So, I set a goal this year: read the entire Old Testament—not just skim it—but really sit in it. Line by line. Chapter by chapter. I even bought a new ESV Bible, pulled out my highlighters, grabbed my journal, and yes… opened up Google a lot.
This morning I found myself in Leviticus 10. I know… Leviticus. That book people tend to avoid because it’s all sacrifices, skin diseases, and clean vs. unclean animals. But here’s the thing: the more I read it, the more I love it. It’s becoming one of my favorite books, and here’s why—it’s a book of order, written for a people who’d just been set free from generations of slavery.
They didn’t know how to live. They didn’t know which way was up. They had trauma, no structure, and no cultural identity rooted in holiness. And here comes Leviticus—revolutionary for its time—setting rhythms for how to live a life devoted to God in the everyday.
In chapter 10, It was supposed to be a holy day. The Tabernacle had just been dedicated. Fire literally fell from heaven and consumed the offering. The people shouted. They fell on their faces. God’s presence was there — real, tangible, terrifying, and holy. Aaron had just stepped into his priestly role. His sons, Nadab and Abihu, were chosen too. They wore the garments, carried the oil, and bore the responsibility. But in the middle of the sacred moment, something went wrong. Scripture says they offered “unauthorized fire” before the Lord — fire He had not commanded (Leviticus 10:1). Maybe they got caught up in the moment. Maybe they were careless or wanted to worship on their own terms. But God’s presence isn’t casual. His instructions aren’t suggestions. Fire came out from the Lord and consumed them. Just like that — judgment.
Gone in an instant.
Aaron stood still.
Silent.
Heart shattered, but unmoved.
Moses reminded him of what God had already said: “Among those who are near me I will be sanctified” (Leviticus 10:3).
This story might feel harsh, but it’s actually deeply instructional. God is holy. Being close to Him comes with responsibility. Nadab and Abihu didn’t die because they were distant — they died because they were close but disobedient. Proximity without reverence is dangerous. And yet, in the middle of grief, Aaron stayed obedient. He didn’t lash out. He didn’t justify. He just… held his peace. Sometimes grief is worship too.
Here’s what I’m learning: the presence of God is not just powerful, it’s precise. He’s not interested in our shortcuts — He’s after our surrender.
And thank God for Jesus — our Great High Priest — who offered no strange fire, but a perfect sacrifice. Because of Him, we can approach God with confidence and awe (Hebrews 7:25). Let this story remind us: Worship is holy. Leadership is weighty. And obedience still matters.
Onward,
Chari