“Moses and Aaron then came out of the Tent of Meeting. And they went out and they blessed the people. Then the glory of the Holy One was revealed to everyone. Fire came before the Holy One and consumed the offering and the fat on the altar. And when the people saw this, they cried out and fell upon their faces” (Leviticus 9.23-24).
Scripture, like all good literature, doesn’t give up its secrets easily. Like a great novel, it invites multiple readings, challenges you to walk slowly and look around at what you encounter along the way. And, sometimes, peer into the hollows of trees or the depths of caves to find what can be so easy to miss.
Chapters eight and nine of Leviticus detail the intense ordination ceremony for Aaron and his sons. They are bathed and dressed and anointed. Then they are told to remain within the boundaries of the Tent of Meeting for a week. All of this is necessary to make them ready to perform the solemn and sacred acts required at the altar of the Holy One.
Even this is not enough; because, both Moses and Aaron are given rituals and words to perform and speak to prepare the people and make way for the Presence that will descend, as it did in the days before the Golden Calf, and dwell with them. There is bloodshed and burning, smoke billowing up from the altar so finely and carefully crafted. Then, Moses and Aaron emerge to bless the people.
Only after this does the Presence come amongst the people.
It’s easy to miss. The way it flows into the rituals and sacrifices, you can nearly take it for a result, the sum of an equation—preparation plus sacrifice plus blessing equals Presence. It’s like a magician’s trick, and while your eyes were looking elsewhere this happens, as though the magic words brought it into being. But you’d be wrong to think so.
Converse to reading, our spiritual lives can lose their subtlety after multiple repetitions. For me, at least, day in and day out living does the exact opposite of revisiting a book. Instead of new discoveries and deeper understanding, I find only that the words repeat. Instead of digging down, I find myself skimming the surface. And, like the casual reader of Leviticus, I can begin to believe that it is what I say and do that makes God present in my world.
It’s a simple mistake, isn’t it? It’s nothing more than a lack of attention on my part. And, in the end, it probably isn’t the biggest of sins. No one is hurt or harmed, are they? I’ve not denied nor claimed to be God. I’ve just been foolish in thinking that the words I say and the things I do somehow open the door to the Presence of the Divine in this world.
Of course, that Leviticus makes this distinction, that the author was careful to note that what happened was not cause and effect, may mean that there is something important, something dangerous in this way of thinking. Maybe it’s not as simple as it seems. It could be that failing to see that God’s Presence is independent of my actions may lead to some greater error.
Believing, perhaps, that the Divine is dependent upon me.
Beloved Wild, you are not bound to incantations or rituals or any of the breath-filled words we speak. Forgive me when I think my prayers and desires are what bring you to act so that I might live in expectation of the unexpected.