It is cruel to lock women behind bars with violent rapists. It is cruel to force teenage girls to change in front of young men in their locker rooms. It is cruel to force traumatized rape victims to sleep in dorms with men. And it is cruel to demand that women accept their own demotion and dehumanization, reduced to crude terminology to avoid offending the cross-dressers in charge. You can put a man in a dress, and he is still a man. And you can dress up cruelty in a cloak of compassion—but it is still cruelty, and we should say so. 

A November 3 post on X (formerly Twitter) from J.K. Rowling caught my eye recently. It was her comment on the decision of an Australian court to mandate that the ‘preferred pronouns’ of people identifying as transgender be used as a “matter of respect” to ensure “public confidence in the proper administration of justice.” As Rowling noted: “Asking a woman to refer to her male rapist or violent assaulter as ‘she’ in court is a form of state-sanctioned abuse. Female victims of male violence are further traumatised by being forced to speak a lie.” Indeed, forcing a woman to refer to the man who abused and raped her as ‘she’ seems a particularly grotesque form of gaslighting.
Rowling’s comment gets to the heart of something that is not commented on often enough: the manifest cruelty of the transgender movement. I’m not referring here to the mobs of trans-identified men that so often threaten violence towards women who dare to speak out—or, as in the case of Posie Parker’s visit to New Zealand earlier this year, actually perpetrate it. Nor am I speaking of the torrent of vile threats of rape that women like Rowling face from these vicious men in dresses. I mean the cruelty of the practices and policies imposed by those in power on women and girls in the name of the transgender movement, which have swept virtually every Western country in under a decade.
“Sad, Powerless, and Confused”
Many manifestations of this cultural shift have a sinister, totalitarian air about them. Scenes of men like Dylan Mulvaney winning female awards—Virgin Atlantic’s “Woman of the Year” is the latest—while being applauded wildly by men and women in the audience remind me of the crowds forced to give minutes-long standing ovations to dictators for fear of being recognized as dissidents. The cultural overlords are watching, and you’d better think this is fair and good and a bold step forward for ‘transwomen’ if you know what’s good for you. Mulvaney isn’t a one-off example, either—as of March, nine men have won ‘Women of the Year’ awards.
Then there are the high school males winning prizes like Homecoming ‘Queen,’ once reserved for those Walker Percy memorably described as “football girls in the fall with faces like flowers.” Now we are treated to photographs of pretty girls clustered around a jut-jawed gangly young man in long hair and a dress—it seems sadistic, somehow. The girls must smile; must affirm that this young man—who is so obviously a man—is a pretty girl, prettier than they are, a flower among flowers. The press and the LGBT movement and the idiots who chose him, of course, are wild with celebration—and there is more than a little warning in their cheers. Say he’s beautiful. Say it like you mean it. If you don’t, we’ll make you a national news story.
Of course, that only happens after the girls have been forced to share changing rooms and bathrooms with these young men. Girls have risked urinary tract infections rather than use the bathroom with boys. Girls have pled with adults to keep the boys out of their changing rooms, but even their tears do not shake the idealogues in charge.
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The worshiper offers purification and reparations offerings in order to repair breaches in the relationship caused by sinful and impure actions. Then the worshiper offers himself in total surrender to Yahweh, drawing near to him as a pleasing aroma in the ascension offering. And he may offer a tribute to Yahweh for all of his kindness to him. But even these aren’t the end. All of these offerings — purification, reparation, total surrender, and tribute — are meant to lead to communion. There are two different terms for the tabernacle in Leviticus: “tabernacle” (or “dwelling”) and “tent of meeting.” Both terms are important. God doesn’t merely want to dwell with his people; he wants to meet with his people. And he doesn’t just want to meet with his people; he wants to dine with his people.

Comedian Brian Regan tells a funny story about his struggles in school as a kid. He talks about the public humiliation of the spelling bee and his difficulty with the i-before-e rule. A particularly funny portion describes the teacher’s questions to him and Erwin (the smart kid in class) about how to make a plural.
Teacher: “Brian, how do you make a word plural?”Brian: “You put an s at the end of it.”Teacher: “Erwin, what’s the plural for ox?”Erwin: “Oxen. The farmer used his oxen.”Teacher: “Brian, what’s the plural for box?”Brian: “Boxen. I bought two boxen of doughnuts.”Teacher: “No, Brian. Erwin, what’s the plural for goose?”Erwin: “Geese. I saw a flock of geese.”Teacher: “Brian, what’s the plural for moose?”Brian: “Moosen. I saw a flock of moosen. . . . There were many of them . . . many, much moosen . . . out in the woods, in the wood-es, in the wood-es-en . . .”
Superficially, the joke is about Brian’s ignorance. But it actually demonstrates the complexity and difficulty of the English language (to which anyone who has learned English as a second language can attest). As native English speakers, we don’t always think about this difficulty and complexity because we’re so familiar with it. We inhabit the language, we use the language, and therefore, it feels (mostly) comprehensible to us.
For many of us, the book of Leviticus mystifies us. We find the sacrifices, rules, and regulations to be complex and confusing. To us, Leviticus is like a foreign language. It mystifies because we’re unfamiliar with it. Like Brian Regan and making plural words, the intricacies elude and confuse us.1
Levitical Language
Thinking of Leviticus as a language can help demystify it. Consider what goes into a language. First, we have an alphabet. We arrange the letters of the alphabet to form words. There are different kinds of words — nouns, verbs, adjectives, prepositions, adverbs. We arrange the words into sentences with meaning and purpose. We modify words by adding letters at the beginning or end in order to make plurals or speak about the past or future or communicate ongoing versus completed action.
What’s more, in English, in order to make sense, we must arrange the words in a certain order. “Bill throws the ball” means something very different from “The ball throws Bill.” Arranging the words rightly is necessary in order to communicate clearly.
The sacrificial system is similar. Instead of nouns, verbs, and adjectives, we have people, places, sins, animals, animal body parts, and actions, and they are arranged and combined in various ways in order to say something, in order to communicate.
The sacrificial system resembles language learning in another way. In truth, we don’t actually learn our native language by first learning the alphabet, then learning words, and then arranging words into sentences. In other words, we don’t move from the smallest parts up to the larger parts.
Instead, as children, we first learn nouns — like “Mommy” and “Daddy” and “milk” — and sentences — simple ones like “Yes” and “No” and “Help, please.” Then as we mature, we learn more nouns and more complex sentences. At a certain age, we’re taught to read, and we learn to break words down into letters and then to break sentences down into subjects, verbs, and direct objects so we can grasp the rules of spelling and grammar.
The Bible teaches us the sacrificial system in the same way. We get glimpses of it early on: God provides Adam and Eve with animal skins after their sin in the garden (Genesis 3:21). Cain and Abel offer tribute to God (Genesis 4:3–4). Noah offers whole burnt offerings of clean animals after the flood (Genesis 8:20). Abraham prepares to offer Isaac as a burnt offering, and God substitutes a ram at the last minute (Genesis 22:1–19). Moses makes burnt offerings and peace offerings and sprinkles blood on the people at Sinai (Exodus 24:4–8).
Then finally, in Leviticus, it’s like we pick up a grammar textbook that sets forth more detailed rules for how all of these sacrifices work in the covenantal arrangement established by God with his people after the exodus. Leviticus, along with Numbers, provides the basic spelling, grammar, and syntax of the sacrificial system, and in learning the language, we can better understand what God is saying to us.
Three Images
To grasp the symbolic system of Leviticus, we begin with three images. Leviticus builds on the book of Genesis, especially the early chapters. Recall the basic story. God made the world and everything in it in six days. The crown of his creation is man, made on the sixth day, male and female, in God’s own image, as his representatives and stewards. He gives the first man and woman a commission — be fruitful, multiply, fill the earth, subdue it, and have dominion over its inhabitants. He places them in a garden to work and keep it, and gives them one prohibition: “Of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die” (Genesis 2:17).
Under the influence of the crafty serpent, Adam and Eve rebel against God, eat the fruit, and are confronted in their rebellion. God judges them for their rebellion, cursing the ground, multiplying pain and hardship in their relationship, and dooming them to die and return to dust. But he mingles mercy with his justice, promising them descendants, and especially a redeemer who will crush the serpent’s head. He then clothes them with animal skins and exiles them from the garden.
Now, here’s the important image: in order to prevent Adam and Eve from eating from the tree of life in the midst of the garden, God “drove out the man, and at the east of the garden of Eden he placed the cherubim and a flaming sword that turned every way to guard the way to the tree of life” (Genesis 3:24).
This is crucial. The holy presence of God is in the garden. Life is in the garden. And there is an angelic bouncer with a sword of fire separating man from divine life. There’s no way to draw near to God without losing your head and being burned up.
The second image comes from the book of Exodus. Yahweh has just delivered his people from bondage and gathered them at the holy mountain. God descends in a thick cloud of smoke and lightning, and he says to the people through Moses,
You yourselves have seen what I did to the Egyptians, and how I bore you on eagles’ wings and brought you to myself. Now therefore, if you will indeed obey my voice and keep my covenant, you shall be my treasured possession among all peoples, for all the earth is mine; and you shall be to me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation. (Exodus 19:4–6)
There is a profound tension between this image and the one in Genesis. In Genesis 3, we see life and glory in the garden, with an angel guarding the way with a flaming sword. In Exodus 19, we see life and glory on the mountain, with the words “you are my treasured possession; I have brought you to myself and intend to dwell with you.”
The tension between these two biblical scenes yields a third image. Imagine if the sun — the giant ball of flaming gas in the sky — wanted to come live in your neighborhood. What would happen? There is no atmosphere to protect you, no sunscreen strong enough, no covering to shield you: just the blazing inferno of the sun and your weak, frail, human self. How would that work out for you? Can you handle that heat?
The answer is obvious. We can’t handle that heat. The scene at Sinai confirms it. Yahweh invites the people to draw near, but he also commands them to consecrate and prepare themselves; they are to wash their garments and abstain from sexual relations for three days prior (Exodus 19:10–11, 15). What’s more, he sets limits around the mountain, a boundary that they are not to cross, on pain of death (verses 12–13). It seems we have not left the angelic guardian entirely behind. To cross the boundary, to touch the holy mountain, is to court death. And the passage couldn’t be clearer: the real danger is that the Lord will break out against them (verses 21–24). The danger is that they would get too close to the sun. And they can’t handle that heat.
We can summarize the basic problem in this way. The living God is holy. We are a sinful people in a world of death. But the living and holy God desires to dwell with his sinful people in this world of death. How is that possible? If we’re going to return to the garden of life, if we’re going to draw near to the holy God, how do we get past the angel and his flaming sword?
Basics of the Grammar
God’s answer to this problem is the whole Levitical system. It’s an entire symbolic system — a language — that testifies both to God’s holiness and life and to our sinfulness and death. And at the center of that system is atonement — the God-given covering that enables us to remarkably, miraculously, mercifully draw near to God and handle the heat.
So what are the basics of the grammar of this Levitical language? Let’s think in terms of nouns, adjectives, and verbs.
Nouns
Back in elementary school, we learned that there are three basic categories of nouns: people, places, and things. These categories offer a good way to approach the grammar of Leviticus as well.
Start with people. First, we have men and women. The book opens with a call-back to Genesis: “When an adam brings an offering . . .” (Leviticus 1:2). The word adam reminds us that we are sons of earth, since adam was taken from the dust of the adamah. But we aren’t merely “earth-men”; we are men and women, ish and ishshah (Genesis 2:23).
In the Levitical system, we can break God’s people down even more. First, we have the congregation as a whole. Within the congregation, we have the Levites, the priests, and especially the high priest. Beyond them, we have the leaders or rulers of the people. Then we have individual Israelites, some of them rich, and some of them poor. So the Levitical system recognizes distinctions in terms of people.
What about places? Here we need to connect sacred geography and sacred architecture. Leviticus is built on Genesis, especially the early chapters. And there, we remember the garden, in the land of Eden, and the world beyond (unsubdued and unfilled): garden, land, world (Genesis 2:8). The garden was on a mountain, and a river flowed down to water the garden, and then from there it split into four rivers spreading out over the earth (Genesis 2:10). So in terms of geography, think of a summit, a mountain, the land around it, and then the waters/ocean at the edge.
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We are two thousand years removed from being eye-witnesses to the crucifixion of Christ, to the breaking of His body and spilling of His blood to wash away our sins. Yet we still come each week to this spiritual manna as a means of tasting and seeing the goodness of God in the sacrifice of His only Son. Even as it sets our eyes upon Christ’s once for all sacrifice, it also gives us the opportunity to present ourselves as living sacrifices, laying down ourselves and taking up Christ as take of the bread and cup.

Exodus 18 is a positive unfolding of chapter 17. Exodus 17 began with Israel quarreling with Moses, placing God on trial, and God Himself taking Israel’s rightful judgment. It then ended with a nation of Gentiles attacking the weak and weary Israel. Exodus 18 is the reverse. In this first half, we begin with Jethro, an upright Gentile, hearing the good news of Yahweh’s deliverance of Israel and believing. The chapter will then conclude with the LORD using Jethro to instruct Moses in how to properly judge the people.
As for our present text, this family reunion of Moses and Jethro is filled to the brim with implications for how we ought to proclaim the gospel and what a proper response to the gospel looks like.
Reunited // Verses 1-7
Our text opens with the reintroduction Jethro, whom the text makes abundantly clear was Moses’ father-in-law. Verse 1 states that Jethro “heard of all that God had done for Moses and for Israel his people, how the LORD had brought Israel out of Egypt.” Jethro probably heard of these things through the merchants and travelers coming from Egypt. We must, of course, remember that the ten plagues likely took place over a span of several months rather than the couple of weeks that we subconsciously tend to imagine. Thus, Jethro was likely learning about everything that was happening only a week or so after each event.
Furthermore, verse 2 tells us that Moses had sent Zipporah and his two sons back to Jethro’s house at some point. The majority of commentators seem to think that Moses sent his family away before actually arriving in Egypt or perhaps after Pharaoh’s first refusal in chapter 5. Some even believe that Moses had divorced Zipporah by sending his family away to Jethro’s house, but the arguments for such a thought are not at all compelling. While the text simply does not tell us when or why Moses sent his wife and sons back to Jethro, I tend to think alongside Calvin that he did so whenever Israel came into the wilderness. Perhaps Moses even sent them with the intent of Jethro coming to see him, since Moses clearly had a great respect for his father-in-law.
Verses 3-4 interestingly repeat to us the names of Moses’ two sons and their meanings, though previously only Gershom was named back in chapter 2. Gershom, which sounds like the Hebrew word for sojourner, was named during Moses’ new life in the wilderness of Midian, where he was separated from both Israel and Egypt, the peoples which were his home. Eliezer means God is my help, for Moses said, “The God of my father was my help, and delivered me from the sword of Pharaoh.” Eliezer’s name was a testimony from Moses that God had delivered him from Pharaoh’s desire to have him put to death for murdering the Egyptian. Indeed, even after living in Midian for forty years, Moses still clearly feared the sword of Pharaoh since God specifically told him in 4:19 that “all the men who were seeking your life are dead.”
But while Moses named his sons as a testament of God’s providence over his own life, I believe they are repeated here to help us see God’s providence over all of Israel through his servant Moses. Israel as a nation sojourned in Egypt for more than four hundred years, and they were brought out by the unilateral help of the God of their fathers, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
Jethro’s coming to Moses at the mountain of God likely means that Israel was still camped at Rephidim, which was evidently near Horeb/Sinai but not yet at the base of the mountain. It is possible that Jethro sent word to Moses of his coming in order to give proper homage to Moses, for as Stuart notes:
Indeed, it can be argued that Jethro was actually using the presence of Zipporah and the boys to ensure his own acceptance by Moses, whom he now encountered not as an escaped Egyptian alone but as the leader of a great nation of people that had just distinguished itself by beating the Amalekites in war, something Jethro and his Midianites could not expect to do.[1]
This is not so difficult to imagine, especially if Jethro was in fact scraping for every report he could find of Moses and his doings in Egypt. Recall that 12:3 said that after the first nine plagues, “the man Moses was very great in the land of Egypt, in the sight of Pharaoh’s servants and in the sight of the people.” So, before the night of the exodus, Moses was more respected by the Egyptians than Pharaoh himself, making Moses more popular than the most powerful man in the world. Such status can easily change a person for the worse. Thus, Jethro would not be a fool to wonder if Moses was still the meek sojourner that shepherded his flock for four decades.
Thankfully, Jethro had nothing to fear. In Numbers 12:3, Moses himself tells us, “Now the man Moses was very meek, more than all the people who were on the face of the earth.” Since the Holy Spirit inspired Moses to write those words, we gladly affirm that they are true, and indeed they must be. To be able to write about how meek you are without taking pride in your meekness is meek indeed! Though Moses was the quite literally the most powerful man in the world, most significantly because he was the instrument of the Almighty Creator but from a worldly vision also because he overthrew Pharaoh, he “went out to meet his father-in-law and bowed down and kissed him.” Moses did not send servants out to greet Jethro and then aim to impress him with his power and prestige. No, Moses went out himself and gave great respect to his father-in-law.
Such genuine display of humility and love is what made Moses the great man of God and leader of Israel that he was. Indeed, it is the same sort of meekness and humility that Jesus continuously and perfectly displayed. Moses was displaying the mindset of Christ, which Paul described in Philippians 2:3: “Do nothing from selfish ambition, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.”
Proclaiming the Gospel // Verse 8
After Moses and Jethro asked each other about their welfare, they entered Moses’ tent and began to talk. What did they talk about? Then Moses told his father-in-law all that the LORD had done to Pharaoh and to the Egyptians for Israel’s sake, all the hardship that had come upon them in the way, and how the LORD had delivered them. Although Jethro had already heard the news about the exodus and the plagues, now he heard it from the horse’s mouth. Now Moses himself recounted everything that God had done. He shared his testimony with Jethro, that is, he told him the good news of how the LORD rescued Israel.
Take note of the three parts to this verse. First, Moses told Jethro of all that the LORD did to Pharaoh and to the Egyptians. This meant that Moses told his father-in-law the account of the plagues and Israel’s exodus from Egypt. Second, he told Jethro about their hardships along the way.
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