Bulls and doves: equally useless

T

This morning we started reading Leviticus. It starts where Exodus ended - as a narrative and in terms of theme. God’s people have access to his presence; access is only allowed through blood sacrifice. So the depth of grace and the sinfulness of sin are brought home, and brought home, and brought home... 

What hit me with fresh power today is the breath-taking equality of it all. We go by stages from the one who brings a bull to the one who brings a pigeon. There is no change in the seriousness of the text, no alteration in the ritual description of what the sacrifice means: ‘It is a burnt offering, a food offering, an aroma pleasing to the Lord.’ Each worshipper comes into the presence of God equally. 

Discounting the current soaring prices in the Chinese racing pigeon market, the difference between a bull and a pigeon is vast. Modern markets can't be equated with biblical times, but current bull prices from $4000 to 20 000 guineas (various sites) compare rather impressively from a live “fancier’s” pigeon starting from £10 - £40 or a wood pigeon for its meat from £3.25. 

I can think of no context where such a disparity in value would not make one iota of difference. One man brings his Mercedes E class; the other brings his Matchbox model - both are welcome. One man offers his riverside penthouse; the other brings his tent - both are accepted equally. Sadly this is a lesson that the church needs to learn and relearn; the principle is here in Leviticus 1, but that doesn't stop James having to hammer it home all over again. 

But the glory of this egalitarianism in Leviticus is not that God chooses to ignore differential values. It isn’t that he kindly overlooks the disparity in a commitment to fairness. It goes deeper. The various sacrifices actually are of the same value in terms of their purpose in that context. All are equally valueless. It is impossible for the blood of a bull, or sheep, or dove, to take away sin and make for safe entry into the presence of the holy God. There is no differentiation. 

The sacrifices were demonstrations of faith and hope in the gracious, forgiving and providing God of Israel. They pointed to the seriousness of sin, they pointed to the need of atonement, but, for any Israelite who really thought about it, they could never be sufficient. The authentic provision was still ahead, glimpsed and longed for, and trusted in advance. 

The equality of bull, sheep and pigeon in Leviticus 1 is not down to an egalitarian principle only. Not that there is anything wrong with egalitarianism, but cart mustn’t drive horse. The equality of the sacrifices is down to the one, once-for-all, unique, sufficient, every-kind-of-people’s-sin-atoning sacrifice to which they pointed. Bull, lamb and dove are equal because of Jesus. 

There is one mediator, one sacrifice, one atonement, one propitiation for the whole world. Whoever we are, whatever we have done, whatever we have - we have one place to go, one cross to look to, one Saviour to call to, one equal and glorious hope. You may own farms and factories, hotels and shipping lines; you may have nothing but the grubby clothes you slept in on the pavement last night - either way, you need to know God, and God has given the sacrifice that all of us, equally, need. 

So glad of that. 

Outside the camp

Hebrews 13:13 Let us, then, go to him outside the camp, bearing the disgrace he bore. 

The idea of "the camp" is rooted in the Exodus experience of the OT people of God. Like American pioneers circling the wagons, the area within became home, the safe zone, the playground of children, the meeting place of mums and dads. Outside was the forbidden zone, the "you're not old enough" area, the place where you didn't go. Some sacrifices could be eaten - others were burned "out there". 

And that is where Jesus suffered and died - out there - outside the busy huddle of the city, outside of the familiar comforts of an ancient religion, outside of human society. 

Those who first read Hebrews had wanted in some way to get back inside, to cosy up to the Old Faith after the Promised one had come. The uniqueness and perfection and sufficiency of Jesus were to be traded in for a seat back at the purely Jewish table. 

In writing to them, the author sounds a warning to every generation of the church. Through time there will always be some social norm, some grouping, some movement, some cultural expression which attracts, to which the church wants to cosy up. For us it absolutely is not OT Judaism. That option has not really existed in its fullest expression since the generation after Jesus. 

No, for us, as for other generations, being outside the camp means letting our following of Jesus take us to the lonely place, the dangerous place, the not acceptable place, the despised place, the politically incorrect place, the countercultural place. 

Our culture is experiencing for the first time in many centuries the leadership of a generation which was born to parents who were themselves a generation removed from any personal experience of Christianity. The gap between our society and its own Christian roots has become a chasm. The present leadership in politics, culture, media and sport do not even really know what they are rejecting, but their rejection is now explicit, aggressive and sneering, and they are taking many people with  them. Christian has become a real insult. The greatest temptation for the church is to cosy up to that social lead. We want to agree as much as possible with a society that doesn't agree with Jesus. We may kid ourselves that we are being countercultural in some areas, of course - a Facebook post here, a demo there - but actually we are children of our society. 

Jesus calls us to go outside the camp. To endure his reproach. To be ready to feel uncomfortable again. To put him before our desire to fit in, to feel at home. That isn't easy, especially when the softer option has such prominent exemplars around us. 

In my last post I quoted George Scott Railton and his well-known "I intend carefully to instruct my children" speech. GSR was a bit of a nutter. But he got it. If the cloth of our theology and practice is being cut to suit current trends, we don't get it any more. 

Going outside the camp means being called a nutter. It is awkward and scary and dangerous. 

But it's where Jesus is.