“Then Moses said to Aaron, ‘This is what the Holy One spoke when They said, “The sacred ones near me before all the people, through them I will be honored.”‘ And Aaron was speechless” (Leviticus 10.3).
The chapter from which the verse above comes records the tragic and surprising death of Nadav and Avihu, two of Aaron’s sons. Like many stories in Scripture, this one is short on detail. These two sons who appear to be acting in a priestly role, take what is called “strange fire” before the Holy One. Fire, we’re told, there was no charge from God to bring. Both of them die when they come in contact with the Divine Fire.
These deaths seem arbitrary, uncalled for, even unfair. There is no indication what these two sons of Aaron violated. There are, at this point, no rules or regulations regarding what kinds of fire is and isn’t “strange.” It isn’t entirely clear that the fire that kills them is punishment or a case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time.
In the face of this, Aaron says nothing. The reasons for this are as much debated as the death of his sons. To some, his silence is solemn and obedient assent to what has happened. Others read it as the silent grief of a father whose beloved children have been taken by his God.
Personally, I lean toward the latter. In the face of such tragedy, what father could speak? The suddenness and the shock have left Aaron, the brother of Moses, wordless, silent. But I think his lack of speech contains not just grief but fear. Remember, he and his sons have just gone through a week-long period of preparation to perform the most sacred of acts on behalf of the community. It is their task to bring forward the offerings, to tend the fires, and to make intercessions on behalf of the people before the God whose very presence struck down his children.
In that moment, amidst the heartbreak, Aaron was afraid. He felt the real and true fear of the Divine. He realized, for the first time, how dangerous it was to stand in the space before God. He was terrified beyond words.
And why shouldn’t he be? It’s on par with the moments someone demonstrates the raw power and real danger of a piece of machinery or the voltage of electricity. It breaks through any delusions and leaves us shaking in our boots at how vulnerable we are next to something we barely understand.
Which, even after all Aaron had seen, is what I think he realized in this moment: the wildness of the Holy One. This God to whom he had dedicated his life was as unpredictable and dangerous as lightning. Or as fire.
It’s a frightening thought. Sure, there’s something wonderful and exciting about the God Jesus revealed to us, the One who seemed to delight in surprising us, either by showing up in unexpected places or outwitting death. But it also means that this same Presence can be more than we can handle. It can overwhelm us, overpower us when we get close. Endanger the lives we’ve been living.
It’s enough to leave you speechless.
Divine Fire, help me be ready to be surprised by you.