Reading the Bible. Our task, set by God, to interpret its literary value. As we discussed in class, sometimes this responsibility seems too much. Indeed, in Leviticus, when Aaron’s sons offer up unholy smoke to the Lord, he smites them. Bam. “And fire came out from the presence of the Lord and consumed them….This is what the Lord meant when he said….” Not only must we worry about what the Lord said, we must worry about what the Lord means. And about what that means to us. Let us dive into the world of authors and see which sings loudest.
“All fat is the Lord’s.”
Sacrifice. This topic also popped up this week in my Indian Religions class. In particular, animal sacrifice came up a lot, given the controversy it creates, and the inability for many modern thinkers to comprehend a need to literally kill a sentient being on the altar before the Lord. Consequently, this practice seems to have gone out of style, at some point or another. My question is at what point in history did animal sacrifices become a fashion faux-paus. Does it have something to do with Northrop’s evolution of language? Some shift in perception as to what was socially acceptable, and more than that, religiously necessary? Was is a primitive PETA that threw red dye onto the robes of respected priests through-out the land?
A second question is raised. The bible very specifically describes each ritual of sacrifice, complete with purpose of sacrifice, dashing of blood and burning of body. Is this text describing a new correct process or an existing ritual already in practice? Interesting to chew on, if one doesn’t believe that this was the word of God. Seeing as the rest of the book is primarily a history of the people, would it not make sense that the laws of sacrifice are also an historical account? If one interprets the story like this, the author turns into a descriptive writer concerned with order rather than a metaphorical or allegorical writer concerned with function.
“When you realize your guilt.”
A phrase repeated often, referring to the process with which one might attain pardon from the Lord for erring. Simple, yet it incurs something greater than simply being made aware that you did a no-no. The words are deeper, they say: “Only when you realize, in the depth of your being, that you have committed an act which sits unwell in your heart, can you then beg for atonement.” This is no church buy-out, no petty act. This is a realization within the self that an action you have committed just feels wrong. In a sense, it is this realization that is the forgiveness, and the ritual that follows it merely recognition.
Leviticus, though an intriguing story, reminds me of the emphasis some authors place on the description rather than the story. Simultaneously as I read “Then he brought forward the ram of burnt offering. Aaron and his sons laid their hands on the head of the ram and it was slaughtered (Lev. 8.18),” I read selected texts from my Indian Religion class. The Vedic scriptures, a prelude to Hinduism, Buddhism and Jainism, were written over many a century, with varied writers. Sound familiar? Except these texts were written to be sung: “The unborn one, free of crooked thoughts, has a fort with eleven gates; One who attends to it will not grieve, but, freed from it, he will be set free (Katha Upanisad).” The language is most certainly metaphoric, concrete, divine. Caught up in the beauty of the words, it is easy to forgo their meaning—which is sometimes the point. We see this beauty of verse earlier in J’s writing and later, in the Psalms.
Reciting such a phrase aloud, I am swept away in its beauty. I cannot concentrate on the meaning of individual words as I am drowning in the power of the verse. At first, I do not know from where this power gains its strength. The words, in their present state of divine configuration mean little to me. Searching for the source, I lose the beauty. Only once I submit to the rhythmic incantation once more are my eyes opened to a world I can understand intuitively, concretely, divinely
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