Tag: Bible

How to Read Leviticus Without Getting Discouraged

Many Christians plan to read their Bibles through in a year. Typically, they begin at the beginning, and by the time they arrive at the latter part of Exodus, it becomes cumbersome. Then, once you get to Leviticus, you might find yourself a tad discouraged. Here’s another way to look at Leviticus.

A mother had instructed her son not to play in a particular part of the woods behind their house because it was occupied by a family of skunks. One day, however, the son decided to inspect this area to learn more about skunks, since his curiosity was too intense to resist. At first glance, they seemed like cats, but with specific coloring. He moved in to see if he could hold one, but the younger ones moved away as the father stood his ground. As skunks often will do to warn, the father walked on his two front feet, putting the rest of his body in the air, as if he were walking on his hands. The little boy thought the skunk was doing a trick, so he moved closer, and then the father lifted his tail, took aim, and sprayed the boy with the noxious odor to repel him. 

The boy ran frantically home, coughing and choking over the stench. As he cried out for his mother, she came to the front porch, and as her beloved son approached, she caught a whiff of the skunk and knew what had happened. She commanded the boy to stop because she couldn’t tolerate the odor. She didn’t stop loving her son, but he wouldn’t come into the house smelling like that. So what did the mother do? She didn’t hate her son. She didn’t reject her son. She wanted to help him. She prepared one of their troughs with a solution made of laundry detergent, peroxide, and baking soda. She placed her son in the trough and scrubbed him till the smell was gone. Then, he was able to come into the house, sit in his mother’s lap, and be comforted. When we think about sin and its effect, it’s similar to this story. We have become tainted by sin and its odorous effect, so we can’t come into God’s presence. However, God doesn’t look at us with hatred and malice, but with compassion and grace. He prepares a solution for us so that our sins may be removed and we can come into His presence once more.

When God chose His special people, Israel, He wished to dwell among them. However, for Israel to live in God’s presence, God provided remedies by which He could dwell in their midst, and they could approach Him. This is what we read about in the book of Leviticus. What’s important to remember is the ending of Exodus, however, because it gives sense to the first verse of Leviticus. 

Then the cloud covered the tabernacle of meeting, and the glory of the LORD filled the tabernacle. And Moses was not able to enter the tabernacle of meeting, because the cloud rested above it, and the glory of the LORD filled the tabernacle. Whenever the cloud was taken up from above the tabernacle, the children of Israel would go onward in all their journeys. But if the cloud was not taken up, then they did not journey till the day that it was taken up. For the cloud of the LORD was above the tabernacle by day, and fire was over it by night, in the sight of all the house of Israel, throughout all their journeys. (Exod. 40:34–38)

The glory—kavod literally means “weightiness”—of God is best thought of as a mantle of light enveloping God, and the cloud gave off the luminosity by day and appeared as fire by night.¹ When Moses first saw the Lord’s presence in the burning bush, he hid his face because he was afraid to look upon God (Exod. 3:6). Later, however, Moses’ faith in God had grown exponentially to the point that he wanted to see the glory of God. Still, he couldn’t see anything but the “goodness,” because seeing God’s face would have killed Moses (Exod. 33:18–23). Even then, God protected Moses from seeing Him. 

After Moses communed with Yahweh, he came from Mt. Sinai with his face shining (Exod. 34:29–35). There’s a great lesson from this passage: The fear of Israel upon seeing Moses’ face parallels that of their fear of drawing near to God. Similarly, because Moses would cover his face with a veil when among Israel, this demonstrates that the holy of holies had to be partitioned off and enveloped in layers, yet accessible to the people.² Now, when we arrive at Leviticus, the question arises: “How can a people stained with sin live among the holiness of which they are afraid?” For the priests of Israel and the rituals prescribed in Leviticus, God provides in His mercy and grace the ways that He can be among a sinful people, and they dwell in His holy presence. It’s best to think of God’s holiness as the sun, which in its unadulterated form is powerful, and anything mortal that gets near it will burn up. The sun doesn’t hate such things but consumes them. 

To outline Leviticus, we must identify its three major components: Sacrifices (Lev. 1–7, 23–37), Priests (Lev. 8–10, 21–22), and Purity (Lev. 11–15, 18–20). The sacrifices are ways to say “thank you” (i.e., grain and fellowship offerings) or “I’m sorry” (burnt, sin, and guilt offerings). Some of these occur on holy days when festivals were held. These were times of celebration to retell Israel’s history and explain why God chose them. Mediating these sacrifices were individual representatives who advocated for the people, called “priests.” These servants worked so closely to God’s presence that they were chosen to represent God to the people and the people to God. Such people were ordained and had to live by higher standards, similar to those of our pastors. Finally, the purity laws concerned cleanliness and uncleanliness. Cleanliness or purity is a state in which one can be in God’s presence, whereas the opposite is that of uncleanliness. Some of these concerned sexual relationships, social justice, and interpersonal relationships. These categories summarize the second-greatest command: to love your neighbor as yourself. Summing up the greatest commandment to love God with our whole being, we find that it includes dietary laws, skin diseases, dead bodies, and bodily fluids. Many of the latter three concerned life and death: one was sacred, and the others resulted from sin. Going before God in an impure state was inappropriate. 

Tucked in the middle of the book is the Day of Atonement. On this day, the entire nation had sinned, perhaps unnoticed and unknown. The high priest would atone for the whole country by taking two goats and slaying one whose blood was brought to God’s presence to atone for the sins. God has said that the blood of a creature was life, so the life of the goat was to take the place of Israel and the penalty of their sin. The other goat was presented to the priest, who would lay his hand upon its head, confess the sins of the nation, and send the goat out into the wilderness, carrying the sins of the country away from them into the barren land. By this goat, God graciously removed Israel’s sins. 

Christ became not only our high priest but did so while being tempted yet remaining pure (Heb. 4:14–16). As the high priest, not only offered the perfect offering but was Himself the offering so that He could go into the true holy of holies to minister for us (Heb. 9:11–14). What we learn from Leviticus only prepares us for the cross. Jesus Christ is now how we may live in the presence of the holy God. 

¹ Robert Alter, The Five Books of Moses: A Translation with a Commentary (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2004), 535.

² Ibid., 513. 

Intro to 1 Peter

Writing from Rome (which he calls “Babylon” in 5:13), along with John, Mark, Peter addresses a network of churches that comprises modern-day Turkey. Early church writers made explicit citations of 1 Peter as early as the 90s AD, through to the latter part of the second century, which attests to the authority of the letter as well as its apostolicity. How the gospel came to be in this area isn’t altogether clear, but we know that Jewish believers from some of these areas were present on Pentecost (Acts 2:8–11). Additionally, Emperor Claudius (AD 41–54) established Roman colonies in these regions.

One central question is who the audience was: Jewish, Gentile, or both. The descriptor of “pilgrims of the Dispersion” was typically how Jewish exiles from Judea were addressed (cf. James 1:1). There are also further descriptors such as “Sarah’s children” (1 Peter 3:6), “God’s elect” (1 Peter 1:1, 2, 4, 9) and those called to holiness (1 Peter 1:15–16). They are also contrasted with Gentiles (1 Peter 2:12; 4:3), but by this time, all Christians might have been considered as one with Jewish believers, and the Gentiles were non-Christians. However, we also know that Peter was an apostle to the circumcised (Gal. 2:9), and readers from Eusebius in the fourth century to John Calvin agree that the primary audience is Jewish Christians. Still, some descriptors indicate pagans were among the audience (1 Peter 1:14, 18; 2:9–10, 25; 4:3), but prophetic language sometimes regarded apostate Israelites as pagans. We can assume there’s a mixture and that this letter would not have been sectarian or racially distinguishing between believers in Jesus (cf. Rom. 8:29–30).

The entirety of the letter addresses their suffering, which was likely caused by social scorn, shaming, slander, and stigma. They were likely viewed as social deviants and may have faced verbal and physical pressure to return to the norm. Given that Christianity grew out of Judaism, we can look to history to see how Jews were viewed to get a picture of how these Christians were regarded. Rome banished Jews on some occasions. There was a time when Tiberius was emperor, and again during Claudius’ reign. Claudius viewed them with animosity from the beginning of his reign. When Christianity was young, Jews were expelled from Rome. In Christianity’s earliest decades, it bore no outward distinction from Judaism as perceived by the Romans. The Jews were expelled at the instigation of “Chrestus,” according to Suetonius. 

When Diodorus wrote about Antiochus Epiphanes subduing the Jews, he referred to their customs as “wicked.” Cicero also viewed the Jews as enemies because of their behavior when they assembled. They showed no regard for the interests or laws of the Republic, and that won them no favor with Rome. Because they wanted to keep Judea pure from Roman occupation and rule, they resisted Rome. Their actions were rebellious and drew attention to the Jewish religion as the source of their unruliness and eventual disdain by the Romans. Horace believed that they were manipulative and coercive. He viewed them as always proselytizing and forcing others to join their religion. Because they proselytized, many were Jews by conversion rather than birth.  Furthermore, they believed in silly superstitions and were weaker because of their Sabbath keeping. Juvenal viewed their Sabbath keeping as idleness. Their customs were “base and abominable,” and they were the worst villains among all other peoples. As a race, they were believed to have been a curse to others, and Moses, their lawmaker, was detested. While many Jews upheld practices that distinguished them from other people, those who observed them wrote about the Jews’ hypocrisy in doing some of the very things that they seemed opposed to otherwise. If early Christians were treated anything like Jews, we get but a glimpse of it in this letter. Peter urges them to identify with Christ’s suffering (1 Peter 4:12–16) and await eternal glory (1 Peter 1:7; 2:11; 4:13; 5:4, 10–11). 

Works Referenced

 Acts 18:2; Suet. Claud. 25.4.

 Diodorus, Bibl. Hist. 34.1.3.

 Cicero, Flacc. 28.66–69.

 Horace, Sat. 1.4.142–3; cf. Matt. 23:15.

 Acts 2:10; 13:43. Cf. Juvenal, Sat. 14.102–03. A Gentile could become Jewish by circumcision, immersion, and a sacrifice (Keritot 9a; cf. Pesahim 8.8; Exod. 24:8).However, Gentile conversion was not always welcomed and in some cases was even rejected.

Juvenal, Sat. 1.5.100. To the Roman mind, anything other than what had been appointed at the founding of Rome was “vile and alien” (Livy 39.15.3). See also Juvenal, Sat. 15.1–13.

 Juvenal, Sat. 14.96, 105–06.

 Tacitus, Hist. 5.5.

 Quintilian, Inst. 3.7.21.

A Reversal of Fortunes (Esther 5-7)

After three days of fasting, Esther presents herself to the king. Unlike Mordecai, she wears her royal robes. The royal palace of Susa has been excavated, and the audience hall was over 350 feet square and divided into several chambers. Whatever separated them for thirty days, the king looks favorably upon her. Banquets figure into this story a lot. It began with a banquet that evolved into a second one, where the king grew upset with his queen. Esther’s banquet is already prepared in anticipation of a positive answer, and this will lead to a second banquet where the king’s ire turns to his right-hand man, Haman. The Greeks observed that the Persians made most of their important decisions while drunk, and when they drank wine, Ahasuerus asked what Esther requested. 

Haman is touched to be included, but his delight turns to rage when Mordecai refuses to stand when he walks by. Haman goes so far as to state his extensive wealth, sons, and the king’s esteem as prizes he possesses. However, the one thing that means the most to him is what Mordecai won’t give—homage. When is it enough? So what if that one guy doesn’t do what you want him to do? You even stated all you have, so take the wins and move on. Psychologists would say that Haman is a narcopath. “A ‘narcopath’ is a term sometimes used to describe individuals who display a combination of narcissistic and sociopathic traits, characterized by grandiosity, lack of empathy, a need for admiration, and manipulative, antisocial behavior,” according to Google’s AI overview. 

As the story progresses, the king’s sleepless night works to Mordecai’s favor. Haman has spikes prepared to impale him. Meanwhile, the king reads the annals and he hears what Mordecai had done and wishes to reward him, so since Haman was on his way to ask this of the king, he is selected to give the king’s honors to Mordecai. Because he’s so self-absorbed, he thinks the king is talking about Haman when he asks what shall be done for whom the king wishes to honor. Haman’s plan, which he believed to be for himself, is charged with implementing it on the man he hates. 

At the second banquet, the king asks her request, and Esther finally discloses that she is Jewish. As an alternative to being slaughtered, she uses the price Haman offered against him by saying that they could have been sold into slavery. After all, they were conquered by the Babylonians, who then fell to the Persians. Slaves were often composed of conquered people, and Haman has already referred to them as rebellious (Esth. 3:8). Haman either falls on the couch or the queen. Whatever it was, his actions were seen as an assault on the queen. Assyrian law prohibited coming closer than seven paces of the king’s harem, so something like this may have been in mind. Before the Japanese surrendered in WWII, it was prohibited for anyone to walk on the Emperor’s shadow. To try to lie with the queen, which he is accused of, is to lay claim to the throne too. Ahasueras feels betrayed by his most trusted minister. Neither knew of Esther’s ethnicity, but the king expected that Haman should have. 

For Such a Time as This (Esther 4)

Now that news of the impending slaughter has made its way around, Mordecai displays grief in a standard way in antiquity. Sackloth is a rough, coarse material that was uncomfortable to wear. Grief was often expressed in dramatic ways, such as wearing this garment, rolling in ashes, or placing ashes on the head. Mordecai cries bitterly while Jews throughout the empire add fasting. Though prayer to God isn’t outright mentioned, we might assume that it accompanies fasting. Because Persian monarchs were somewhat self-serving, bringing grief to them is prohibited (cf. Neh. 2:2), so Esther sends proper garments so Mordecai can pass through the king’s gate. Yet, he refuses. 

Mordecai’s refusal of appropriate attire brings in an intermediary to go between the adoptive father and daughter. How Mordecai came to learn of the plot has been debated. It was sent throughout the entire empire. Still, one theory suggests that he was a scribe for the palace and translating this in Aramaic gave him firsthand exposure (cf. Esther 8:9–10). Eunuchs weren’t just errand boys for the palace. Many of them were highly educated, so Hathach may have needed to read the edict to a presumably illiterate Esther. 

Knowledge of court practice was widespread. Mordecai likely knew this, and Esther knew that if she went before the king presumptuously, it could end with her death. Her hesitation to do so may indicate that she was no longer in the king’s favor and that by doing so, she was gambling a 50/50 chance. Furthermore, if she does nothing, her head will be on the chopping block. Mordecai expresses his faith when he says that deliverance will arise from elsewhere. He’s most likely acquainted with the promises God made to Abraham, and God will not allow his chosen people to be blotted out from the earth. Mordecai and Esther demonstrate a measure of faith. He believes in God’s promises, and she resigns herself to the possibility of death. At least she can take the shot and try to stop what is inevitable. To further add to this, she asks her countrymen to host a three-day fast in preparation for her actions. 

There are two main lessons from this chapter: 1) speak faith to your problems, and 2) never underestimate your ability to make a change. To the first point, Mordecai believed in God’s promises to Abraham, although this isn’t mentioned in the story, but he was confident that deliverance would come for the Jews. Did he wail and bemoan the state of affairs? Absolutely, but he still spoke faith to his problems. Abraham, likewise, spoke faith to his situation. When God asked him to take Isaac and sacrifice him on Mount Moriah, Abraham told his servants, “The boy and I will go over there; we will worship, and then we will come back to you” (Gen. 22:5). He didn’t know how things would play out, but he trusted God. Even in the face of sacrificing the promised son through whom many would be blessed, he spoke faith in his situation. When Daniel’s three friends were threatened with the fiery furnace, the king asked, “Who is the god that will deliver you out of my hands” (Dan. 3:15). Their reply is an epic example of speaking faith to one’s circumstances. 

O Nebuchadnezzar, we have no need to present a defense to you in this matter. 17 If our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the furnace of blazing fire and out of your hand, O king, let him deliver us. 18 But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods and we will not worship the golden statue that you have set up. (Dan. 3:16–18). 

Adding to this, we can also always take our problems to God. “Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7). Speaking faith to your situation, accompanied by prayer, is living by faith, and faith is the victory that overcomes the world (1 John 5:4)

To the second point, Esther initially didn’t believe she could be the difference between annihilation and survival. There are many stories throughout Scripture where one person made a difference. The Ethiopian Eunuch had Phillip; Nineveh had Jonah. Even Peter had Andrew. Andrew is often forgotten because Peter eclipsed him, but Andrew brought his brother to Jesus. Never sell yourself short. We may never know when and how God will use us. 

Before Hitler, There Was Haman (Esther 3)

What’s interesting about chapter three is its beginning phrase, “After these things.” What things? After Mordecai disclosed the plot to assassinate King Ahasuerus, Haman was promoted. We aren’t told why, but his introduction is key to understanding what follows. Being a descendant of Agag, king of the Amalekites, tells us about the animosity that is to come. King Saul was to have killed all the Amalekites, but he spared Agag only for Samuel to finish the deed (1 Sam. 15). Earlier, Mordecai’s lineage ties him directly to King Saul (Esth. 2:5), so this is like a rematch of Saul and Agag through their descendants. A knowledge of Scripture tells us who the victor will be, because God had said that he would see to it that the Amalekites would be blotted out (Deut. 25:17–18). 

While everyone is drooling over Haman’s exaltation, Mordecai does nothing of the sort. As far back as Late Antiquity, the reason given for his refusal is religious. He won’t kneel to flesh and blood. One wonders if there weren’t also political or personal motives involved. Mordecai told those who inquired that he was a Jew, which has led to the conclusion that his refusal was on religious grounds. Persian religion at the time was based on the belief in a god of light, Ahura Mazda, and a god of darkness, Angra Mainyu, who were constantly at odds with each other. It’s called Zoroastrianism, named after the prophet Zarathushtra, dating to the second millennium BC. Key to this religion is the ideal of thinking good thoughts, speaking good words, and doing good deeds. This is important because it’s precisely a story about good and evil.  

By the time of these events, Esther would have been queen for five years. The month of Nisan is April, and the month of Nadar is March, so for a whole year, this decree will be issued and the Jews will have this timeframe to contemplate the date of their deaths. When Ahasuerus gives Haman his ring, he has essentially given him carte blanche to do as he pleases. He now has royal power with which to act. The king and Haman drink, the city of Susa is confounded, and the Jews are terrified. 

Racism is something taught; it’s not something we are born with. Haman undoubtedly heard from childhood how he is a descendant of a king; a king whom the Jews put to death and whose lineage they tried to destroy. Now, he has grounds on which to finish the work of his forebearers who wanted to obliterate the Jews when they left Egypt. He’s in the prime position to make it happen, and Mordecai and the “rules” of the Jews give him his justification to persuade the king to allow it. 

In Scripture, we observe Jesus behaving kindly towards people that his own race hated—the Samaritans. He tells the parable of the Good Samaritan, he speaks with the Samaritan woman at the well, and he restrains his disciples when they want him to rain hellfire and brimstone on a Samaritan village. Even the book of Romans is a book about racial reconciliation. The Jews were expelled from Rome for several years. When the Caesar who issued such an edict died, another took his place and allowed them to return. They saw their Gentile brothers and sisters leading the church in their absence, and they wanted to run things since they had returned. It turns into a battle between races and their different traditions. Paul wrote to relieve that tension. To the Galatians, he wrote that there is neither Jew nor Greek, so when you read the New Testament, the issue of racial bigotry is something even the church dealt with. 

At every turn in Scripture, especially the New Testament, there is an appeal to end racial bigotry. The Jews called non-Jews Gentiles. The Romans and Greeks called those who were not of their own race “barbarians.” Every group believes itself superior to others. Why speak about racism? Aren’t we Christians supposed to be beyond that? We should, and I hope we are, but we also have to keep in mind that though we may not have incurred racism, some of our brethren have. 

My longtime mentor, Sellers Crain, told me a disturbing story about his early days in ministry. He was preaching at a congregation in Louisiana when he noticed that most of the men were missing on a particular Sunday near the beginning of the services. He’d seen them arrive, but they were now absent. He began looking for them when he saw that most of them were outside around a car. He went out to see what was happening and noticed that many of the men had surrounded a car containing a family. What made this particularly notable was that the family wasn’t white, but black. After hearing some of the chatter among the congregation’s men, he disbursed the crowd, telling them that he’d handle it. When the frightened father rolled down his window, Sellers had to say to them, much to his chagrin, that the men wouldn’t allow the family to join them in worship. He informed them that there was a congregation of black saints. The father thanked him, and then they drove off. Sellers told me how much this bothered him and how it almost led him to quit the ministry. He learned that many of those men were members of the Ku Klux Klan and that their actions were motivated by racial bigotry, these having been the days of the Civil Rights Movement. 

Sometimes there are things we do that we may not think are racist, but to others they may be. Then again, some people can be so hyper-sensitive that you don’t know what’s acceptable and what’s not. For example, among my tribal family, we often refer to ourselves as Indians. That’s the nomenclature used for a long time to describe native peoples. Even many tribal elders that I know use that term to speak of our people. Yet, others find that term offensive. It can be hard to know what to do, so on both sides, I believe it’s necessary to extend grace. Growing up, I’ve often been asked what I am. I don’t take offense to it, but others do. I see it as an opportunity to talk about my Choctaw family and ancestors. I’ve been asked about mascots and Halloween costumes. Again, a variety of opinions exist. There’s only one time that I’ve ever felt angered by what someone said. It was a much older white man who, when he learned that I was going to give a talk about Native American History, asked what they ever contributed. It was the way he asked it, but he later came and apologized, so I gave him the grace I would have wanted if I realized that I might have upset someone. 

A New Queen Emerges (Esther 2)

Between Esther I and II, Xerxes unsuccessfully attempted to subdue Greece. With his tail tucked between his legs, he has returned to Persia, and the loss has overshadowed his wrathful feeling born from Vashti. Yet, he returns a king with no queen to greet him. As with Chapter I, advisers urge the king on what to do. Xerxes appears to be a passive king, led by his advisers. A beauty contest will be held to decide who will be the next queen, and she’ll be quartered in the king’s harem. It may seem odd that he wouldn’t take a Persian queen, but it isn’t without precedent—Artaxerxes I and Darius II had Babylonian queens. 

“Mordecai” and “Esther” are Babylonian names; the former is a play on Marduk, and the latter is from Ishtar. Mordecai’s father’s name is Hebrew, so this only shows how much exiled Jews assimilated. This isn’t a statement on their fidelity to God because Daniel and his compatriots were given pagan-based names as well. They may have had Hebrew names used within their Jewish community (Hadassah means “myrtle”). Mordecai’s lineage traces back to Israel’s first king. The term translated as “son” can mean descendant. The author shows us that these two characters belong to a prominent Benjamite family. Mordecai adopted his first cousin, some suggesting he was in his thirties and she was in her late teens. In verse seven, Esther is described precisely how Joseph was (cf. Gen. 39:6). Many similarities exist between Esther and Joseph in the story. For example, their stories are rags-to-riches. They are both attractive Hebrews and find favor with courtiers; they also have archenemies to overcome and reach the inner palace circles. 

The “cosmetics” the women underwent were to make them as unblemished and attractive as possible. Spending a night with the king has its own implications that need not be discussed. Suffice it to say, this was trial by bedding. However, because of who she was and how she was, finding favor with all she encountered won her a king. As the story goes, we’re not told why the two eunuchs became enraged, but their plot is foiled when Mordecai informs the queen of their intentions. These men weren’t “hanged” as we would envision a noose. They were impaled and displayed for the public. 

Esther reminds me of the passage from 1 Peter, “Rather, let your adornment be the inner self with the lasting beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is very precious in God’s sight” (3:4). God’s providence is witnessed in this passage: “The King’s heart is in the hand of the LORD, like the rivers of water; He turns it wherever He wishes” (Prov. 21:1). Even though the Persian king doesn’t worship God, it still doesn’t remove him from God’s soverignty. God gave his own people into the hands of the Assyrians, the Babylonians, and the Persians. Even those not necessarily aligned with God can still be used by him. That’s the whole point of Habakkuk—God would use the Babylonians’ swiftness and conquering to humble his people. Yet, because of the Babylonians’ actions, God used the Persians to overcome them. Cyrus the Great was tolerant of other religions and allowed the Jews to return to the Promised Land to rebuild.

After a Long Party

Esther belongs to the court tale genre. In this genre, a drama occurs within the royal court, and a hero foils the plot of their enemy to receive royal favors later. It is debated whether to read it historically, like Kings and Chronicles. Yet, the writer was familiar with Persian customs. Another type of story that fits this genre is the Tale of Ahiqar. Esther is used as an etiological explanation of the birth of Purim. On this holiday, they exchange gifts of food and drink, donate to the poor, eat a celebratory meal, and recite the scroll of Esther along with the appropriate liturgical prayers. Some scholars believe the story was invented to justify the holiday of what amounts to a party. Yet, court tales are usually based on historical events and people. Esther is somewhat unique in that the story is secular because the book contains no references to God or anything particularly religious. However, one can certainly see the providence of God throughout the story. 

His Persian name was Khashayar, which means “ruler over heroes,” but his name in Hebrew is what we see in Esther. To the Greeks, he was Xerxes, and he ruled from 486–465 BC. He reigned from India (Pakistan) to Nubia (northern Sudan and southern Egypt) and gave a banquet in the third year of his reign. This lavish banquet lasts for half a year, suggesting that little business is getting done. After this period, he gives Susa a one-week banquet. The details of the fineries are present to convey the austerity of the event. 

Simultaneously, Queen Vashti threw a banquet for women. The king and his guests are in the courtyard (v. 5), while the women are in the palace. “Vashti” is believed to derive from Persian and meant something like “the best” or “the beloved,” so it wasn’t a proper name so much as a title. Herodotus wrote about the Persians and named Amestris the queen, but what’s problematic is that she was queen before and after his attempted conquest of Greece. This conquest occurs between chapters one and two in the story of Esther, and Esther becomes queen in chapter two. “Amestris” derives from Persian and means “strong woman,” which may have been the title that Herodotus gave the queen. The hunt seems futile since we aren’t necessarily dealing with proper names. Plus, Queen Vashti may have remained his wife and just exiled (cf. verse 19) because we know that Darius I had more than one wife.  

According to the Persepolis Fortification Tablets, royal wives often acted independently from their husbands. Jewish Midrash (interpretation) suggests that the king wanted his queen to appear naked before his guests, something usually required of concubines rather than queens. On the one hand, he wanted her to wear the crown, denoting her high status, but on the other, he wanted to parade her, thus denigrating that status. Her refusal must serve as an example because her actions, if they are made known, threaten the patriarchy of Persia. 

How much is dignity worth? It is cheaper, but it depends on who you ask and what the subject is. The modesty and dignity with which Vashti acted conveyed that she was worth more than just some eye piece. She wasn’t an object, but a person deserving dignity, not to be paraded before a bunch of drunk men to be ogled. Moms and dads should tell this story to their daughters and then contrast it with Herodias’ daughter, who, when presented by her mother, must have danced provocatively for Herod to offer up to half of his kingdom. The Jewish girl dances seductively verses the heathen Persian who revelaed her dignity.

A Primer on the Reformation

The Latin Vulgate was the standard Bible in the West since AD 400, but translations into local vernacular were emerging. The fourteenth-century Oxford scholar John Wycliffe produced the first English manuscripts of Scripture. He opposed the established church because he believed it was contrary to Scripture, so the Bible in English for the common man to read became a goal. His manuscripts were produced from the Latin Bible, the only source available. Wycliffe so angered the Pope that he had his remains dug up, crushed, and scattered in the river forty-four years after he died. One of Wycliffe’s followers, John Hus, continued his mission and advocated that people should be able to read the Bible in their own language. He opposed the tyranny of the Roman church. Hus was burned at the stake, and Wycliffe’s manuscripts were used as kindling for the fire. The year was 1415, and Hus’ last words were, “In 100 years, God will raise up a man whose calls for reform cannot be suppressed.” In 1517, Martin Luther nailed his famous ninety-five theses to the door at Wittenberg—an act often regarded as the spark that began the Reformation.

In the spring of 1517, Martin Luther encountered Johann Tetzel, a preacher of indulgences. Luther was an Augustinian monk, and Tetzel was a Dominican friar. To be an Augustinian monk meant you were a member of a community that followed the Rule of Saint Augustine, a fifth-century Christian scholar. Similarly, the Dominican order followed the teachings of the priest Dominic de Guzman. 

In Catholicism, there are several sacraments. These are considered holy acts one can perform. One of them is the sacrament of penance. An indulgence was a remission of sin, so Tetzel taught that paying a fee could lessen the suffering of a departed loved one being punished in purgatory. Usually, the pope initiated indulgences that were traditionally used to pay for pet projects. Tetzel’s indulgences and others paid off a bank loan a bishop had taken out for a second estate and rebuilt St. Peter’s basilica. There were tales of Tetzel’s rhyme: “When the coin in the coffer rings, the soul from purgatory springs.” Luther saw this as an abuse of penance, and on October 31, 1517, he nailed his 95 theses on the door of the Castle Church in Wittenberg, Germany. This is referred to as the spark that ignited the Reformation. Eventually, the protestations of Luther birthed the Lutheran Church. They view Christ as the head of the church, Scripture alone determines doctrine, a person is saved by grace through faith alone, rejects transubstantiation, and does not regard Mary and the saints as intercessors. They also do not believe in purgatory. To learn more, look up and read the Augsburg Confession. 

Martin Luther’s reading of Romans during the Reformation changed the book’s Western interpretation for centuries. John Wesley, of Methodist notoriety, obliged Luther’s translation. Luther’s reading of Romans led to justification by faith alone. In Romans 3:28, Luther added “alone” after faith. Because he was an Augustinian monk, undoubtedly following Augustine’s interpretation of verses 22 and 26 as “faith in Christ” rather than “the faithfulness of Christ,” Reformation theology followed a chain of error. First, with Augustine, who was Ambrose’s protégé, then Luther, an Augustinian monk, and throughout the West and centuries, Reformed theology has taught this way. Romans, however, in the rendering of the syntax, doesn’t altogether disagree with it. Still, even Luther admitted that “alone” or “only” wasn’t present in the text in his 1530 Translating: An Open Letter.

In 1534, King Henry VIII wanted to divorce his wife, Catherin of Aragon, to marry his mistress, Anne Boleyn. The pope refused to grant it, but Henry had reformers in his court—Thomas Cromwell and Thomas Cranmer. They argued that he shouldn’t be subjected to the pope’s jurisdiction, so Henry made Cranmer Archbishop of Canterbury, and in 1534, Parliament passed the Act of Supremacy, solidifying a break from the Catholic Church. All Catholic property (e.g., monasteries) reverted to the Crown, so Henry distributed them to loyalists. Though they look a lot alike, Anglicans don’t believe in the doctrine of transubstantiation; they allow women to be ordained as priests, and they may diverge on marriage and divorce and issues of morality. 

Some Developments in Early Christianity (and later)

Catholicism and Orthodoxy were the same for centuries, claiming to be the original church. A split came in the Great Schism in 1054. They share seven ecumenical councils and adhere to the decisions that are derived from them (kind of). However, the Roman Catholic church changed the Nicene Creed (AD 325) to add filioque (“the son”), which upended the doctrine of the Trinity. What changed was that the creed said the Holy Spirit came from God the Father, but by adding the filioque, it read that the Holy Spirit came from the Father and Son, thus making the Spirit subjective to both and lessening his standing in the Trinity. Orthodoxy does not acknowledge this change that was added in the Middle Ages (AD 589).  

Roman Catholicism also added doctrines through the pope’s primacy: purgatory, immaculate conception, stigmata, and praying the rosary, among others. They differ on original sin. Catholicism teaches that every person born is tainted with the guilt of the sin of Adam. This is why they “baptize infants.” Actually, they sprinkle them. “Baptize” means to immerse, which they don’t do. There’s a Greek term for sprinkling seen in Hebrews concerning the blood of bulls and goats (Heb. 9:19-21). That term is rhantizo. Orthodoxy views original sin as having the proclivity to sin because we are all born in the flesh. Still, newborns are innocents who will someday act upon that proclivity and invite sin into their lives. They immerse infants for around forty days of life. 

Ignatius of Antioch was the first to mention the catholic church (Smyrneans 8; ca. AD 107), and he did so as a call to unity around the congregational bishop who was to protect the church from heresy. The usage of “orthodox” was prevalent by the fourth century to distinguish those of the apostolic tradition from heretics. Here are changes that occurred that varied from apostolic teaching:

  • In the early second century, the local congregation’s leadership went from elders, deacons, and ministers (1 Tim. 3) to one elder being chosen as bishop among his fellow elders. Jerome later regarded this change as a “result of tradition, and not by the fact of a particular institution by the Lord” (Comm. Titus 1.7; cf. Did. 15.1; 1 Clement 42.4; Poly., Phil. 5-6; Shep. Herm. vis. 8.3). This bishop was over the elders, deacons, and congregation. At times, you couldn’t take the Lord’s Supper unless the bishop was present to preside over it unless he appointed a proxy in his absence from among the elders. More and more became tied to the bishop, so he performed baptisms exclusively (see Ignatius, Mag. 2; Trall. 2; Smyrn. 8).
  • The Protoevangelium of James is a second-century apocryphal Christian text, considered to be an “infancy gospel,” that narrates the birth and early life of Mary, the mother of Jesus. It includes details not found in the canonical New Testament, most notably the idea of her perpetual virginity; it is believed to have been written sometime around the mid-2nd century. This is the earliest evidence of special attention given to Mary, which would give rise to the practice of venerating her. 
  • By the third century, Cyprian of Carthage (ca. AD 200–258) wrote about baptizing infants as a passing matter (Epistle 58; cf. Acts 8:12, 36–37; 16:29–33), which suggests the practice was entirely common by his time. Discussions of the matter appear as early as Irenaeus (ca. AD 120/140–200/203; Contra Haer. 2.22.4) and Tertullian (ca. AD 200; On Baptism 18). 
  • In the latter third century, veneration of martyrs on the anniversary of their deaths became common. For Origen (ca. 185–254), explicitly, veneration stood with Jesus and not in competition with him (1 Tim. 2:5; cf. Lev. 19:31; Is. 8:19; Eccl. 9:5–6). In the fourth century, they were regarded as sancti, from which “saints” arose. 
  • The Council of Elvira imposed celibacy on clergy (canon 33; ca. AD 300–310), contrary to 1 Timothy 4:3. 
  • By AD 428, Pope Celestine rebuked bishops for not wearing distinguishing attire, which means clerical garbs arose sometime before then (cf. Matt. 23:5). 
  • Owing to their view of original sin, they celebrated Mary’s immaculate conception as early as the fifth century. This doctrine teaches that she was conceived without original sin so that she could bear Jesus. The doctrine was officially defined in 1854.
  • The term “mass” appears around AD 604. It derives from the Latin term missa, meaning “to go.” It was pronounced at the end of worship and is closely associated with “mission.” 
  • In AD 595, the Patriarch of Constantinople, John the Faster, assumed the title “Ecumenical Patriarch.” Gregory the Great, or Pope Gregory I, wrote to the emperor, begging him not to acknowledge it. Emperor Maurice accepted it. A few years later, Emperor Maurice was slain by a usurper—Phocas. Pope Gregory sent letters of praise to the new emperor. However, in AD 606, Phocas transferred the title “Universal Bishop” to Boniface III, the bishop of Rome, thus establishing the modern-day Catholic Church of Rome.
  • The doctrine of transubstantiation, elaborated by Scholastic theologians from the 13th to the 15th century, was incorporated into the documents of the Council of Trent (1545–63). This doctrine taught that when the priest blessed the bread and wine, it became the literal body and blood of Jesus. 
  • Papal infallibility was established in 1870. 

Perhaps the most significant difference between us is our views on Scripture. They contend that the church created the canon, thus exercising authority with and greater than Scripture. To them, the church is the proper interpreter of Scripture. I believe writings were already acknowledged as Scripture in the New Testament (2 Peter 3:15-16). Paul quoted Luke 10:7 in 1 Timothy 5:18. We also note that unanimity was taught in all the churches (1 Cor. 4:17; 7:17; 16:1). Also, New Testament writings were circulated among the churches (cf. Col. 4:16; 1 Thess. 5:27; 1 Peter 1:1; Rev. 1:4). Here are a few other factoids:

  • Didache (AD 50–60) refers to the Lord’s Prayer as it appears in Matthew. 
  • The letter 1 Clement was written near AD 95, and he alludes to the writings of Paul as Scripture and Matthew, Luke, Acts, James, and 1 Peter. 
  • In AD 110, Ignatius alludes to Matthew, Luke, and John. 
  • Polycarp, in AD 110, called Ephesians Scripture. He also references Romans, 1 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 2 Thessalonians, and 1 & 2 Timothy; he quotes Matthew, Mark, and Luke.

I wouldn’t say the church created the New Testament. I would contend that they acknowledged and compiled the books identified as Scripture since the apostolic age. This was done as a reaction to proposed canons, some of which omitted the inspired books. This may have begun with Marcion, the second-century heretic who omitted all of the Old Testament and only recognized Luke’s gospel and some of Paul’s epistles as Scripture. In addition, we have Bryennios’ List, the Muratorian canon, Melito’s canon, Origen’s commentaries, and others. Many of these agree with minor variations, but they didn’t create them so much as to recognize what was a part of the apostolic tradition.

What is “Sound Doctrine?” 

The term “doctrine” derives from Latin and is related to the word “doctor,” which means “teacher.” When we think of doctors today, we think of medical practitioners, but in the Roman Empire, doctors were instructors in a specific field. Therefore, “doctrine” means “teaching.” The Greek term is also fitting for this translation. Christian doctrine derives from commandments focused on “love from a pure heart, a good conscience, and from sincere faith” (1 Tim. 1:5). Paul uses “sound doctrine” (1 Tim. 1:10) to describe how the law ought to be used, and it’s connected to one’s behavior. In Titus 2:1, Paul wrote, “But as for you, speak the things which are proper for sound doctrine.” The term “sound” also refers to those who are physically well instead of sick (Luke 5:31; 7:10; 3 John 2). When the prodigal son returned, he was received safe and “sound” (Luke 15:27). All other usages refer to doctrine, not physical health. Still, there’s a lesson herein: those who are physically healthy are sound, or well, so it may reasonably follow that those who are spiritually healthy are sound too.

Many people denounce doctrine as too divisive. It can be, but it ought not to be. Some people exclaim, “I just want Jesus, don’t give me doctrine.” The fault in that statement is that we cannot separate the truths of Jesus from the Person of Jesus, so without sound doctrine, we have no Jesus. John contended with this in his day, “By this you will know the Spirit of God: Every spirit that confesses that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is of God, and every spirit that does not confess that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is not of God. And this is the spirit of the Antichrist, which you have heard was coming, and is now already in the world” (1 John 4:2–3). The way some are today might have said, “Just give me Jesus. I don’t want doctrine,” but for John, it mattered whether or not Jesus appeared in the flesh as a matter of orthodoxy. We tend to dismiss such issues because they seem so minor. There are times when matters are minor, but there are also times when they aren’t. Paul was concerned with sound doctrine, too, and this was what Timothy was to teach and uphold. 

Those who lead sinful lives did not order their lives according to “sound doctrine” (1 Tim. 1:8–11; 6:1–5; 2 Tim. 4:3–5; Titus 2:1–10). When one reads all of these passages, we’re struck by how when sound doctrine is mentioned, behavior should follow. We can see here that those behaviors do not accord with sound doctrine, and anyone claiming to represent God is to call things what God calls them and exhort others to order their lives around sound doctrine. Sadly, many fear calling specific actions, lifestyles, or choices sinful, so we dilute orthodoxy to avoid hurting feelings. We can and should be able to call sin what it is and simultaneously be compassionate and loving towards sinners, among whom we are also counted. Sound doctrine, therefore, is spiritual health. When one is healthy, one manifests that in one’s actions. The spiritually healthy person formed by sound doctrine does the things that please God.

How do we get doctrine? Commandments, prohibitions, and examples are a few ways. When God commands something through one of his chosen prophets or mediums, we must do what is commanded. If he prohibits something the same way, we should not do what’s forbidden. If we note patterns of behavior that are commendable, we can mimic the action and know we are not doing wrong. The problem comes when we bind something that God has not bound.

Though Scripture is inspired, interpretation is not. We conclude when we take a topic and study it as a whole. Some conclusions are rather logical and can be taken at face value, but if an interpretation is questioned, there ought to be answers to justify it, or adjustments should be made. For example, “Abstain from every form of evil” (1 Thess. 5:22). In churches of Christ, I have observed some who have employed this passage to prohibit dancing. A reading of 1 Thessalonians would not have that in mind, but there is a way to use it. When Herodias danced before Herod, we might conclude that it was rather provocative (Mark 6:22). After all, he wanted to offer her anything. In this case, dancing can be viewed as sinful. We can’t say that all dancing is terrible. The older son in the parable of the prodigal son came near the house and “heard music and dancing” (Luke 15:25). This story is about rejoicing over a lost son returning to salvation, and they were dancing as a matter of celebration. 

No human is the arbiter of determining what is doctrine and shouldn’t be. One interpretation among some in churches of Christ is that the Holy Spirit indwells the believer by proxy–through the Word of God. Since some of us know more Scripture than others, do we have more of the Spirit? When you look at interpretations from the first few centuries, this conclusion hasn’t been reached as far as I have read. It’s hard for me to believe that doctrine because the earliest Christians had a different take. That doesn’t mean they’re always right, but it also doesn’t mean they’re wrong.

I believe it’s best for us to give grace to one another and assume the best. Just because I arrive at a different conclusion than you doesn’t mean I’m malicious. Some Christians read the creation account literally. I happen to take parts of it literally while considering how I understand that an ancient Near Eastern audience would have understood it. Still, I hold no ill will if someone reads it literally. We both love Jesus and want to serve God.

  

That Ugly Word: “Tradition”

In churches of Christ, the term “tradition” is a no-no. We associate tradition with creeds and confessions of faith created by denominational bodies. Many Americans were governed by the Philadelphia Confession of Faith a couple of centuries ago. The Westminster Confession of Faith led others. Then you have the Apostle’s Creed, the Nicene Creed, and more. While there are positives to having such definitive statements (“Don’t shoot me!”), our history has seen them result in division. For example, among Presbyterians were the Anti-Burghers, Auld Licht, Old-Light Anti-Burgher Seceders, and others. Among Methodists were the Episcopal Methodists and Republican Methodists. The Restoration Movement advocated doing away with these creeds and confessions of faith and going by the New Testament as our guide for being Christians and, therefore, the church. There are still splits among us: Disciples of Christ, Christian Church, Churches of Christ. Just among the churches of Christ are non-instrumental, non-institutional, one-cuppers, and others. We had noble intentions, but humanity is flawed no matter how hard we try to help ourselves. 

Matthew (15) and Mark (7) tell the story of Jesus rebuking tradition. Matthew wrote that the scribes and Pharisees accused Jesus’ disciples of “transgressing” the tradition of the elders (15:2). Mark explains washing hands for his audience. At the same time, Matthew assumes his audience understands this, hence some of the differences in the accounts. Jesus’ gripe with them was that their traditions nullified the word of God in how they circumvented the command to honor their father and mother. They used a loophole they created by saying that any funds that might be used to care for their elderly parents have been devoted to God. The Mishnah discusses how if something is consecrated to God, no one could benefit from it, similar to what Jesus says in Matthew 15:5 (cf. m. Ned. 5.6). These “traditions” circumvent God’s clearly stated will and when bound on others, cast them as transgressors. Here’s the deal: Scripture is inspired; interpretation is not inspired. Their interpretations of how to be pious and faithful to God contradicted the will of God. In this case, tradition is bad. 

What we sometimes do is view all traditions as “bad.” Yet, we have our own. The most obvious one in churches of Christ is the invitation at the end of a sermon, and the invitation song is meant to conclude with a public response. You will not read about this in the New Testament; it grew out of the altar call in early American evangelicalism. If we used our logic against ourselves, we’d be violating the interpretation we have bound on another. Sunday school and Wednesday night services are also traditions. God hasn’t decided that we meet twice on a Sunday or once midweek. Sometimes, what we see as a tradition should fall under Christian liberty (cf. Rom. 14). If something doesn’t violate a commandment of God’s or apostolic tradition (“don’t shoot me”), we might find a method of doing something. We notice that the early church sang, but how isn’t specified. They chanted, but we sing in four-part harmony. We’re told to go into the world with the good news, but we aren’t told how to do it. We do this by radio, live stream, airplane, and other methods.  

Another bad kind of tradition is human tradition (Col. 2:8). Paul links this to philosophy, but philosophy itself wasn’t bad. He likely meant it so broadly in his context to include the occult, as we might understand. When he refers to “the basic principles of the world,” he uses a word that seems to be a designation for spiritual beings (cf. Col. 2:10, 20–23). This was, after all, how the term was often used in literature across the board. Simply put, he is thinking of the demonic, which was why I used the term occult. You might also include superstitions in this. For example, believing it to be bad luck to open an umbrella inside or to walk under a ladder is nonsense. Another may be when you spill salt, how you’re supposed to throw a handful of salt over your right shoulder. I don’t know where these originated, but we don’t hang our hopes on luck; we live by faith. 

Paul also uses tradition to convey the practices pleasing to God (2 Thess. 2:15; 3:6). For Paul, it can be given first-hand or in writing. With many centuries between us and the apostles, we rely on what’s written. Some groups contend that what they practice was preserved throughout the centuries as tradition. I believe that’s a way of stopping further inquiry into their practices. Is it to say they’re wrong? Not necessarily, but it’s like a get-out-of-jail-free card to reply with, “It’s holy tradition.” It could be, or that could be a way not to justify what one does. Plus, with the great schism, whose traditions are we to rely on? There are separate traditions in Orthodoxy and Catholicism, though there are similarities. This is where Christian liberty may be most helpful and why I tend to side with the forebearers of the Restoration Movement. As best as we can, let’s live by Scripture. Even with that, someone can become a legalist, so room for grace and liberty is necessary. At the end of it, we’re all trying to do our best to live for God. No one gets it perfectly.   

Azazel (Scapegoat): Goat, Demon, Place, or National Deity?

The High Priest was to perform certain rituals for himself and Israel on the Day of Atonement, but one fascinating is the scapegoat, one of two goats chosen by lots upon whom the High Priest would recite all the sins of Israel and then send it out into the wilderness. This is how many English translations render this term, but in Hebrew, it’s “Azazel” (Lev. 16:8–10), a name likely meaning something along the lines of “El is strong” or “the rage of El.” “El” is a name often used for God in the Hebrew Scriptures, but El was also the chief Canaanite deity. That’s not to say that the two are the same. They share a name; that’s all. The Canaanite El was associated with the epithet “bull” (cf. Num. 23:22; 24:8). It makes you wonder about that golden calf Aaron made to appease Israel (cf. Gen. 35:2; Josh 24:14–15; 2 Kings 23:24)! In Canaanite mythology, Baal is El’s son, for a point of reference. 

There’s uncertainty about whether Azazel is a goat, demon, place, or deity (of a neighboring mythology). One interpretation is that the scapegoat is sent into the wilderness because the desert is associated with the chaos before God gave order to creation. One goat is given to God, and the other to Azazel. In Hebrew, the phrasing is that the goat is given to Azazel. Aaron does this for himself and Israel (Lev. 16:21). This goat to be sent to Azazel is, first, presented to God, showing the latter’s superior status (Lev. 16:7). God receives the other goat as a sacrifice, whereas no sacrifice is given to Azazel. God resides in his tabernacle/temple, and Azazel is in the desert. The two aren’t on equal footing. 

I found it interesting how the Septuagint translates this corresponding term: “the one who eliminates” or “the one who wards off evil.” In Greek literature, the phrase hoi ampopompaioi typically denoted divine agents. In 1 Enoch, he is said to teach humans to make instruments of war, jewelry, and cosmetics, leading to war and fornication (8:1–2). The angel Raphael is said to have banished him to the desert, where the scapegoat goes (1 Enoch 10:4–8). In some versions of Enoch, the sins carried by the scapegoat are written upon him. Philo refers to Azazel as “the banished creature” and “the scapegoat” (Her. 179). 

Later, in the second century AD, in Midrash Avkir, Azazel is identified as Azael. Other texts say more about him. For example, the Apocolypse of Abraham says he is the devil (31:5). The Talmud refers to it as “Azazel—the land” (b. Yoma 67b). In the same passage, the goat is supposed to be pushed off a jagged, rocky cliff; Azazel is said by another rabbi to be connected to two wicked angels, Uzza and Azael, who were believed to have been a part of the story in Genesis 6:1–4. 

To complicate matters further, some early Christian amulets and jewelry depicted him as a figure who could protect them by having the power to avert evil. Who or what Azazel is remains unsolved. It is a versatile creature that takes on many forms at different times. This is one instance where a “clear reading of Scripture” isn’t always all that clear. We have relied on translators to do the best for us, but since the Septuagint, “scapegoat” seems to have been the preferred translation, thus overlooking a critical aspect in the context.