Monthly Archives: February 2011

Leviticus: My Wilderness Book

Posted on by
1

Through the years, every time I read Leviticus, I felt as if I were wandering in the wilderness. It seemed vast, dry, and dead. And may I add, pointless?

I was reading through the Bible, over and over and over, and I knew that in order to really read through the Bible, I shouldn’t skip Leviticus, even though I really wanted to, every time. All the sacrifices . . . and so much detail . . . ugh. Why did I have to read all that? I struggled to keep my mind from wandering, usually without much success.

But I knew my attitude was wrong, and I knew God must have it there for some reason, so, in the teeth-gritting determination characteristic of that period of my life, I decided to undertake an in-depth study of the book. I don’t remember praying over it, I don’t remember asking God to open my eyes to it, but we have a God who is ever merciful and gracious and loves to reach down to those who, no matter how pitiable or self-righteous their state, are struggling to look up.

That was in 1994. And at that time when God condescended to reach down to me, I found something in the sacrificial system of Leviticus that—even though having grown up in church I should have known to expect it—I really was surprised to find.

At every turn, I found Jesus.

I found Him, first, from the very outset, in the burnt offering. The offering that brings you to your knees because you realize that the entire purpose of it was to represent the beauty of the perfection of the perfect sacrifice. Of the five sacrifices, this is the one that has nothing to do with me. It is all about God being perfectly pleased with the perfect sacrifice of His perfect Son. Cut it apart, lift each part to heaven. Allow the King of Heaven to see that each part, blood-covered, is completely without flaw. Lift your arms, bow your head. Stand in awe.

Oh, did I say it had nothing to do with me? Well, that’s what I said in my study in 1994. But I was wrong. It has everything to do with me. Because He is my Perfect Sacrifice, Hebrews tells me that He is perfecting those who are being sanctified. Because I am in Christ, I am offered as that burnt offering. Because of Him, I offer myself as a living sacrifice, with the fire of God burning within.

From the outset, Leviticus brought me heart to prostration. And all through the remainder of the five primary sacrifices, the consecration of the priests, the Day of Atonement, through the long descriptions of every part of the tabernacle, I saw Jesus. The Living Word, again and again, revealed Himself to me through the written Word. That’s His way.

Leviticus then drove me to Hebrews, the New Testament answer to the sacrificial system. I felt as if I were walking into a mine of brilliant jewels, and my Lord said, “See these? They’re yours.”

Who would have thought that such treasures could come through a wilderness book? But that’s what God loves to do. That’s His way.

Mother’s Day in February

Posted on by
6

The sands of time are sinking . . .

“Mother, you’re in the hospital. You had a stroke. Remember?”

Slow nod, barely perceptible. Eyes closed, a cloud of silver hair on the pillow.

The dawn of heaven breaks . . .

And there she is, at the piano with me, black hair, bright eyes, big smile, cheery voice.  The voice that her teacher told her could have gone into opera. “Happy happy me! Happy happy you! When I see someone who is happy, I feel happy too!” The voice that she decided to use for church and children.

I sit on the bench, swinging my legs, singing, clapping. “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world. . . .”

Sleep now. There you are, spreading out the birthday tablecloth. Through the years I looked for but never found a tablecloth like that. Cottage cheese pancakes for breakfast, homemade chili for supper. Yellow cake with chocolate frosting. So many gifts.

We came here in a breath, in a blink. And in another breath, another blink, I will be the one on the pillow, and my own children will say, “Mother, you’re in the hospital. Here, Mother, let me help you. Do you want just one more bite? No, you can’t do that, Mother. You need to rest now.”

The summer morn I’ve sighed for—the fair, sweet morn awakes.

You took my out to lunch when I was in high school. When I was the one who wasn’t speaking, except in monosyllables. You tried. Thank you.

And there you are, thrusting Stepping Heavenward into my hands. The book that brought me to my knees, not once, but all three times that I read it.

“Mother, would you like for me to read to you from the Bible?”

Eyes focus a little more. Slight smile. Small nod.

One psalm. Another. Another.

“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea. . . . Be still and know that I am God.”

“I waited patiently for the Lord, and He inclined unto me and heard my cry. He brought me up also out of a horrible pit, out the the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings.”

“O keep my soul, and deliver me: let me not be ashamed; for I put my trust in thee.”

“Mother, who are you putting your trust in?”

Dark, dark hath been the midnight, but dayspring is at hand.

Low voice, barely audible. “The Lord Jesus Christ.”

Thank you, Mother. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for pointing me to Jesus.

And glory . . . glory . . . dwelleth . . . in Immanuel’s land.