as a couple tiny lines separate a "T" from an "F," a seemingly insignificant indiscretion keeps Moses from entering the Promised Land. After the Israelites complain yet again about the lack of water, God tells Moses to speak to a rock, which will apparently be so startled at having a human talk to it that it will gush out water in response. (Biblical scholars believe that this chapter occurs near the end of the 40 years of wandering, which would make these complainers the kids of the folks who have been bleating ever since they left Egypt. Like parents, like children.) Moses, exasperated at the Israelites' inveterate grousing and haggard from walking in circles in the desert for 40 years, instead beats the poor, innocent rock with his staff (verse 11). This impetuous action earns a censure from God: "Because you did not trust in me enough to honor me as holy in the sight of the Israelites, you will not bring this community into the land I give them" (verse 12).

From a human perspective, this seems just a wee bit petty, which indeed it would be if this statement were coming from a human. But Moses has a larger responsibility as God's representative--God has never spoken to the Israelites collectively; all His commandments from Exodus to now have been spoken to Moses, who in turn relays them to the Israelites. By not trusting God completely, Moses evinces his contempt for God in front of everyone. Still, I wonder if Moses regretted his lashing out right after he'd done it, realizing his mistake before God told him. I've sometimes acted or spoken in ways that I've immediately regretted afterward. Does that merit condemnation, or does God's grace cover such infelicities if I ask for His forgiveness? In the end, though, Moses did get his ultimate reward by getting to spend eternity with God, even if he was deprived of some worldly pleasures.

After this unsavory weeping boulder affair, the Israelites ask the Edomites if they can pass through their territory. The Edomites, basically acting like jerks, refuse. Knowing that the Edomites are descendants of Esau, who reconciled with his brother Jacob, makes this incident especially disappointing.

Finally, Moses's siblings, Miriam and Aaron, both perish in the desert, as God said they would. Miriam's death, however, earns only a perfunctory mention, almost an aside that takes up less than half a verse (verse 1). By contrast, Aaron gets a whopping eight verses on his death, complete with a dignified, almost mystical ceremony on the top of the mountain (what else?) as he passes his mantle on to his son. I get that Aaron is the high priest and his death thus warrants more ceremony, but the fleeting mention of Miriam's death still strikes me as a tad inequitable.

Numbers 19

I know that holy water is made such by God's intervention rather than any actual physical ingredient. Still, I'd have said that holy water consisted of something like the water from Old Faithful mixed with the seventh branch of a bonsai plant and chocolate rum pudding. I would never have guessed that it would consist of the ashes of an incinerated cow. When I think of flaming cows, I can't help recalling the opening scene of Tim Burton's wonderfully nutty film Mars Attacks!, which features a whole herd of blazing bovines:

We never find out what happens to that burning stampede, although we do get to witness a panoply of celebrities (including Danny DeVito, who gets above-the-line billing for about 10 minutes of screen time) get zapped, liquidated, startled, or flattened by Martians with big brains. Basically, it's an absurd piss-take of Independence Day, which was released earlier that same year.

Although God tells His people to burn only certain parts of sacrificial offerings, He makes no stipulation with the Holy Water Heifers. (How's that for a band name?) He says, "the heifer is to be burned--its hide, flesh, blood, and intestines" (verse 5). While the radiant ruminant is burning to a lovely crisp, the priest must fling some wood, minty hyssop, and red wool on top of the whole conflagration. I'm mildly curious about whether it did smell like BBQ, as the Burton film suggests. However, I'm nowhere near curious enough to obtain a whole cow carcass and set in ablaze in a bonfire on my front lawn just to find out. I'm sure that would break some kind of city ordinance, for one.

But from such humble beginnings springs the cure to uncleanliness. Such uncleanliness doesn't just result from peccadilloes, felonies, immorality, and general naughtiness--God is so unrelentingly holy that an act as seemingly innocuous as accidentally touching a dead body makes one unclean. But God knows that sometimes, s*** happens (to take an aphorism from Forrest Gump), and He magnanimously makes provisions for such lapses. Luckily for us, we don't have to take a match to poor Bessie to atone for our uncleanliness, but we still must keep in mind God's unalloyed holiness matched only by His loving grace.

Numbers 18

Jaws, the seminal shark film directed by Steven Spielberg, ushered in the blockbuster era when it chomped up its box office competition in 1975. But unlike certain recent cash cows (Transformers, Twilight), Jaws was a supremely well-crafted film, featuring masterful direction, committed performances from Roy Scheider, Robert Shaw, and Richard Dreyfuss, a lean, efficient screenplay, and a sublime musical score by John Williams. Sadly, the same can't be said about its sequels, though the Jaws 2 did have another fantastic score by Williams as well as one of the most effective poster tag lines: "Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water…"

Well, just when you thought it was safe to assume that you'd never have to read a bunch of Israelite laws and regulations again, Numbers reverts to Leviticus mode for a couple of chapters. However, these regulations in Numbers 18 about the duties and offerings of the priests and Levites connect thematically with the proceeding story. Remember how Kohath and his band of not-so-merry-men wanted to usurp the priests' duties? Well, now God reminds His people how real priests should act.

This chapter basically codifies laws we've already read in Leviticus, but the major point of interest is that much of the offerings and tithes made by the Israelites are consecrated for the priests' use. Lest you suspect that the priests wrote these directives just so they could eat as much tasty veal, bread, and wine as they could, the law goes on to state that the priests don't receive any inheritance or share of the Promised Land (verse 20). The tithes and offerings take the place of the priests' inheritance instead of augmenting it. Still, it's pretty terrific to get first crack at all the first fruits of your fellow Israelites' harvest.

Although priests receive tithes, they aren't exempt from tithing themselves (verse 28). I've written a bit about tithing before, but I still need to work on being more mindful about giving my first and best to God. Is it enough for me to mindlessly drop a check in the offering basket? Recently, I believe God has been nudging me about particular social issues that I could be devoting my resources or even my time into fixing. Said issues of injustice make me mortifyingly emotional--is that a sign that God wants me to get involved? Probably, so I pray for the motivation to actually do something about it.

Numbers 17

I wonder why more people (in Western culture, at least) don't carry staffs around. They help you walk, they help you look more authoritative even if all you're doing is standing there, and you can use them to thwack people. Wizards certainly know the power of staffs; you rarely see Gandalf without one, do you? And when he confronts Saruman after taking his mantle, what does he do? He breaks the treacherous wizard's staff, of course. In the books, at least, Saruman continues his perfidy for a little longer, but he's nowhere near as magically powerful. And in video games like, I don't know, Diablo, the wizards and mages get to run around shooting lightning bolts and other computer-generated special effects out of their staffs.

The leaders of the 12 tribes of Israelites also have staffs, though since this is real life, they can't perform any magic with them. When staffs do exhibit miraculous properties (as Moses's did), they do so with the power of God. To demonstrate His authority and confirm those consecrated as priests, God imbues another staff with His power. After Moses collects the staffs of the 12 tribal leaders, God turns Aaron's staff into a botanist's delight--it "not only sprouted but had budded, blossomed and produced almonds" (verse 8). OK, the almonds aren't such good news for me since I'm allergic to them, but a legume-bearing staff is a specimen any kid would be thrilled to bring to show-and-tell.

For some reason, the blooming staff is what finally makes the Israelites realize the folly of their supercilious impertinence. Not the plague, not the fireballs coming out of God's presence, not even the bloody earth opening up and munching a throng of people--but a staff with almonds on it. When I first read this passage, I couldn't fathom why the staff was apparently more potent to the Israelites than the preceding disasters. But then I had a thought: What makes people respond better--constructive criticism or caustic derision? How do you form a strong, loyal team--though tyranny or through respect? The pure (if offbeat) beauty of a budding staff may have evoked feelings of wonder at God's majesty, and then shame at having spurned that majesty. On the other hand, all a catastrophe does is instill fear. Of course, God still deserves to be "feared" in the sense that we should respect Him. But God, like Huey Lewis, knows the power of love as manifested in the ultimate sacrifice of His son.

Numbers 16

Before Michael Bay became the ruling dictator of big, dumb, loud action films, those looking for their guilty-pleasure fix of massive explosions and mayhem looked to a fellow named Roland Emmerich. Emmerich really came into his own with the ridiculously cheesy yet entertaining Stargate and followed up with the even cheesier (and more massive) Independence Day. The latter film sowed the seeds of what would become an Emmerich obsession: films with scenes of cataclysmic, worldwide destruction. Emmerich's bubble burst with his surprisingly irksome Godzilla remake in 1998, but despite losing his vaunted crown to Bay, Emmerich continued his path of destruction with films such as The Day After Tomorrow and the already-dated 2012. (Bay had Armageddon, but--spoiler alert--not a whole lot of people actually die in that movie, unlike in the amusingly concurrent Deep Impact.)

When some miserable folks, led by a fellow named Korah, impertinently nag Moses about their duties being beneath them, God responds with an Emmerich-like disaster: "the earth opened its mouth and swallowed them and their households, and all associated with Korah, together with their possessions" (verse 32). The author's personification of the earth adds a primal feeling to this frightening event, as if the ground is furious at the little bugs crawling about on its surface. The earth isn't really angry, but God sure as heck is--and the author's transference of that emotion by way of personification makes for a nifty literary device.

And to deal with the pseudo-priests who didn't fall into the fissure, God sends a sheet of flame for good measure.

You'd think after witnessing this calamity, the Israelites would think twice about getting uppity with God. But no, the very next day, they grouse, "You have killed the LORD's people," (verse 41) which earns them yet another lovely tribulation: a plague that ends up killing 14,700 (verse 49). I wouldn't grumble against God if I witnessed Him opening up a chasm in the ground that swallows a bunch of screaming people, but am I impudent with God in subtler, more insidious, yet no less sinful ways? Don't I disdain God when I ignore Him and choose to act like a jerk?

What really gets me about this chapter, though, is that before the earth gobbles all those people up like Cookie Monster, the chapter says of two of the offenders, "Dathan and Abiram had come out and were standing with their wives, children and little ones at the entrances to their tents" (verse 27). OK, so Dathan and Abiram were munched and sent "down alive into the realm of the dead" (verse 33)--fine, they deserved it. But the children and little ones too? In movies, the death of a child, or even a child in jeopardy, is one of the most shameless, manipulative actions one can film if it's mishandled. But when done well--let's just say that the only two pieces of filmed fiction to make me shed tears involved this. But this isn't a movie or work of fiction--this actually happened. I suppose I can rest easier knowing that, since it wasn't their fault, the children likely ascended to heaven. Living in a world with sin isn't fun. To quote the lyrics to the finale of Disney's stage version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame:

The world is cruel
The world is ugly
But there are times and there are people
When the world is not
And at its cruelest
It's still the only
World we've got

Source: http://enseeseven.tumblr.com/hunchbacklyrics (Website)

Numbers 15

If your parents raised you correctly, then you'll remember reading this nifty little picture book series called The Berenstain Bears, featuring an anthropomorphic ursine family with the inspired names of Mama, Papa, Brother, and Sister. In retrospect, their family is surprisingly kindred to the eponymous family in The Simpsons, except that Brother is more like Lisa and Sister is more like Bart. In one particular story, called No Girls Allowed, Sister Bear, as is her wont, acts like a jerk by screwing up everyone else's activities. Brother Bear, understandably irked, gathers up his cronies to create a club that, as you'd expect from the title, excludes girls. (Though I suspect his real intention was to just keep out his sister; he probably wouldn't have minded if any other girl had joined.) You can read/listen to the whole enthralling saga here:

Who knows what the boys actually did in their little clubhouse--but if it's anything like my experiences at church camp, I'm betting they probably did a lot of farting, itching their butts, and telling smutty jokes. But it's never fun to feel excluded from anything, particularly for an arbitrary "reason." Before the coming of Christ, God chose the Israelites as His chosen group of people. Yes, they were an exclusive group, even if God chose them to pave the way for His gospel to be shared to all. And yet even here, in verses 14-16, God understands that some foreigners may want to devote themselves to Him--and He graciously makes provisions for those people. Sometimes, I have to remind myself (or let God remind me) that God doesn't just focus on those who are already Christians. In fact, He desperately wants everyone, even those who I overlook or dismiss, to be reconciled to Him. My responsibility is to allow Christ's love to manifest through me to everyone I meet.

Verses 32-36 relate an incident of a Sabbath-breaker whose punishment is getting stoned to death. (Ouch.) From the severity of the punishment, we can infer that he didn't break the Sabbath unintentionally but was openly recalcitrant in his disobedience. As I've written before, I don't openly defy God, but I sometimes ignore Him or push Him aside right before I do something regrettable, like when I act inordinately testy with someone who's getting on my nerves. I can tell myself that I'm not flouting God's precepts outright, but I know I'm only kidding myself.

This slightly desultory chapter ends with God telling the Israelites to tie blue tassels on the corners of their clothes to remind them of His commands (verses 38-39). The NIV Study Bible says that the swish of the tassels was what reminded the Israelites to follow God's commandments. I'm not about to tie tassels on all my shirts, pants, socks, and underwear, but perhaps it would do me good to have a physical token to remind me to always act Christlike. But why did the tassels have to be blue? Why not puce?

Numbers 14

Do you remember the classic story about the quarreling couple who got three wishes? The husband, being a hungry Homer Simpson kind of guy, wished for a sausage. The wife, justifiably exasperated that her imbecilic spouse could waste a wish, retorted in a pique of anger by wishing for the sausage to be attached to her hapless husband's nose. Of course, that leaves them one wish left, and the only thing left to do is wish for the husband's honker to go back to normal. A profusion of other "Be careful what you wish for" stories exist, one of the most amusing and witty being Edith Nesbit's classic Five Children and It, and the Israelites certainly did their part in adding to (or indeed originating) this venerated mythos.

I would understand if the Israelites had just been worried about the scouts' reports of Wilt Chamberlin-sized men in Canaan, but the crybabies actually "wept aloud" (verse 1)! Immediately after, they carp, "If only we had died in Egypt! Or this wilderness!" (verse 2). Such a statement is truly worthy of a Picard facepalm because anyone with half a brain knows just how God is going to respond. Sure enough, everyone over 20 years old will perish during 40 years of wandering in the wilderness. You can almost picture God crossing His arms, saying, "Well, that's what you wished for, isn't it?"

Although Moses bargains with God (as Abraham did regarding Sodom and Gomorrah), this whole incident shows that God, though merciful and forgiving, does have a tipping point. Were the Israelites' grumbling and the scouts' hyperbole really any worse than, say, the creation of the golden calf? It's not up to us to determine what should or shouldn't send God over the edge, but I would surmise that God renders harsh judgment when people take advantage of His grace, as the Israelites have done here. As I've mentioned before, they've witnessed phenomena from the hand of God such as the provision of manna, the death of the firstborn Egyptians, the parting of a waterway, and a plague of overly prolific Kermits running about--and still they doubt God's authority!

In a classic bit of hubris, the Israelites decide to set out for the Promised Land anyway, earning themselves a sound thrashing as they get their butts kicked "all the way to Hormah" (verse 45). I don't know how far that is, and the Bible maps I'm finding online aren't helping, but I keep imagining them having to retreat a distance equivalent to the length between San Francisco to L.A. But of course the Israelites suddenly acquire a sense of blustering bravado once God tells them off. Where was all that boldness when the scouts had given their unfavorable report in the first place? However, I do admit that I sometimes feel a sense of misguided audacity when I think I can fix a situation that I screwed up in the first place. I pray that I can allow God to allow my will with His so I don't take advantage of His grace or act truculently when He shows me what I've done wrong. Because who wants to wander for 40 years in the desert until they die?

Numbers 13

My 9th grade geometry teacher had a dry, subtle sense of humor. One day, we were working with a nifty little graphing aid, a red contraption that had both reflective and translucent qualities. "It's called a Mira," my teacher explained. "And no, it's not the same thing as a mirror. I don't have a Boston accent." Another time, when we were learning about conic sections, one student, who was being either waggish or vapid, asked, "Doesn't 'hyperbola' mean 'exaggeration?'" To which the teacher gave a long-suffering look and the reply, "That's hyperboLE," followed by a quip that I have sadly forgotten. Hyperbole is rarely an admirable trait, as when you're talking about the supposed merits of, say, Man of Steel or Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. Numbers 13 finds a group of Israelites partaking in exaggeration, which is literally the worst thing ever.

To start off the chapter, Moses sends a group of scouts to explore Canaan, giving them explicitly meticulous instructions (verses 18-20) to forestall any loopholes the scouts might have been tempted to take. Imagine if Moses had sent them off to reconnoiter for 40 days only to have them come back with the entirety of their report being, "How is the land? It's OK. Now what do you want us to do?" (To which Moses may have been tempted to reply, "Well, you can go dive off on Olympic-height diving board into an empty pool for starters.")

Anyway, the scouts reveal what they value above all else by bringing back "a branch bearing a single cluster of grapes" (verse 23). Plenty of opportunities for inebriation in the Promised Land! (I especially like how the end of verse 23 mentions pomegranates and figs almost as an afterthought. I mean, whatever the merits of Pom juice and Fig Newtons, they pale in comparison to the ineffable joys of a hangover.)

But while the scouts admit that the land is fecund, they tremble at the people who have already taken up residence there. Even if the Canaanites were like Norwegians and the Israelites were like the Japanese, haven't they already seen enough miraculous wonders to know that God is on their side? Don't they remember the pyrotechnic spectacular in chapter 11? But the scouts go even further than comparing their Danny DeVito statures to the Yao Ming heights of the Canaanites. They claim the Canaanites are the mysterious, Titan-like Nephilim from Genesis 6 and change their story about the fertility of the land (verses 32-33). All this elaborate embellishment and prevarication amounts to nothing more than an excuse so that the scouts won't have to do what they don't want to do--conquer the Canaanites.

Sometimes, I catch myself exaggerating to get out of performing tasks that inconvenience me or make me feel uncomfortable. To get back to math, although I made it all the way to AB Calculus AP, it was a struggle from 10th grade on--but it didn't have to be. I could have asked for help or seen the teacher during tutorial, but I let my social anxiety and shyness pull me back into my cozy little comfort zone. "If I ask the teacher for help, I'll stammer like a loon, withdraw from the room in disgrace, and finally die from an excess of shame," by hyperbolic brain would tell me. OK, that's a bit of a superficial, self-centered example, but know I should stop making excuses. After all, I have no excuse not to.

Numbers 12

There's no jealousy like sibling jealousy, a jealousy that burns with the noisome odor of a thousand flaming Barbie dolls. Just think of Thor and Loki, Mufasa and Scar, or King Claudius and King Hamlet. Although my brothers irked me from time to time when I was growing up, I never really felt a sense of rivalry with them--although our interests overlap in some areas, we're all talented in different ways (said Mr. Hoity-Toity). I will never be as good an athlete or as vocally witty as they, but that didn't stop them from annoying me when we were kids.

But in this chapter, we have Miriam and Aaron talking smack about Moses's wife to vent their insecurities about being less spiritually gifted than their brother. Like some grade school principal, God says, "Come out to the tent of meeting, all three of you" (verse 4) and proceeds to remonstrate with them via a nifty little poem. Imagine if your parent or teacher or principal sat you down for a severe lecture, only to burst out in song and exit the room in a huff. To top it off, after you stare at the door in bewilderment, you look down and find out that you're now a leper.

In all honesty, God did rub it in a bit with His poem, possibly exacerbating Aaron and Miriam's deep-rooted sense of inferiority. Or I could just be spewing psychobabble, but the poem is still pretty much a smack down. Verse 8 says, "With [Moses] I speak face to face,  / clearly and not in riddles; / he sees the form of the LORD." Which implies that when God speaks to Aaron and Miriam, He does so enigmatically. Unlike some prophets, Moses enjoys the benefits of lucid explanations and directives from God, a quality that would make many Christians ecstatic.

But why does God speak in riddles? Why not just make His intentions clear instead of sending visions of flying creatures with eyes all over their wings? Is He trying to appeal to our imaginations or our powers of reasoning and interpretation? Anyone who's seen 2001: A Space Odyssey knows that the last 15 minutes or so are a truly psychedelic trip, a scintillating special effects extravaganza achieved without the aid of computer generated imagery. (The ending of Interstellar looks positively prosaic by comparison.) The sequence provides an especially stark contrast to the realism of the rest of the film--well, OK, the actors in monkey suits don't look all that realistic--but what makes it even more mystifying is that it isn't explained. At all. Therefore, one can interpret the trippy ending in myriad ways, which you wouldn't be able to do with the ending of, say, Black Hawk Down. However, Arthur C. Clarke, who wrote the screenplay and formulated the story with director Stanley Kubrick, released a novel of the story that explicated what was supposed to be going on at the end of the film. So why doesn't God release a straightforward explanation of all His visions? Maybe He knows that everyone won't listen anyway, so He might as well have fun creating vivid creatures and imagery to relay His messages.

Numbers 11

…And we haven't even gotten one chapter into the journey before the Israelites start acting like querulous nits again, earning a lovely display from God's conflagrant cloud. Verse 2 further reinforces the distance that existed between God and most people at this point in history--the people talk to Moses, who in turn prays to God.

But even after this intimidating pyrotechnic display, the Israelites still complain--this time about food. Weary of manna and quail, they remember with misplaced nostalgia when they could dine on fine Egyptian cuisine, including fish, "cucumbers, melons, leeks, onions, and garlic" (verse 5). Although I appreciate good food, I'm someone who eats to live instead of living to eat; rice doesn't really have much flavor, but I could eat it every day. Still, like most humans, I like some food better than others. Certain types of strong cheese (most notably Parmesan and whatever they put into ravioli and tortellini) actually make me gag for whatever reason, but I'd definitely take a life of strong cheese and freedom over a life of, say, In-N-Out burgers and slavery.

Moses rails against God in a somewhat passive-aggressive manner (particularly in verse 12: "Did I conceive these people? Did I give them birth?"), asking for God to relieve at least some of his burden. God does so, leading to an incident in which two fellows named Eldad and Medad, flush with the power of the Spirit heretofore bestowed only to Moses, start prophesying. Moses very well could have followed Joshua's advice and told them to stop, but he instead shows forbearance and humility, saying, "Are you jealous for my sake? I wish that all the LORD's people were prophets and that the LORD would put his Spirit on them!" (verse 29). OK, so the exclamation points perhaps imply just a bit of exasperation, but Moses knows that his gifts come from God--he has no right to hoard them. Moses's sentiment would come to fruition with the advent of Christ a few thousand years later.

God sends a bevy of quail to mollify his pettish people, but He also threatens to give them so much that it "comes out of [their] nostrils" (verse 20). Fortunately or unfortunately (depending on how twisted your sense of humor is), that colorful occurrence doesn't come to pass--God just decides to send a plague instead (verse 33). This "coming out of the nostrils" reminds me of the end of the Hulk movie--no, not the Edward Norton one, but the one directed by "don't make me" Ang Lee (who also directed Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, Brokeback Mountain, and Life of Pi). This daft but oddly entertaining movie features an antagonist who basically wants the Hulk's powers, so during the final battle, the Hulk, finally fed up, says, "TAKE IT ALL!" Of course, all that power is too much for the antagonist, who explodes in such a manner that gave jobs to a bunch of visual effects people.

Numbers 10

From 5th-10th grade, I played clarinet in the school symphonic band. Although I was far from a musical prodigy, band was always my favorite class because 1) it was easy to get an A, 2) we got to goof around more than in any other class except for when we had labs in AP Biology, and 3) there's nothing like playing music with 50 or so other people. In fact, I credit band with instilling in my eccentric soul my love for instrumental music.

Why did I choose clarinet? Like most 10-year-olds, my reasoning was oh-so profound: Out of all the offered instruments, the clarinet had the greatest quantity of funny-looking keys and buttons you could play with. However, as we got to play more advanced pieces, I learned that the brass, particularly the trumpets and French horns, always got to play the cool stuff while we clarinets were stuck playing blisteringly rapid hemidemisemiquaver runs that you barely end up hearing when everyone's playing together. I noticed too that more guys than girls tended to play brass instruments, because not only are brass instruments loud, but they provide the only school-sanctioned opportunity for you to blow raspberries for extended lengths of time.

Trumpets also played an important part in ancient Israelite society, calling the people to assemble, letting the various tribes know when it was their turn to set out, or giving directions during battle. And yes, trumpets do provide the necessary volume so that 2 million (or so) people can hear them. I mean, can you imagine someone standing on top of some hillock before an epic battle, trying to squawk on a clarinet or strum on a guitar as loudly as possible? I suppose a pipe organ would be loud enough, but try lugging one of those around everywhere you go.

Verse 8 specifies, "The sons of Aaron, the priests, are to blow the trumpets." Thus, priests had to not only be proficient at performing their sacred duties, but they also had to have lips dexterous enough to play a trumpet. (I realize that's not a high bar, but I know my lips started to grow fatigued when I had to play clarinet for more than an hour or so straight.) The Israelites could even use the trumpets to call on God to save them in battle in their own lands (verse 9)--I guess they must have forgotten about that cheat code when the Assyrians and Babylonians sacked them.

As the multitudinous cavalcade sets out from Mount Sinai, an air of optimism infuses the proceedings--amidst the bustle, Moses graciously offers his brother-in-law Hobab a place among them (verses 28-32) and sings a sanguine (and somewhat sanguinary) song extolling God (verses 35-36). Just how long will this mood last?

As a final addendum, if you want to see trumpets and pipe organs battle each other, here's the classic Disney Silly Symphony "Music Land":

Numbers 9

When I was growing up, the meats I was most familiar with were chicken, turkey, beef, pork, and fish. (Yes, I know the last encompasses a wide variety of species, but I'm not about to look up every single fish stick in existence and find out how many dozens of kinds of fish they cram into them.) Lobster, crab, and the almost insidiously delectable shrimp and calamari came later, as did lamb. I've only ever had lamb at a particular Afghan restaurant, so maybe my opinion of the meat of Shaun's brethren is higher than it should be, but I wouldn't mind having to eat lamb if I celebrated Passover. Those little crackers taste pretty good too. (I'm one of those nuts who eats Ritz crackers by themselves without any cheese or dip.)

Even though the Passover is an understandably holy event requiring spiritual cleanliness of all its celebrants, God still allows those who are unclean from touching a dead body to celebrate it about a month later. As the NIV Study Bible notes, this evinces both the consequences of uncleanliness in the presence of a holy God and also God's mercy and grace as He still allows the folks in question to celebrate Passover. 

Verses 15-23 reiterate the method by which God leads the Israelites to Canaan: a giant cloud. The more scientifically inclined portion of my brain wonders just what kind of cloud God used. A wispy cirrus cloud? A fluffy cumulus cotton puff (maybe to keep the lamb theme going)? A gargantuan cumulonimbus behemoth? Whatever it looked like, it seemed to have some raging conflagration going on in its bowels that was visible at night (verses 15-16). You know what this means, right? It means that God, like the people He created in His image, is a pyromaniac! 

In all seriousness, the fiery cloud provided the Israelites with at least some illumination at night, which probably meant that they could forego using as many lamps (other than the ones in front of the altar). I wouldn't be surprised if God had this practical matter in mind when He decided to have His little cloud expel flames every night. I also wonder if there were any days when the Israelites took perhaps a little longer than usual to get their act together in the morning. Did God shake His head and just let the cloud get a head start while the Israelites scrambled to catch up? If Moses stubbed his toe and caused the whole throng to come to a halt, did the cloud wait for them? Frivolous questions, I know; what's important is that at this point, the Israelites are still following God's commands (verse 23). Then again, if a giant, blazing cloud told you to follow it, I'm sure you'd think twice before turning it down.

Numbers 8

If you've ever perused an issue of Consumer Reports, you know that the best section is always the last page, where the editors display a variety of silly product labels or advertisements. Some of them are just stupid, and some of them you can tell that the artist had a little too much fun. For example, I remember this one was on an electric generator at my elementary school; of course, the generator abutted the kindergarten playground. No better way of scaring/enthralling little tykes like a picture of an angry electricity monster with a mouth shaped like a lightning bolt.

But you can tell that many ridiculous product labels were the result of overzealous lawsuits from dimwits and potential Darwin Award recipients. "Do not iron while wearing shirt." "Do not clean ears with power drill." On an egg carton: "Allergy information: Contains eggs." On a thermometer: "Do not use orally after using rectally." God's instructions to Aaron regarding the lamps in chapter 8 aren't quite so ridiculous, but they still have a "Captain Obvious" quality about them: "When you set up the lamps, see that all seven light up the area in front of the lampstand" (verse 2). No s***. What else are they supposed to light? The priests' nose hairs? However, knowing humans, God probably knew that there was the possibility of them screwing it up.

The balance of the chapter concerns additional regulations for the Levites and a reinforcement of the value God places on the firstborn. Much of it repeats what's been said before, but what stood out to me this time was the ages at which the Levites were supposed to work: between the ages of 25 and 50 (verses 24-25). I would be thrilled if I only had to work from 25 to 50, or even 18 and 65, but what with inflation and where Social Security is headed, I'm probably going to have to work longer than that in order to provide for myself until I die. Maybe if one has the skills and predilection for STEM jobs, one can get away with retiring early, but math (along with physical brawn and social skills) is my downfall.

However, life expectancy during Moses's times had gone way down from the times when we had 900-year-olds ambling around, so 50 was probably nearer to the end of one's life. Doing this holy work, serving as the bridge between God and the Israelites, was an indubitably high honor. Priests still exist today (duh), but with Jesus' sacrifice, now we all can be conduits of God's grace and power. And that's a privilege that we should be rapturous to effectuate for our whole lives.

Numbers 7

If you're one of those Jews who memorizes the Torah, Numbers 7 must thrill you--yes, it's the longest chapter in the Torah (as the NIV Study Bible notes), but the vast majority of it just repeats the same exact five verses 12 times. However, a modern reader, after realizing that all the tribe leaders are bringing the exact same offerings, will likely feel their eyes start to glaze over and skip right to verse 84.

But all this repetition does cast a formal, ritualistic, reverent mood on the proceedings. Think of high school or college graduation ceremonies. Between attempts from the student speakers to be clever and attempts from the guest speaker to be insipid, you have the absolute delight of watching each and every student in your class prove their coordination (or lack thereof) as they try to perform the intricate action of shaking with their right hand while awkwardly reaching across with their left hand to receive a piece of paper proving that they have mastered the indispensable skills of procrastination and cramming. That sentence went on a whole lot longer than I intended, but anyway, unless you went to a tiny school, watching everyone march up to the podium is a somnolent endeavor. At my high school graduation, at least the symphonic band kept matters amusing my making flatulent sounds with their instruments whenever a band member received his or her diploma.

Impressively, each Israelite tribe member does their part to bring the requisite offerings before God. I know that should be expected behavior and not some impressive feat, but think of how often the Israelites--and indeed, we as people--hem and haw, making excuses regarding spiritual issues. "I don't want to step out in faith, because what if I lose all my money or end up dead in some disagreeable jungle?" Or, "Why follow God when it's more expedient for me to ignore Him?" Perhaps these big, elaborate ceremonies do help bring one closer to God, as spiritual retreats or church camps do today. However, we must avoid relying on those shindigs for "spiritual highs," instead striving to remain Christ-like in the drudgery or discouragement of day-to-day life.

Finally, we find out where God puts the speaker on the Ark of the Covenant: "between the two cherubim above the atonement cover" (verse 89). No, the ark isn't a "radio for talking to God" as the unfortunate Belloq finds out the hard way in Raiders of the Lost Ark. But it is intriguing that God chooses to use a seemingly external, audible source when speaking to Moses rather than just talking inside his head. Maybe God spoke that way so Moses didn't think he was psychotic. But this method does add an intimate tint to the Creator of the universe that we only see brief snatches of until the New Testament.

Numbers 6

It's a conundrum that almost every guy has to face: To shave or not to shave? I know we're not supposed to get all hung up over looks, but some men look better with facial hair and some don't. If you wanted to be a Nazirite, though, you didn't have an option--you had to live your whole life (or at least the period of consecration) as if it were No-Shave November. I imagine, though, that some men started to look a little scary once their hair got past a certain length, as this Pixar video proves:

Nazirites also couldn't drink alcohol--which I would be fine with, but I some members of my extended family, for instance, would bristle at the suggestion. But more than that, they couldn't even drink grape juice or eat grapes or raisins (verse 3). Although I always think of raisins by themselves as a childhood snacks, I do partake of the chocolate covered variety from time to time. But by far the most stringent external requirement for Nazirites was to avoid going "near a dead body" (verse 6)--although the passage doesn't specify how close was too close. I suppose one can still mourn the loss of a loved one without actually coming near the body, but it's still an exacting regulation. All these stipulations, as well as the full slate of offerings (burnt, sin, fellowship, grain, and drink in addition to a basket of bread) required to mark the end of the Nazirite's period of dedication, represent visible manifestations of devotion of one who wanted to consecrate oneself to God.

The chapter concludes with the famous benediction that closes many church services. Although my own church doesn't use it regularly, I do remember that my parents often played a CD (or cassette tape) that featured the benediction set to a hymn-like melody. Perhaps the most striking image of the benediction is of God turning His face to shine upon us (verses 25-26). Sure, the Beast's face lit up like a pyromaniac's pencil when he (spoiler alert) turned back into a vaguely funky-looking human in Beauty and the Beast, but the face of God contains all the ineffable glory and grace of the creator of the universe. And as the benediction says, that magnanimity and splendor can instill peace into our oft-troubled hearts.