The Sin of Nadab and Abihu

I’ve heard the story before: Nadab and Abihu, the sons of Aaron, had offered “strange fire” to the Lord and had, themselves, been consumed by fire from the Lord.

However, while finally reading through the book of Leviticus, where this story is found, the true meaning of the actions of Nadab and Abihu became clearer to me.

The people of Israel were still in the desert. Moses was still climbing the mountain daily to hear from the Lord and relay His messages to the people. The Lord had recently spoken to Moses about consecrating Aaron and his sons as the ones, the only ones, to offer sacrifices of atonement to the Lord. The people would bring their sacrifices to Aaron and his sons and these men would offer the sacrifices of burnt offering.

To anyone who has read the book of Leviticus (or Numbers, or any books of the law specifically) it becomes evident that God has a certain way of wanting things to be done. He is not vague in his instructions. He did not simply tell Noah to build a boat, a really big boat, and leave it at that. He was precise – listing the exact measurements and materials to be used. There is no ambiguity, no questions; it’s His way or no way at all. The same is true in this story. Aaron and his sons were given precise instructions on how to present the burnt offering to the Lord – what animals to sacrifice, which parts to burn, which parts to keep for themselves, where the blood was to be smeared - everything was broken down for them. The only way God could have made this easier would be to send an instruction manual with pictures. There was no questioning of God’s will or what He wanted – they knew!

So on this particular day, Aaron and his sons perform the ritual set forth by God to make atonement for the people. They slaughtered the calf, spread it’s blood in the exact parts, offered up smoke, slaughtered the burnt offering, spread the blood, offered up smoke, slaughtered the goat for the people’s sins, presented the burnt offering, presented the grain offering, offered it up in smoke and so on until all was done and “Then fire came out from before the Lord and consumed the burnt offering and the portions of fat on the altar; and when all the people saw it, they shouted and fell on their faces” (Leviticus 9:24).

It is directly after this time of sacrifice – the very next sentence in the book of Leviticus – at which point we see Nadab and Abihu – they “took their respective firepans, and after putting fire in them, placed incense on it and offered strange fire before the Lord, which He had not commanded them” (Leviticus 10:1). Every time I had heard this story previously, my mind automatically jumped to the words “strange fire”: What did that mean? What kind of incense did they use? Did it smell bad? Just because some sparks came out of their firepan they were consumed by a pillar of fire sent from God? Seems a bit harsh to me.

This time, however, I caught on. The “strange fire” they offered to God didn't smell funny, it didn’t emit green smoke, it wasn’t from evil spirits. It was strange to God because it was something He did not ask for. He told them exactly what He was looking for in this sacrifice and Nadab and Abihu gave Him something else, something that wasn’t on the list – and they paid the ultimate price. Upon realizing that, I discover that I am no stranger to Nadab and Abihu – I have been them myself – just call me Abi. I, too, have offered to God things He has not asked for. I have followed paths, made “sacrifices” and offered them up to my Lord when He has asked me to do none of it.

I am not alone. So many people today, in our rush to do everything and be everything to everyone, everywhere, we see or are offered an opportunity to serve and we pounce on it (or accept it grudgingly) thinking the more we offer to God the better off we are. Too often, though, we do not stop to seek His will in the matter. After all, what we want to do is “good”, right? Why wouldn’t God approve? However, these offerings, these “sacrifices” we make to God can become “strange fire” all too quickly. God is precise. He created each of us with a purpose – specific gifts and abilities that He plans to use in specific ways – and we (I especially) flounder about looking for where to go when God is ready and willing to let us know. He knows. He’s not vague.

The final point in this story is the motive behind the sacrifice – this is open to interpretation, but what I saw when reading this story was that Nad and Ab’s daddy, Aaron, offered some sacrifices to the Lord and people cheered. I may be reading too much into this, but what I see is Nad and Ab saying, “Hey, we can do that – we can burn some stuff. We need to keep these people shouting and bowing!” and so they did. They offered their “strange fire” not to please God, but to impress man. Isn’t that just so us?

“Has the Lord as much delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices As in obeying the voice of the Lord? Behold to obey is better than sacrifice, And to heed than the fat of rams.” – 1 Samuel 15:22

Wait, God, let me re-phrase that . . .

I tend to have a vision of God that's closer to resembling a maniacal, letter-of-the-law lawyer than a benevolent father. I've noticed when I pray, at times, I correct myself so as to clear up any ambiguity in my words - because, you know, it's not like God knows my heart (rolling my eyes at myself).

I can pinpoint a couple of different experiences in my life that have led to this image of a loophole-loving God. The first was in a church I have attended. The pastor of this church once mentioned in a sermon that he has learned to not pray for patience because it is not a magical fairy spell God simply grants. When we pray for patience, God will put us in situations that require patience. To this day I know people in that church that will quickly correct themselves when giving a prayer request for patience in a certain situation - "No, not patience - endurance!" I would find myself sneering inside when I heard that - and yet, I am not very different, am I? We tend to say we want to follow God and become more like Him, but not if that's going to cause any inconvenience or change for us, right? Why would we want to build patience? That requires waiting and, often, annoying situations that we would just rather not deal with. If that's what it takes, then nevermind, God, count us out on that one! (But sign me up for a bucket-ful of blessings, if you don't mind - please and thank you.)

I think, though, that the entire concept is mis-leading. God is not sitting up on His throne, just waiting for us to pray for patience so that He can cause us to be stuck in the slow checkout lane at Wal-Mart or behind that crazy old woman driver who doesn't understand that the gas pedal is what's needed to make the car go - at which point he will laugh and congratulate Himself on just how clever He is and how naive we are to pray such a prayer. He's not crafting unique ways to catch us on our requests. If He's going to work on building patience, we probably needed it. And, for the record, if we're asking for patience in a particular situation, He can and does grant it simply and quickly. I've experienced that, too.

I heard, also, a couple of years ago, a lecture from Steve Saint - the son of Nate Saint, one of five missionaries murdered by the Waodani tribe of Ecuador - wherein he discussed the sudden death of his daughter. While visiting home from college she had a horrible headache and so she asked her father to pray that her headache would go away. Steve did just that and hours later she died of a cerebral hemorrage. I do not think Steve's point was that his prayer caused his daughter to die, but that's what I took away from it anyway.

Thus, I find myself sitting with Baby Girl at 2 in the morning praying that she won't wake up again before 8 and then correcting my prayer to say that she will wake up next sometime between 8 and 9. I need to be more specific, you see, because somewhere deep inside I'm afraid God will take away my Baby Girl if I pray something that can at all be mis-interpreted.

It's a lesson, then, for me, to remember that God is not sitting on His throne waiting for the loophole in my prayer so he can say, "Haha, gotcha!" He's not that kind of God. He loves me and wants what's best, not just for me, but for all those who love Him and are called according to His purpose. So, yes, sometimes he doesn't answer my prayer in the way I expect, but that does not mean I worded something wrong or just wasn't being careful for what I wished. God has a plan and any ambiguity on my part cannot and will not mess it up.

Your good and perfect will be done, O Lord.

Not Me Monday, er, Wednesday?

Because I like a good game, after reading MckMama's (whose name is remarkably similar to my url only by coincidence) blog for only a couple of weeks now, I decided to join in this week with "Not Me Monday". Now, don't bother informing me of the obvious: it's not Monday. But, in the spirit of the game, I will confess, I most definitely did not procrastinate in keeping up with my blog subscriptions over the past couple of days for the main reason that my NEW computer most certainly did not get it's own laptop version of the flu and die on me after only a month of ownership and since I, most certainly, do not usually check my blogs whilst lounging on the couch nursing Baby Girl rather than sit at the lonely desktop it was not a problem for me to check them daily, as is custom. As I write this I definitely do not have a squirming little worm wriggling in my lap, trying to help me type with her tiny, stockinged feet. Because, of course, I did not decide to participate in "Not Me Monday" whilst reading my blogs, lounging on the couch nursing Baby Girl. Of course not. Why would you even ask?

Speaking of Baby Girl and her stockinged feet, I certainly did not dress her in a white onesie with lime green gingham pants yesterday and then add purple and pink socks and a pastel green jacket to keep her warm in our home that I would never let get below 72 degrees farenheit. And it was not the most unattractive outfit I could imagine because I would never consider dressing my sweet Baby Girl in anything less than stunning, especially not on a day when neither of us were seeing anyone (and it's not like I was still wearing my pjs: pink and black argyle pants with a long sleeve black t-shirt, blue striped socks with Grumpy the Dwarf on them, all topped off with a red zip-up sweater and hair sticking out of my ponytail everywhere because I never re-did the ponytail I slept in - because I would never consider not getting dressed all day long just because I'm home by myself).

Hubby and I definitely did not decorate our home for Christmas the very day after Thanksgiving because I most certainly was not tempted to lug out the boxes of ornaments, wrapping and greenery right at the beginning of November because I just couldn't wait and, therefore, I did not feel the need to decorate nearly the very moment the Christmas season officially began. Another temptation to decorate could not have been the stocking I most certainly did not buy for Baby Girl on Black Friday, even though it wasn't a Black Friday deal (although it's not like it was 50% off anyway at Hobby Lobby, because it's not like Hobby Lobby has 50% off of almost all their Christmas stock nearly EVERY day leading up to Christmas). Speaking of which, I would never stand in line for an hour at Wal-Mart only to buy two movies at half price, and then another hour at Target and an hour and a half at Kohl's even though I was buying nothing there. I did not even consider waking up at 3:50am to go shopping with my sis- and mother-in-law just for the fun of it. Who would do a crazy thing like that?

And, finally, as a result of not even thinking about dragging out the Christmas decor on Friday, I definitely have not had a strand of garland greenery adorning the floor of our entire entryway for the past five days simply because Hubby and I were not too tired from setting up the tree to worry about anything else. Because I always clean up my messes the day I make them - and would never let a mess sit longer than a day - not at all. Not me.

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What have we become?

I am saddened by my generation - a generation that pays lip-service to a God who is little more than a label for them to wear proudly on their chests - when it's convenient. I look around at the Youth Group culture I grew up in and see little evidence of lives changed. I find it difficult to differentiate among the muck and mire that crowds around me where the secular world ends and the "Christian" begins. I have been blessed by a great number of friends who have represented to me what it means to live a life void of self and completely devoted to Christ. Yet, at the same time, I look around myself at others I grew up with, attended church with - in various settings, and yet, seem to have completely melted into their surroundings - indistinguishable from the world.

It makes me sad and slightly disgusted to see those who "grew up in the church" proudly displaying photos of a night out on the town - including bar visits, a few shots, and a little bit of lewd dancing thrown in for "fun." I might be able to understand these actions if they were maybe justified with the excuse of "blending in" to "reach" non-Christian friends - we can't separate ourselves "too much", right? If we want to reach others - this is the only way. After all - our friends won't be our friends if we act too Christian -right? But even if this lame excuse were pulled out of the back pocket for some, the majority I've taken note of are outings such as these shared exclusively among a group of "Christian" friends.

See, I grew up in a "Christian" culture where the cool "Christian" thing to do was not be too "religious." Which is absolutely fine when you're distinguishing between a "religion" and a "relationship", but when you're attempting to determine which direction your actions need to take - working out your faith with fear and trembling should not be taken off the list. We should not have to blend in with the culture around us in order to be considered "cool" at church. Since when is it considered lame, boring or nerdy to actually go to church to worship God? To take your walk with Christ seriously? In the youth groups I grew up in, those who did such "radical" things were the ones who found themselves sitting alone. Youth Group was for hanging out with friends and church camp was for meeting cute members of the opposite sex and getting their phone numbers so you could have something to brag about when you got back to the youth group and a little something exciting to look forward to, at least through September. It's a little sad, isn't it?

If someone struggling through life finds the same types of attitudes at church that they find in school or the workplace - what's the point? They can be shunned just as easily there - they don't need to get up early on Sunday morning for that.

It is these same youth group members who are now growing up - going to college and doing the same things they've always done - in essence, the same thing everyone else is doing. They refer to each other, sisters in Christ, as "ho," "whore," or worse. They tease each other, making crude references to sex - which is cool as long as everyone knows you're not actually having any. If that makes you uncomfortable than you're just a little too prudish. Roll with the times, won't you?

How are we supposed to be Christ to others when they see no difference in us at all? When the non-Christian next to you at the bar sees nothing to distinguish between you and he besides that silly label (if you're even wearing it tonight - or have you hidden it? Just for now? No need to announce Who we're supposed to represent, right? Don't want to scare anyone off, now do we?). If your only source of a good time is at the bottom of the bottle or in sliding against the guy next to you on the dance floor - then that's the best anyone else has to hope for, too, right?

I do not say any of this from a soapbox or false, lofty, ivory tower. I am not perfect - I do not always proudly flash my label, either. And, yet, even without the Christian name tag - even if you are not shouting from the rooftops that Jesus Christ is Lord of your life - your life should shout it anyway - through actions - those speak louder than words, anyway, right?

"Pure and undefiled religion in the sight of our God and Father is this: . . . to keep oneself unstained by the world." - James 1:27

Keep the change!

As we near (or, according to the consumer world, are in) the holiday season, more and more charities are using this time of year to tap into the generous spirit the season evokes. I have no problem with those who solicit donations for charitable causes and I do, readily and regularly, give to a few of these organizations. Sadly, however, I do not have the funds to give to everyone who clutters my mailbox - which brings me to my point.

I do not enjoy the letters in the mail with which the sender encloses a nickel or a dime with the premise that "this coin could save a child's life". Then why did they send it to me! They might as well have kept it and saved that child's life, rather than send it all the way to me, costing someone, somewhere the gas money it takes to deliver this precious letter (for we all know that charities pay no postage, which means someone, somewhere, is picking up that slack - a concept which I understand, but don't think the charities should take for granted) and then, should I choose to send it back, costing me 42 cents in order to give them back their own dime. Does this make sense to anyone? I, obviously, understand that the idea is that, while sending back the dime, the generous giver will, rather, include it in a larger, grander donation, thus bringing back more than was sent out. However, if I'm going to donate $10 to a charity, I'll donate $10, whether or not they sent me a dime. If this were true of all those who donate - think about all the dimes wasted. Millions of letters sent out, hundreds of thousands of dollars frittered away!

The same, by the way, is true of those mailing labels. Yes, I enjoy the fact that I do not have to invest in purchasing my own mailing labels, but how much, in the end does this cost the organization? And does it really increase the donations by that much? I, personally, don't recall having given extra money just because a particular request included mailing labels (okay, maybe once, but those were REALLY good labels!).

I think these organizations should save their money, write a simple letter detailing what they stand for and for what they intend to use the money and leave it up to our generous hearts (and, above all things, God) to meet their needs. Leave the gimmicks out of it.

My heart condemns me

If you may recall, I had previously chosen to give up watching television, both on the real box and on the internet because it served no purpose other than to draw my attention from God. Yesterday I was convicted.

As I had earlier mentioned, my weakest TV moments are when feeding Micaiah. Generally I sit with nothing to do but hold daughter in my arms and wait for her to finish. Well, yesterday she finished and promptly fell asleep in my arms. So sweet! I love those moments, holding her close, her face resting on my chest. But, in the end, I kind of want some way to occupy myself while she slumbers. Enter temptation.

My favorite site for TV watching is CWTV - the website of The CW (formerly The WB). It earns points for its excellent player and the mindlessness of its shows. My only two weaknesses there being America's Next Top Model (please don't judge me) and Privileged - I lean away from the trashy teenage melodramas - thank you very much. I had decided that there should definitely be no further Top Model in my future because, as we've discussed, this only perpetuates my assumption that it is my right to judge others - most assuredly not true. However, as I sat there yesterday, daughter in arms, I rationalized to myself (we're so good at that, aren't we) - Privileged is not that bad of a show - yes, there was one episode I was somewhat disappointed in, but other than that, it's quality, mindless, girly fun.

So I gave in.

I revved up cwtv.com and headed to "Full Episodes", only to discover that my new laptop had not yet been initiated into this guilty pleasure and, therefore, had no player installed. - "This is your chance, Angela, turn away." - so I installed it. I pressed play on my episode and it started to play sound with no visual - "Just forget about it and find something else to do." - so I refreshed the page. Then windows and firefox clashed and created an error, thus forcing me to shut down firefox and reopen with the option to "Restore previous session" or not. - "Don't restore it. 'But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.' (1 Corinthians 10:13). This is your way out!" - Click on "Restore previous session". Press play again. It's working! Yay! Switch to full screen, wherein the sticky note widget I have installed, with Philippians 4:8 ("Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things.") set to permanently be on top of all screens stares glaringly at me, covering part of the show - "What does that verse say? Why did you install it? Was it not for moments of temptation like this?" - Move sticky note so I can see the show better. Watch the first five minutes, then a break for one commercial before show resumes and the visual has stopped working again - "Don't you get it?! Give up!" - Click "Refresh". Watch rest of show. Seriously.

What's worse is that after the show, baby girl was still asleep and I was then tempted to sink into Top Model - at which point God grabbed me by the hair and woke me up via a screaming child who had awakened for no reason whatsoever and would not be easily consoled. Only then did I finally walk away from the laptop.

The thing is, during all of this, I thought to myself (rationalized to myself) how ridiculous all of this was. If anyone else knew how much I was toiling and sweating over the idea of watching a stupid, mindless TV show that anyone else would turn on without one single qualm, they would laugh at me. Others are out there fighting bitterly against temptations such as adultery, pornography, gambling - and I'm beating myself up over TV. Come on! And that's the argument I used to let it all go and give in.

The thing is, it doesn't matter how "little" of a deal a particular TV show is. It may not be a "bad" show - but is it pure? Is it edifying? Does it draw me closer to God? It does not matter what struggles others are having or how easily the family next door is turning on their television set - they are not my standard. God is my standard. And He has called me to give this up. If it is so tiny and insignificant, like I say - then I shouldn't have a problem leaving it behind . . . right?

"Dear friends, if our hearts do not condemn us, we have confidence before God" - 1 John 3:21

Of marshroutes and armpits

One day, I’m going to write a book. Or, rather, I’m going to finish writing my book. It has taken me quite a long time to find my voice in writing and, now, to figure out exactly what needs to be said and how best to say it. The clearest way, I’m sure, to discover these answers, would be to actually sit down and get to it. Hey, I’m workin’ on it! In the meantime, I wanted to share a story with you that may someday make it into this book, which will somehow, in some way, cover my semester spent in Russia and the lessons learned there. Before I can share one story, however, I must first explain to you the idea of the Russian marshroute.

The marshroute is the primary source of public transportation in Nizhni Novgorod, the third largest city in Russia. There they do not own the grand fortune of their big brother and sister (Moscow and St. Petersburg) to lay claim to an intricate, underground metro system. Rather, they have only to rely on the scattered, hectic marshroute system.

The marshroute is a bus. A tiny bus, really, that fits somewhat into the size range of what some churches call a “People Mover”; others may refer to these sized vehicles as party buses; almost no person from the United States would ever picture this moving object as the primary source of public transportation, as the only common type of bus we know this length is typically referred to as the “short bus” and is generally used as more of an insult than a regular vehicle in which to travel.

Everyone in Russia rides the short bus.

The important thing to note, however, is that although the Russian bus is much smaller in size than the typical commuter bus in the United States, the number of passengers does not decrease proportionately, or at all – in fact I’m sure the Russian marshroute regularly carries about twice (or five times, whatever) the amount of human cargo as the typical city buses of our culture. In short, what I’ve heard to be the carrying capacity of a New York subway after a New Year’s celebration in Times Square is the typical load of one city marshroute. There is no such thing as a full bus. Ever.

Your face could be shoved into the armpit of the friendly, stone-faced Russian man next to you (who is, of course, pretending he is on an island paradise somewhere, without your face shoved in his armpit), held solidly in place by the carefully-skilled meat-packing that is surrounding you, with no handlebar or seat in sight (with really nothing, of course, in sight, but the fur of this large man’s coat) and the marshroute will still be finding passengers who will shove onto the step, expertly maneuvering their bodies around and behind the closing accordion door, when you didn’t even realize there was a cubic inch of airspace left on this speeding cattle car.

The most amazing part of all of this is that the dance of the marshroute riders occurs without a single word. No eye contact will be made between you and the girl breathing in your face (also sharing the space beneath the burly man’s armpit). No cute small talk. No awkward jokes. No arguing. No unnecessary shoving or complaining. It’s just the way of the marshroute.

Payment is done on somewhat of an honor system. The driver can, for the most part, tell who has boarded and, thus, needs to pay. The new passenger dutifully passes forward their seven kopecks. Every fellow-commuter along the way, when tapped on the shoulder, maneuvers a hand to take the money and pass it along to the next person until it reaches the driver or the assistant. Should change be due, the coins are then passed back to the original paying customer and all is well. No one fears that someone along the way will pocket his money and claim there was no payment. It’s just not the way it’s done.

Eventually, yes, the marshroute does empty out some, as it travels to the further reaches of its route and it begins to pick up less than it drops off. As the man carrying his bag (for all Russians carry a bag – plastic, most likely, whether it came from Disneyland, a department store they visited once, or purchased in the market, it is what they carry everything in, from files to books to groceries – for they all know the grocery store will not provide its own bags – why should they? You always have yours), with the distinct fin of a raw fish sticking out of its handles, steps off and you finally take his vacant seat, you breathe a sigh of relief that, for this moment before your own stop, does not carry the pungent odor of armpit.