Scripture: Leviticus 10:1-11
I’d like to begin this season of Lent on an appropriately somber note… by talking about… Raiders of the Lost Ark. Spoiler alert… Of course, the movie is, like, 45 years old, so shame on you if you haven’t seen it! But you know how it ends. The Nazis recover the ark of the covenant, which has been lost for millennia. And at the end of the movie, they open up the ark, and what happens? An angel of the Lord comes out and melts their faces off… zaps them all dead! It couldn’t happen to a nicer group of Nazis! It’s awesome.
But in its own way, the movie portrays what happens when sinners come into contact with God’s holiness. I’m not saying Raiders of the Lost Ark is a biblically accurate portrayal… but something like that appears to be happening in tonight’s scripture from Leviticus 10, when Aaron’s two sons get zapped by God.
When sinful human beings—apart from God’s grace—come into contact with a holy God, we risk playing with fire. So, first, Point Number One, I want to talk about the problem of God’s holiness. Number Two: What God has done to solve this problem. And Number Three: the “bad news” of the gospel. With quotation marks around “bad news”…
But first… the problem of God’s holiness…
Nadab and Abihu were the two oldest sons of Aaron. They were ordained as priests—along with their father—just two chapters earlier. In the next chapter they successfully offered their first sacrifice, and the people saw God’s glory and were filled with praise and fear.
And then, in today’s scripture, they are struck down by the fire of God’s wrath.
Why?
We can’t be sure of every detail. But twelve times in chapters 8 and 9 we’re told they did exactly as the Lord commanded. In today’s text, however, they do not. Verse 1 says they offered “unauthorized fire”—something the Lord had not commanded. They may have been drunk. They may have crossed into the Holy of Holies where they were forbidden to go. We aren’t told precisely.
But whatever they did, they disobeyed God. They were playing with holy fire. And God killed them.
As shocking as this is, it’s not isolated.
In 2 Samuel 6, David tries to bring the Ark of the Covenant into Jerusalem. But instead of carrying it as God commanded—using poles through the rings of the Ark, carried by properly authorized priests—they instead put it on a cart pulled by oxen.
And listen to what happens next:
But when they arrived at the threshing floor of Nacon, the oxen stumbled, and Uzzah reached out his hand and steadied the Ark of God. Then the Lord’s anger was aroused against Uzzah, and God struck him dead because of this. So Uzzah died right there beside the Ark of God.
We read this story and naturally think, “Poor Uzzah!” The oxen stumbled and the Ark of the Covenant—the most sacredobject in all of Israel, the very place where heaven and earth met, the place above which the Spirit of God resided in a special way—the Ark of the Covenant was about to tip or slide or fall off of this cart and fall into the mud, and all Uzzah did was reach out his hand to prevent it from falling off the cart—a completely understandable action. And we’re told that God’s wrath is kindled and God strikes him down.
What kind of God are we dealing with here?
And the answer is, we are dealing with a perfectly holy God.
See, Uzzah mistakenly believed that the mud onto which the Ark was about to fall was somehow dirtier than the hands of the sinful man who reached out to steady it. And that’s not true! Because mud isn’t sinful: mud is exactly what God created it to be. We humans are are ones are aren’t what God created us to be… and that’s the problem.
Sin is rebellion. Sin is us saying, “No, God. I know better.” Sin is treason against the King who gives us breath at this very moment.
So how comfortable should rebels like us feel approaching a perfectly holy King?
Under our U.S. Constitution, only a few crimes merit death. One of them is treason.
Sin is treason against God. Romans 6:23 tells us, “the wages of sin is death.”
And lest we imagine the Old Testament God is somehow different from the God revealed in Christ, read Acts 5. Ananias and Sapphira lie to God—and are struck down.
That’s harsh! And it might tempt us to ask: Is God being fair?
Is God being fair in striking down Nadab and Abihu? It’s a question worth considering.
I like the way the late pastor and theology professor R.C. Sproul talks about “fairness” in a sermon on this text. He talks about teaching an Introduction to the Old Testament class to 250 students at a Christian college one time.
On the first day he handed out the syllabus: three short papers—five pages each. Due September 30, October 30, and November 30. “Unless you’re in the hospital or there’s a death in your immediate family, they’re due on those dates.”
He warned them plainly: “If you don’t turn them in on time, you’ll get an F. Is that understood?”
“Oh yes,” they said.
September 30 came. Two hundred twenty-five students turned in papers. Twenty-five did not. They were terrified. Excuses poured out. So Sproul said, “All right. I’ll give you a break this time. But don’t do it again.”
October 30 came. Two hundred students turned in papers. Fifty did not. More excuses—midterms, homecoming, other assignments. “Please give us one more chance.”
He agreed—but warned them: “This is the last time.”
Sproul said that for the first and only time in his teaching career, his students spontaneously burst into song:
“We love you, Dr. Sproul, oh yes we do…”
He said, “I was Mr. Popularity on that campus. My popularity reached its zenith that day.”
It lasted until November 30.
On the final deadline, only 150 students turned in papers. One hundred did not.
Sproul called on one student: “Where’s your paper?”
“Don’t worry, Prof. I’ll have it in a couple of days.”
Sproul slowly opened his black grade book.
“So you’re saying don’t have your paper today?”
“Yes, sir.”
“F.”
He went down the roll. “Mr. So-and-so?”
“I don’t have it.”
“F.”
Before long, one student protested: “That’s not fair!”
Sproul looked at his grade book. “Mr. Johnson, weren’t you late with your paper last month?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’re late today?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So when you say this isn’t fair, you’re asking for justice?”
The student gulped. “Yes, sir.”
“All right,” Sproul said. “I’ll change your previous late paper to an F as well—in order to be fair.”
Then he looked at the class and asked, “Now… who else wants justice?”
No hands went up.
Sproul concluded, “Be careful about asking for justice. You just might get it.”
The problem wasn’t that Sproul was unjust. The problem was that the students had grown accustomed to grace. They presumed upon it. They assumed mercy would always override justice.
Are we doing the same with God?
Are we presuming upon his grace? Have we lost any real fear of the Lord?
Scripture—and Jesus himself—warn that we are living in a season of mercy. But mercy has an expiration date. That date is either our death or the return of Christ. Either could come at any moment.
After that, there is no opportunity to make ourselves right.
At that point it will be too late. And we will face God’s wrath. God’s Word doesn’t sugarcoat it, so I’m not either. Peter says,
The Lord isn’t really being slow about his promise, as some people think. No, he is being patient for your sake. He does not want anyone to be destroyed, but wants everyone to repent. But the day of the Lord will come as unexpectedly as a thief. Then the heavens will pass away with a terrible noise, and the very elements themselves will disappear in fire, and the earth and everything on it will be found to deserve judgment.[1]
Or as John, prophesying about this future event, writes in Revelation 20:15:
And anyone whose name was not found recorded in the Book of Life was thrown into the lake of fire.
So all preachers like me can do in the meantime is to warn everyone we can: Just as God’s righteous and holy wrath was poured out on sinners like Nadab and Abihu—and it cost them their lives—there will come a day when God’s righteous and holy wrath will be poured out on sinners everywhere—except in this case they will lose not only their lives, but their very souls… And they will be eternally separated from God… in hell…
Unless…
And this brings us to Point Number Two: The solution…
Here’s the good news: God’s nature is defined not by holiness alone but also by love. And God has done something for us, out of love, in and through his Son Jesus to solve our problem with sin and bring us into a right relationship with God. “For us and for our salvation,” God took on flesh; he lived the life of perfect obedience to our Father that we ourselves were unable to live; he died the God-forsaken death that we deserved to die.
Peter writes, “For Christ also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, that he might bring us to God…”[2]1 Peter 3:18. “For our sake,” Paul writes, “God made [Christ] to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” 2 Corinthians 5:21. Or Paul again in Galatians 3:13, “Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us. For it is written, ‘Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree.’ ”
This is substitutionary atonement. In other words, this is what Christ did for us on the cross. And I love the way one scholar, Allan Moseley, illustrates it in his commentary on Leviticus. He writes:
I once read a story about a nineteenth-century wagon train winding its way west across America. The pioneers in the wagon train were going to find a place to homestead. They traveled in covered wagons drawn by oxen, so progress was slow. One day they were horrified to see a long line of smoke in the west, stretching for miles across the prairie. In a few minutes it was clear that the prairie fire was heading toward them rapidly. They had crossed a river the day before, but they couldn’t make it back that far before the flames arrived. Then somebody had an idea. He told the people to set fire to the grass behind them.
They did so, and when a large area was burned over, the whole group moved back into the burned area and waited there. As the flames roared to them from the west and grew close, the little children were afraid and asked, “Are you sure we won’t be burned?” The adults assured them, “The flames can’t reach us here, because we’re standing where the fire has already burned!”
The fire of God’s righteous wrath does not have to consume us. God has already poured out His wrath on Jesus on the cross. Jesus is God the Son who took our sin on Himself and accepted the penalty for our sin.
When we put our faith in Jesus, God takes our sin and its penalty away, and gives us new and eternal life. All we have to do is take our stand where the fire has already burned, where God’s wrath has already been expressed, on Jesus…[3]
The fires of God’s judgment burned themselves out on Jesus, and all who are in Him are safe; they’re standing where the fire has been.
And that’s Point Number Two, the solution…
Point Number Three: The “bad news” of the gospel…
I noticed something recently in Luke’s gospel that I had never seen before. It’s about John the Baptist.
We know John, right? He’s not exactly trying to win friends and influence people. He ends up literally losing his head because he insists on publicly confronting King Herod about his illicit sexual relationship. Most of us would say, “John… maybe keep that to yourself. Why risk alienating a powerful ruler who actually kind of likes you?”
But that’s John for you…
He’s got this popular ministry. Crowds are coming out to the Jordan. And listen to what he tells them in Luke 3:
“You brood of snakes! Who warned you to flee the coming wrath? … Even now the ax of God’s judgment is poised, ready to sever the roots of the trees… every tree that does not produce good fruit will be chopped down and thrown into the fire.”[4]
And even when he talks about the Messiah, he says:
“He will gather the wheat into his barn, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”[5]
That’s John’s message.
And then Luke summarizes it like this:
“John used many such warnings as he announced the Good News to the people.”
The Good News.
Does that sound like good news?
Maybe not—but it’s a necessary part of the gospel: apart from God’s grace in Christ, we are helpless sinners who deserve judgment. And I mean helpless. We can do nothing to earn, deserve, or make ourselves worthy of eternal life.
So suppose you decide to fast during Lent. Suppose you skip lunch on Wednesdays, for instance, to pray. Suppose you give up social media, or chocolate, or alcohol… or broccoli.
Just kidding—giving up broccoli doesn’t count!
Whatever you do, or abstain from doing, during Lent, let me ask you: will it earn you any credit with God?
No… But if you’re in Christ, you don’t need credit. In the eyes of your Father, you already have a perfect credit score—850. You cannot add to it.
Will “giving up something” during Lent make God love you more? Show you more favor? Be more on your side?
No… But if you’re in Christ, the Father loves you as much as he loves his only begotten Son Jesus. He could not be more for you than he already is.
But I’m still encouraging you to go for it! Fast… Give up something…or take on some “Lenten Discipline.” By all means!
Because here’s the strange gift of Lent: one of the best things that can happen to you during this season is that you fail. You try to fast… and you can’t. You try to give something up… and you cave. You try to devote a full hour to prayer each day… but did you see that crazy outfit Zendaya was wearing at the Grammys?
You discover again that the “spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.”
Chances are, that will happen to you at some point as you try to observe this Lenten season.
And when it does, please remember:
“Oh yeah… I am a helpless sinner in need of God’s grace every second.”
To be reminded that we’re helpless sinners may sound like bad news. But Jesus says that that reminder is the doorway to love.
In Luke 7, for instance, Jesus is eating at the home of Simon the Pharisee when a former prostitute enters and begins washing Jesus’ feet with her tears and perfume. Simon is disgusted. If Jesus were really holy, he thinks, he wouldn’t let a woman like that touch him.
But Jesus knows exactly what kind of woman she is.
The problem is Simon doesn’t know what kind of man he is. He doesn’t see his own need for a Savior. He doesn’t know how helpless he is. And because of that, he doesn’t love adequately.
Jesus says: “Her sins—and they are many—are forgiven… therefore she loved much. But he who is forgiven little loves little.”[6]
The one who knows they are forgiven much loves much.
And Lent exists to help us remember that we are forgiven much.
Not so we wallow in guilt. Not so we punish ourselves. Not so we call into question our salvation. But so our hearts are broken open again by grace—because hearts broken open by grace love God more, love people more, forgive more, witness more, give more, serve more.
The ashes we receive tonight tell the truth about us.
They say: you are dust. You are mortal. You are a sinner who cannot save yourself.
That is the bad news.
Yet it is also the doorway to the best news in the world: that Christ has done for you what you could never do for yourself.
So come and receive the ashes—not as a sign of despair, but as a sign of honesty… and hope… and love.
Because the one who knows they are forgiven much will love much.
[1] 2 Peter 3:9-10 NLT
[2] 1 Peter 3:18
[3] Allan Moseley, Christ-Centered Exposition: Leviticus (Nashville: B&H, 2015), 113.
[4] Luke 3:7-9 NLT
[5] Luke 3:17 NLT
[6] Luke 7:47