I don't think I've ever been aware of this day, or if I have, it has pretty much passed me by.  So the fact that it has been marked for a century and is still judged relevant is a bit of a sad indictment on the western societies that are doing so.

Social media is awash with mentions of inspirational women, of pioneers, of women who were great and good, and also of mothers, wives, sisters and friends, teachers (in schools and Sunday schools) missionaries and so forth.  Activist groups are asking for signatures on this or that petition, charities for money to suport women's aid programmes.

Last week I had the privilege of conducting a funeral service for a very elderly woman who had spent ten years serving as a misisonary in what it is now Bangladesh.  As I read the material provided from the archives of the Missionary Society she served, I found myself wondering what became of the women and girls whose lives she touched.  Some she taught to read and write, with others she shared her faith with in rallies and other acts of worship.  I am sure there were, and maybe still are, people who look back and recall with affection this woman who affirmed their worth and encouraged their flourishing.

I could list the names of the women (and men) who have inspired and encouraged me in my own life-journey thus far.  Some, for sure, are the great and the good, the women whose stories I heard or read and was inspired to emulate.  But more, most, the ordinary everyday women whose names will never be in the history books but who, as well as holding up half the sky, are central, and essential, to the ongoing story of humankind.

It would be lovely to think that, in a century from now, someone might stumble across a mention of International Women's Day and think 'how quaint' before discovering the reality that in 2016 there is still one heck of a way to go, especially in the two-thirds world (if that's not too archaic a term) where most women won't even know that today has any significance and will be grateful just to get to the end of it...

Today's chunk of text follows on from the mumbling and grumbling about who was 'holy' and involves a strange ritual whereby the head of each tribe marks a staff with his name, and the twelve are left overnight in the tent of meeting.  Unsurprisingly, it is Aaron's staff that buds, blossoms and bears almonds - an undeniable sign of favour, being utterly improbable and evidently supernatural.  If you are curious to read more about the staff, then good old wikipedia is as good a place as any, here.  There is also mention of this being a "covenant of salt" - a phrase I don't think I'd ever spotted before, and one that I had no idea what it meant.  A quick interweb search suggests no-one else really knows either, though there are many attempts both Jewish and Christian to find a useful meaing (type it into a search engine and see where it takes you!)...

Two things struck me that I wanted to ponder a little today.

A Gift

God is recorded as saying "I give you priesthood as a gift" - words spoken to Aaron regarding himself and his sons.  But what does that mean?

Is this gift given to Aaron and the Levites?  Or is it a gift given to the whole people of Israel?

Is it a gift, as in a present, or is it a charism, a supernatural anointing or a natural gifting?

Or is it all of these?

Priesthood has many meanings and the word carries a lot of baggage, but what might it mean that this is a love-gift from God, something intended to bless and encourage, to enrich rather than to control?

Can the "Priesthood of all Believers", of which we speak so freely, be described as such a 'gift' - something special that God gives for our benefit?

Can it be, too, that the "gift of priesthood" is seen in the skills, talents, personalities and so on that we each possess and express, at least in some small measure? 

If you are my priest, and I am yours, and we are each others, what does that look like?  How does it find expression?

Perhaps it's enough for now to recongise that this is something very special, to be valued and exercised accordingly.

La creme de la creme

The Levites are excluded from undertaking any form of employment that would make them self-sufficient - no crop growing, no animal husbandry, no crafts-work... (whether their women were allowed to spin or weave is not clear, but possibly not).  Instead, they are granted the material benefit of the tithes and offerings brought by the people - a tenth of all the produce and animals (and money?) is theirs.  And this is to be the very best that the people can offer - offer to God the very best you have, knowing that the practical benefit is enjoyed by those entrusted with the spiritual life of the nation.

The Levites are not exempted from the process though.  They are to select the 'best of the best' and offer that to God, and only then may they enjoy what remains.

When I was a student training for ministry, I had a friend who chose to give me the tithe from her overtime pay, knowing that I was 'living by faith' and had no regular income.  Every now and then cheques would arrive, sometimes for £10, occasionally as much as £40, she took her promise very seriously indeed.  And I would then tithe the tithe - a pound in a charity box, a few pounds in a special collection, a gift to someone else or whatever seemed appropriate.  I don't think I ever saw it as "the best of the best" but it felt like the right thing to do.

I don't always give away a precise tithe either of my formal income or any financial gifts, but I do make sure I recognise the blessing and give away a realistic proportion.

But what if we are now all priests?  What if everyone should benefit from the "best of the best"?  Does that mean we, as did some of the earliest churches, have a common purse, "holding everything in common"?  Does it mean, as some intentional communities do today, that we hold each other accountable for our spending, not buying a car or a holiday or consumer goods without first discussing it in community?  Would I want to have to record how much I spend on skinny lattes or cat treats, and have that weighed against what I give to church, to charities and good causes?  And would I have the audacity to ask anyone else to do the same?

Some seriously challenging stuff here for me to go away and ponder!

This chunk of text covers a variety of material, and some of it is decidedly troubling to read.  Trying to find general principles and/or things that are maybe hopeful is quite challenging.

Resident Aliens

A few years back, it became quite trendy for Christians to describe themselves as 'resident aliens', combining a sense that we are to be "in the world but not of it" and at the same time "salt and light".  The world - for which read everything we find distasteful about contemporary secular society - is not our true home but whilst we live here we are to transform it.  Or something like that anyway.

In the rules for religious offerings, provision is to be made by Moses for any 'resident alien' who so wishes to perfrom ritual sacrifices "you and the alien shall be alike before the LORD".  It is this that strikes me most, I think, especially in the light of the politcal machinations in Europe over benefits for economic migrants, and of course the ongoing refugee crisis.  What happens if we take as given the idea that, before the LORD everyone is alike?  That everyone has equal worth, equal rights...

It also made me wonder who might be the 'resident aliens' in our churches, and how their experience compares with the ideal expressed here.

Unintentioned Sin

The atonement for unintentional sin comes in two catetgories - corproate and personal - each with means of atonement.  If collectively and  unintenionally the people foul up, responsibility is shared and everyone is involved in the process of atonement.  If it is an individual, then they alone must seek atonement.

A few years back, there was a rash of Christian groups making public apologies for their part in the transatlantic slave trade, outwardly at least a form of corporate confession.  Some efforts at reparation, or at least reconciliation have taken place but, to be honest, most people in most churches are largely oblivious.  And there those who question whether such apologies have any real worth or even legitimacy.

Perhaps what is significant here is the corproate nature of responsibility, irrespective who did wrong or failed to do right... everyone has their part to play and whilst ignorance fits with lack of intention, it does not remove responsibility.  Is it, and maybe it is, a step to far to see a hint of a 'no blame' culture, where rather than criticising those who foul up, everyone is de facto implicated and - hopefully - everyone will work together to prevent recurrence?

Tie a knot in your neck...

When I was growing up, the saying 'tie a knot in your handkerchief' as a reminder that something had to be remembered morphed into the less lovely 'tie a knot in your neck'.  I think this emerged from a story in which an elephant tied a knot in his trunk for the same purpose - but my memory is fuzzy.

The tassles with their blue cord, the fringes of remembrance stitched to the corners of the garments were intended to serve this purpose.  Later philacteries would perform a similar function.  And inevitably, over time, the symbolism risked being lost as custom and practice ceased to be underpinned by real understanding.

For most of my adult life I've worn a cross, a couple of different ones down the years, as a kind of symbol to myself, a reminder, at least in theory, of my faith.  For several years I wore a ring that I bought to mark my ordination, a visible reminder of the promises I made on that day.  I had to stop wearing the ring when lymphoedema caused my finger to swell too much, and recently when the chain on my cross broke I opted not to replace it.  I don't "need" these symbols as reminders, and wearing them can become mere 'habit'.  And yet... And yet, I think there is worth in such symbols, and perhaps in personal rituals, that serve as reminders of important values or moments.

Yikes, and Double Yikes!

Stoning to death for stick gathering on the sabbath seems incredibly harsh - and this little insertion serves only to instill fear.

The account of dissent in the ranks, the challenge to Moses from those who consider everyone to be holy, the sink hole that swallows up whole families and the plague that rages through the camp, is troubling in extremis.  Maybe there are legitimate questions to explore about the ordering of the faith community, and about the attitudes (perceived or actual) of, or towards, those in leadership.  Maybe dissension is a topic that sometimes needs to be recognised and addressed.  But the consequences attributed to divine mandate are incomprehensible.  Where is love or forgiveness or atonement here?

The one glimmer of grace in this story comes in the action of Aaron who, at Moses' command goes into the midst of the carnage and acts as a mediator, making atonment for the people and so stopping the relentless progress of the plague.  It takes courage, as well as conviction, to enter a situation of despair and attempt to bring hope.  I have huge admiration for those who, only last week, went to Calais and planted a fig and a vine by the fence that marks the edge of the container camp in Calais, defiantly symbolising hope where, humanly speaking, there is little or none.  I admire those who act as mediators in all manner of conflict situations, from polite middle class stand-offs to violent and war-torn regions.

It is way too easy, as I have sometimes heard done, to dismiss as iredeemable those in this story who perished; way too easy to make the story fit our own version of what God is like.  Harder, but ultimately more honest, to find it troubling.

Not an easy couple of chapters - so bonus points to anyone who is still reading!