Some jobs are really important
but not very dangerous—
teachers with whiteboard pens.
Some are dangerous,
but don’t seem to matter much—
sword-swallowers in shows no one remembers.
But then, some are both:
like those who run toward burning buildings,
those who take a bullet
to protect another’s life.
And priests.
Ancient priests.
Their job:
Vital.
Holy.
Dangerous.
Set apart—
washed with water,
dressed in garments too sacred
for an ordinary day.
Blood dabbed on ear and thumb and toe,
as if to say:
Listen for Him.
Work for Him.
Walk in His ways.
Their whole lives,
poured out
in service at the tent
where heaven touched the dirt.
Representing a people who could not enter.
Standing in a place they dared not go.
And when the fire came—
it was glory.
And it was terror.
We forget, don’t we,
what it means to come close to glory.
Like holding a flame—
warm, beautiful, bright—
until it climbs the matchstick
and sears your skin.
God is not safe,
but He is good.
Nadab and Abihu
step forward.
Maybe proud.
Maybe casual.
Maybe confused.
We don’t know.
But they bring
their own way.
A fire not commanded.
And the fire answers back.
Does the punishment fit the crime?
Was it really so bad?
We ask, as if we forget
that every act of disobedience
is a declaration:
I know better than God.
My way over Yours.
A small rebellion
lit in the sanctuary.
A spark
that challenges glory itself.
We are not better than they.
We are the same.
Casual.
Presumptuous.
Quick to improvise
in the holy place.
And yet—
we are not consumed.
Because there is
another Priest.
One who never offered strange fire,
but His own blood.
One who stepped in
and stayed in—
not to burn,
but to be the flame
that lights the way.
Jesus.
Our great High Priest.
Once and for all.
Not in fear,
but in love.
Not with animals,
but with Himself.
So come—
not casually,
not confidently in yourself,
but clothed in Him.
Clothed in mercy.
Clothed in righteousness.
Clothed in fire
that does not consume,
but refines.
You are a priest now.
Set apart.
Consecrated.
Your life, holy.
Your sin, forgiven.
Your God, still glorious.
May we never forget
the danger of grace,
and the glory of drawing near.
Original message by Andrew West, The Bridge Church Macquarie Park NSW
18 May 2025
The Afterword 
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