Commentary - Leviticus 10:4-7

Bird's-eye view

In the immediate aftermath of the terrifying judgment on Nadab and Abihu, we are confronted with the stark and unsentimental holiness of God. This is not a God to be trifled with. The fire that consumed Aaron's sons was a divine fire, and the instructions that follow are a divine sorting out of the consequences. The central issue here is that nearness to God is a dangerous business, and it requires a radical reordering of all natural affections and priorities. Aaron, the high priest, and his remaining sons are forbidden to mourn in the conventional way. Their duties to the holy God, who has just demonstrated His jealousy for His own glory, must take absolute precedence over their personal grief. This passage is a bucket of ice water in the face of all sentimental and man-centered approaches to worship. God defines the terms, and those terms include how His ministers are to conduct themselves in the face of His judgments. The anointing oil on them separates them for God's service, and this separation is total.

What we see here is the raw administration of the Old Covenant. The bodies must be removed, but not by the consecrated priests. The grief must be felt, but not displayed by those who stand as mediators. Their job is to remain at their post, undistracted by death itself, because the anointing of Yahweh is upon them. This is a severe mercy, teaching Israel from the very beginning that the service of the tabernacle is a matter of life and death, and that God's holiness is the central reality of the universe, not our personal feelings or family ties. This points us forward to the one High Priest, Jesus, who perfectly honored the Father, even unto death, and who now makes it possible for us to draw near without being consumed.

Outline

Context In Leviticus

This passage comes immediately after the shocking events of Leviticus 10:1-3, where Nadab and Abihu, two of Aaron's sons, offered "strange fire" before the Lord and were instantly consumed by fire from His presence. The consecration of the priesthood in chapter 8 and the glorious inauguration of their ministry in chapter 9 had just concluded. The glory of the Lord had appeared, and fire had consumed the offering on the altar. Everything was set for the orderly worship of God. And then, at the very outset, came this catastrophic failure and swift judgment. The verses that follow are therefore not abstract legislation; they are crisis management, dictated by God Himself through Moses. They establish a crucial precedent: the holiness of God's immediate presence must be guarded and respected above all else, even above the most profound human emotions and family loyalties. This sets the tone for the rest of the book, which is deeply concerned with the distinction between the holy and the common, the clean and the unclean.

Clause-by-Clause Commentary

v. 4 Then Moses called to Mishael and Elzaphan, the sons of Aaron’s uncle Uzziel, and said to them, “Come near, carry your relatives away from the front of the sanctuary to the outside of the camp.”

The first order of business is practical, but shot through with theological significance. The bodies of Nadab and Abihu are lying at the very front of the sanctuary, a place of supreme holiness. They cannot remain there. But who is to remove them? Not Aaron, and not his remaining sons, Eleazar and Ithamar. They are consecrated, set apart. To touch a dead body would defile them (Lev. 21:1-4, 11). So Moses, acting as God's administrator, calls on cousins, Mishael and Elzaphan. They are Levites, but not priests. They are family, but they do not bear the same level of consecration. This is a lesson in distinctions. There are degrees of holiness and responsibility within the covenant community. The task is necessary, but it is a defiling task, and so it is given to those who are not set apart for the highest service. The command is to carry their relatives, their "brothers" in the wider sense, away from the holy place and all the way outside the camp. The camp is where the holy God dwells, and death, the result of sin, must be put outside.

v. 5 So they came near and carried them still in their tunics to the outside of the camp, as Moses had said.

There is no argument, no hesitation. The command of Moses is the command of God, and it is obeyed precisely. This immediate, unquestioning obedience stands in stark contrast to the disobedience of Nadab and Abihu that created this situation. They carried them out "still in their tunics." This detail is significant. These were the priestly garments they had just been consecrated in (Lev. 8:13). The fire of God was so precise that it took their lives but did not consume their clothing. They are carried out in the uniform of their rebellion. Their sin was a priestly sin, and they are removed in their priestly garments, a visible reminder that high privilege carries with it high responsibility. The judgment of God is not chaotic; it is terrifyingly exact. They did just "as Moses had said," which is the only safe way to approach the living God.

v. 6 Then Moses said to Aaron and to his sons Eleazar and Ithamar, “Do not uncover your heads nor tear your clothes, so that you will not die and that He will not become wrathful against all the congregation. But your relatives, the whole house of Israel, shall weep over the burning which Yahweh has brought about.”

This is perhaps the most jarring command in the whole chapter. Aaron has just lost two sons. Eleazar and Ithamar have just lost two brothers. The natural, universal human response is to mourn, and the signs of it in that culture were letting the hair go loose and tearing one's garments. But Moses forbids it, and the stakes could not be higher: "so that you will not die." Their personal grief, however profound, must be entirely subordinated to their public, priestly office. Why? Because as priests, they represent the holiness and righteousness of God to the people. For them to mourn would be to protest the judgment of God. It would be to side with the dead against the living God. Their silence and composure would be a testimony that God was just in what He did. Notice the corporate consequences: God's wrath could extend to "all the congregation." The sin of a priest is never a private matter. Their job is to stand in the breach, not to create a new one. Then, a concession is made. The people, the "whole house of Israel," are permitted to weep. The nation can mourn the loss and tremble at the judgment, "the burning which Yahweh has brought about." The people are to see this judgment and learn from it, and their weeping is part of that corporate recognition that something terrible and just has occurred.

v. 7 You shall not even go out from the doorway of the tent of meeting, lest you die; for the anointing oil of Yahweh is upon you.” So they did according to the word of Moses.

The prohibition is intensified. Not only are they forbidden from the signs of mourning, they are forbidden from even leaving their post. They must remain at the entrance to the tabernacle. To leave would be to abandon their station, to let their personal tragedy eclipse their divine calling. The reason is given, and it is the heart of the matter: "for the anointing oil of Yahweh is upon you." That oil had set them apart, consecrated them, smeared them with a holiness that was not their own. It was a permanent mark of their office. They belonged to God in a unique way, and their lives were no longer their own. Their bodies, their time, their emotions, all were now subject to the demands of the sanctuary. To be anointed is to be owned. And once again, we see the proper response. Faced with this almost inhuman demand, "they did according to the word of Moses." Aaron's silence (v. 3) and now his obedience, in the face of the most excruciating pain a father can know, is a staggering picture of submission to the righteousness of God. He understood. God is God, and He will be treated as holy.

Application

We read a passage like this and our modern, therapeutic sensibilities are shocked. We are conditioned to think that expressing our grief is the most important and healthy thing to do. But Scripture teaches us that the glory and holiness of God is the most important thing, and all our emotions must be brought into submission to that central reality. The lesson for us is not that we should be unfeeling robots, but that our worship must be ordered by God's Word, not by our feelings. Nadab and Abihu likely felt very spiritual when they brought their strange fire. They were probably full of zeal. But it was a zeal not according to knowledge, a worship style they invented, and God will not be served by the inventions of men.

For those in ministry, the lesson is particularly sharp. The anointing oil of God is upon you, which in the New Covenant is the Holy Spirit Himself. Your life is not your own. You are called to a higher standard, and your response to trial and tragedy must be governed by your office. You are to model for the flock what it means to trust God even when His providences are severe and painful. Your first duty is to the holiness of God, not to the expression of your personal pain.

And for all of us, this passage drives us to the gospel. We are all like Nadab and Abihu, full of strange fire, self-willed worship, and sins that deserve immediate judgment. Why are we not consumed? It is because we have a High Priest, Jesus Christ, who never failed, who was perfectly obedient, and who absorbed the fiery wrath of God on our behalf. He is the reason the fire does not touch us. Because of His anointing, and our union with Him, we can now draw near to God. But we must still draw near with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire (Heb. 12:28-29). This story in Leviticus is a permanent warning against casual, flippant, man-centered worship. God is holy, and He must be glorified.