And the priest shall burn them on the altar as a food offering with a pleasing aroma. All fat is the LORD’s. It shall be a statute forever throughout your generations, in all your dwelling places, that you eat neither fat nor blood.

Leviticus 3:16-17

We’ve been exploring the various sacrificial offerings described in the opening chapters of Leviticus. In chapter 1, we saw that the burnt offering symbolized Israel’s total commitment to the Lord, as the entire animal was consumed by fire on the altar. In chapter 2, the grain offering served as a way for the people to ask God to “remember” them with favor. In both offerings, Israel was instructed to give their very best—the animal for the burnt offering was to be “without blemish,” and the flour for the grain offering was to be “fine flour.” This same theme of honoring God with wholehearted devotion continues in the peace offering, described in chapter 3, but with several unique details.

Directions for the peace offering. Chapter 3 provides instructions for peace offerings from both the herd (i.e., bulls, 1-5) and the flock (i.e., sheep or goats, 6-16). The chapter concludes with a prohibition against eating fat or blood (17), since the peace offering was unique in that it was the only sacrifice from which the worshiper was permitted to eat. The procedure for the peace offering is similar to that of the burnt offering. The worshiper would bring an animal without blemish to the entrance of the tent of meeting, lay his hands on it, and slaughter it (1-2a). From that point, the priests would take over: they would throw the animal’s blood against the sides of the altar (2b), butcher the animal (3-4), and place the designated portions on the altar of burnt offering where it was burned as a “food offering with a pleasing aroma to the Lord” (5).

Uniqueness of the peace offering. While the burnt offering was entirely consumed on the altar, in the peace offering only the “fat portions” were offered to God (3-5). These fatty cuts of meat were considered by ancient Israel to be the very best parts of the animal—like filet mignon today. The remaining meat was divided between the priest (7:31-34) and the offeror (7:15-21) and consumed as a sacrificial meal. Thus the peace offering was a meal—a “food offering” (5, 11, 16)—consumed by three parties: the Lord, the priest, and the offeror. As the name suggests, it was a celebration of peace and fellowship with God.

Significance of the peace offering. In ancient Israel, sharing a meal was not only an act of hospitality (Gen. 18:1-8; 24:32-33, 54), but also a way to honor others, especially by giving them the best portion of the food (43:33-34; 1 Sam. 9:23-24). By offering the fat portions of the peace offering to God, Israel was acknowledging that he deserves the highest honor (Lev. 3:3-4, 16).

In addition, shared meals would confirm a covenant relationship. Today, we seal agreements with signatures or handshakes, but in the ancient world, covenants were often formalized over a meal. For example, when Isaac and Abimelech entered into a covenant, they shared a meal to mark the occasion (Gen. 26:28-30). A similar event took place between Jacob and Laban (31:44-46, 53-54).

This tradition also appears in the establishment of the Mosaic covenant: after God entered into covenant with Israel qt Mount Sinai (Ex. 20-24), Moses, Aaron, Nadab, Abihu, and seventy elders went up the mountain to eat a meal in God's presence: “… [they] went up, and they saw the God of Israel. There was under his feet as it were a pavement of sapphire stone, like the very heaven for clearness. And he did not lay his hand on the chief men of the people of Israel; they beheld God, and ate and drank.” (Ex. 24:9-11)

Eating the peace offering reminded Israel of three important things:

Honor belongs to the Lord — By reserving the very best portions of the animal—the fat—for the Lord, Israel acknowledged that God alone deserves the highest honor. Leviticus 3:16 ends with the statement, “all fat is the Lord’s,” and verse 17 establishes a lasting prohibition against eating fat. This principle was violated by Eli’s sons, Hophni and Phinehas, who took the fat for themselves and "treated the offering of the Lord with contempt.” (1 Sam. 2:12-17) God later rebuked Eli for allowing this abuse: “Why then do you scorn my sacrifices and my offerings that I commanded for my dwelling, and honor your sons above me by fattening yourselves on the choicest parts of every offering of my people Israel?” (1 Sam. 2:29) Their violation showed a failure to give God his due.

Life belongs to the Lord — In addition to not eating fat, Israel was also prohibited from eating blood (Lev. 3:17). The reason for this is not spelled out here but echoes God’s words to Noah. After the flood, humanity was permitted to eat the flesh of animals but forbidden to eat “flesh with its life, that is, its blood.” (Gen. 9:4) Blood represented the animal’s life and thus belonged to God, the Creator and Sustainer of life. This is explained in God’s instructions for the Day of Atonement (Lev. 17:10-12; cf. Deut. 12:23). By abstaining from fat, Israel acknowledged that God deserved all honor. By abstaining from blood, Israel acknowledged that God is sovereign over all life.

Israel belongs the Lord — The peace offering was not only a celebration of fellowship with God, but also a reminder of Israel’s covenant responsibilities. By participating in this sacred meal, the worshiper recalled the blessings that came with being God’s covenant people—and the loyalty, obedience, and faithfulness that covenant required. The peace offering was a joyful moment, but also a sobering one: to sit at God's table was a privilege that came with covenant commitments. Sharing this sacrificial meal with the Lord was a way for Israelites to say, “Thank you, Lord, for redeeming me. I acknowledge that I belong to you—and I will live accordingly.”

These same concepts are present in the Christian’s covenant meal, the Lord’s Supper (cf. Lk. 22:20 and Ex. 24:8). Like the peace offering, the Lord’s Supper serves as a time for Christians to celebrate their redemption won through Christ’s death on the cross (1 Cor. 11:26). And like the peace offering, it is also a time for self-examination (11:28) and for reaffirming our covenant commitment to the Lord and to his church (10:17; cf. 11:20-22). Unlike the peace offering, however, Jesus was the one who offered the sacrifice on our behalf—a self-sacrifice in which his own blood gave us peace with God (Eph. 2:11-22).

He joins us here, He breaks the bread,

The Lord who pours the cup is risen from the dead,

The One we love the most is now our gracious host,

Come take the bread, Come drink the cup, Come share the Lord.

You shall season all your grain offerings with salt. You shall not let the salt of the covenant with your God be missing from your grain offering; with all your offerings you shall offer salt.

Leviticus 2:13

In last week’s article, we looked at the first offering described in the opening chapters of Leviticus—the burnt offering (Lev. 1). This was the most costly sacrifice an Israelite could present to God. Because the entire animal was burned on the altar, unlike some other offerings, it left nothing for the priest or worshiper to eat. The burnt offering symbolized the complete giving of oneself—heart and soul—to God. We see glimmers of the gospel in this text, especially in light of Jesus’ conversation with a certain scribe in Mark 12:28-34.

Now, Leviticus 2 turns to the grain offering. What is this offering all about? The chapter divides into four parts: uncooked grain offerings (1-3); cooked grain offerings (4-10); regulations about ingredients (11-13); and grain offerings presented as firstfruits (14-16).

Burnt offerings and grain offerings. Grain offerings were often presented alongside burnt offerings (14:20; 31:23-12-13), which likely explains why they are listed back to back in Leviticus. These sacrifices were thought of as “food offerings” to the Lord (1:9; 2:2)—not because the Israelites believed that God needed food or grew hungry (Psa. 50:12), but because offering food was an important gesture of honor and respect toward a guest. According to Israelite customs of hospitality, both meat and bread were served to honored guests (Gen. 18:6-7; Jdg. 6:19; 13:15-19)—hence the pairing of the burnt offering (meat) and grain offering (bread) symbolized a complete tribute to the Lord.

How was the grain offering made? Grain offerings could be prepared in one of three ways: uncooked flour (1-3), baked bread (4-10) or roasted grain (14-16). They were always to contain salt (13) and oil (1, 4-7, 15), and sometimes also frankincense (1, 15). The worshiper would bring these elements to the priest (1-2a), who would take them to the altar (6:14). The priest would burn a handful of the elements on the altar of burnt offering—not the incense altar (2, 9, 16)—and the remainder was given to the priests for food (3).

What was the grain offering for? Grain offerings served several purposes. While the burnt (1:4), sin (4:20), and guilt offerings (5:16) were intended to make “atonement” for the worshiper, the grain offering functioned as a “memorial” (אַזְכָּרָה, ʾazkarah) to the Lord (2:2)—a way for the Israelites to ask that God would “remember” them. This did not suggest that God had forgotten them, but rather that he would be mindful of them and extend his favor toward them. As David prayed: “What is man that you are mindful him, and the son of man that you care for him?” (Psa. 8:4; see also Eccl. 12:1 regarding our remembrance of God). The grain offering, then, was a means of seeking God’s grace—whether in praise or in petition (Psa. 20:2-3; Lk. 23:42).

In addition, grain offerings provided a tangible way for Israelites to express their faith and gratitude to God. The offering required fine flour—carefully prepared and of high value—and olive oil. For uncooked grain offerings or those brought as firstfruits, frankincense was also required (1, 15). Frankincense, a fragrant resin from the Boswellia tree of southern Arabia, was expensive—truly a gift fit for royalty (Isa. 60:6; Mt. 2:11). The precise quantities of flour and oil are debated, but conservative estimates suggest roughly 8 cups of flour (Ex. 29:40; Lev. 5:11) and a quarter of a gallon of oil (Ex. 29:40; Num. 15:4). In other words, this was no token gesture—a mere pinch of flour, a teaspoon of oil, and a sprinkle of incense. It was a costly and deliberate sacrifice, one that visibly expressed the worshiper’s devotion, trust, and thankfulness to God.

Like the burnt offering, the grain offering also has several meaningful connections to New Testament themes.

Giving God our best every day. The grain offering required fine flour, olive oil, and costly frankincense—not leftovers, but choice ingredients. Yet, apart from the frankincense, these were common household staples, used in daily life. The offering, then, symbolized whole-person devotion expressed through everyday means. In the same way, our daily lives are to be presented to God as an act of worship (Rom. 12:1). Whether we offer our material resources (2 Cor. 9:7) or ourselves (Mk. 12:30), we are called to give God our very best.

Taking care of each other. We noted that the portion of the grain offering not burned on the altar was given to Aaron and his sons as food (Lev. 7:9-10). The Lord had assigned specific portions of various offerings to the priests as their rightful share (6:17-18; 7:34; Num. 18:8). This provision enabled them to devote themselves fully to their duties in the tabernacle. When this system of support broke down, the worship of God suffered—as seen in Nehemiah’s time (Neh. 13:10–11).

This principle carries over into the New Testament, where the church is called to care for those who labor in preaching and teaching. Paul explicitly applies this pattern to gospel ministers (1 Cor. 9:13–14; Gal. 6:6). In this way, God built into Israel’s worship system a means of sustaining and honoring a vulnerable group—a principle that continues in the life of the church today.

God’s enduring faithfulness. The instructions for the grain offering specify that it must not include yeast or honey (11)—both of which can promote fermentation and, in this context, symbolized corruption and decay. In contrast, every grain offering was to be seasoned with salt, referred to as the “salt of the covenant” (13). Salt, a natural preservative, came to symbolize the enduring and incorruptible nature of God’s covenant faithfulness—his promises would not spoil, fade or be broken. This is echoed elsewhere in Scripture, where God’s promises are described as lasting and unbreakable (Num. 18:19; 2 Chron. 13:5). By adding salt to their offerings, the Israelites were reminded that God’s devotion to them would never fail.

Under the new covenant, this symbolism continues, except the image of salt is applied to us. Jesus tells his disciples, “You are the salt of the earth” (Mt. 5:13), calling us to be his agents of preservation, purity and blessing in a decaying world. Paul likewise urges believers to let their speech be “seasoned with salt” (Col. 4:6), reflecting the grace and truth that characterize those who belong to the eternal covenant in Christ. Just as the salt of the grain offering pointed to God’s enduring faithfulness, so our lives today should reflect the unchanging nature of God’s grace—preserving what is good, proclaiming what is true and living in covenant loyalty to the One who is forever faithful.

If his offering is a burnt offering from the herd, he shall offer a male without blemish…And the priest shall burn all of it on the altar, as a burnt offering, a food offering with a pleasing aroma to the LORD.

Leviticus 1:3-9

Leviticus is perhaps one of the most overlooked books in Scripture by Christians today. Its detailed and often perplexing regulations concerning sacrifices and the priesthood can feel alien and irrelevant to modern readers. As a result, we may not approach the book with much interest or we may simply ignore it. However, the book holds many rich treasures that strengthen our faith in Christ. One such treasure is the burnt offering.

Let’s set the stage first. God rescued Israel from slavery in Egypt and entered into a covenant relationship with them at Sinai (Exodus 1-24), then instructed them to build a tabernacle so that he could dwell with them (Exodus 25-40). With the tabernacle finished, the LORD spoke the content of Leviticus to Israel through Moses a month later (Lev. 1:1; cf. Ex. 40:1-2; Num. 1:1). The book provides laws for the nation so that they can be faithful members of God’s kingdom. These laws helped them show their faithfulness in two ways: First, they instructed Israel how to maintain fellowship with the God who dwelt with them. Second, they instructed Israel how to reflect God’s holiness so that they could fulfill their calling to be “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation” (Ex. 19:4-6). In fact, the Hebrew title of the book is wayyiqra’, which means “and he called.” Our English title “Leviticus” is derived from the Greek Septuagint and means “concerning the Levites.” This title is misleading as the book concerns all of Israel, not just the priesthood. The first section of the book teaches the Israelites how to present five main sacrifices to the LORD: the burnt (1:3-17), grain (2:1-16), peace (3:1-17), sin (4:1-5:13) and guilt offerings (5:14-6:7).

What was the burnt offering? The burnt offering was by far the most costly because the entire animal was burned up on the altar; no portion was left to be given to the priest or shared with the worshiper. The burnt offering goes back to at least Noah’s day (Gen. 8:20). Abel’s sacrifice, though not called a burnt offering, may have been an early form. It checks a few boxes: “Abel also brought of the firstborn of his flock and of their fat portions. And the LORD had regard for Abel and his offering” (Gen. 4:4). Abel’s sacrifice was taken from the flock (Lev. 1:10), included the fat portion (12) and was accepted by God (“a pleasing aroma to the LORD,13). The ram caught in the thicket on Mt. Moriah which Abraham offered in place of his son Isaac was called a “burnt offering” (Gen. 22:13). Usually burnt offerings were made with an accompanying petition (1 Sam. 7:9-10) or word of praise (Psa. 66:13-15). The aim of the worshiper was to be “accepted before the LORD” (3)—the offerer desired God to hear and grant their request or accept their praise.

How were burnt offerings given? There were three acceptable ways Israelites could offer a burn offering, depending on their financial circumstances: one could make an offering from their herd—the most valuable (3-9)—but offerings from their flock (10-13) and of birds (14-17) were just as acceptable. Mary and Joseph offered birds when dedicating Jesus at the temple (Lk. 2:24; cf. Lev. 12:1-8). Offerings from the herd and flock were to be only males "without blemish” (3, 10), because an animal’s physical defects (22:22-24) would lessen the value of the offering, making it unworthy of the LORD (see Mal. 1:8). The worshiper would lead the animal to the “entrance to the tent of meeting” (3), “lay his hand on the head” so that it was “accepted” on their behalf (4) and slaughter it before the LORD (5a). The priests would then collect the blood, splash it against the sides of the altar (5b), skin and butcher the sacrifice (6), wash its entrails (9a) and burn the entire thing (9b).

What did the burnt offering achieve? It was a costly and bloody ritual that reminded Israelites of their sin in the presence of God. However, it also reminded them of God’s grace. The burnt offering made “atonement” for the worshiper (4). That is, the sacrifice achieved both expiation (the removal of sin) and propitiation (the appeasement of wrath). Sin is a rebellion against a holy and just God; it both corrupts and condemns. God graciously accepted sacrifices like the burnt offering on the sinner’s behalf—the life of the animal in exchange for the life of the worshiper—and purified the worshiper of sin.

But how can Leviticus say such sacrifices “make atonement” when the Hebrew writer explicitly says that “it is impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins” (Heb. 10:4)? Perhaps we can make sense of this by thinking of the sacrifice like writing a check—which God accepted but did not cash until Jesus came to pay it in full. God could forgive sin in the Old Testament in view of the ultimate sacrifice that was coming under the New. David understood the limits of the burnt offering and reasoned that all he could do was give the LORD his broken life and trust in his mercy: “For you will not delight in sacrifice, or I would give it; you will not be pleased with a burnt offering. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.” (Psa. 50:16-17)

What does the burnt offering mean for Christians? “When Christ came into the world, he said, “Sacrifices and offerings you have not desired, but a body have you prepared for me; in burnt offerings and sin offerings you have taken no pleasure. Then I said, ‘Behold, I have come to do your will, O God, as it is written of me in the scroll of the book.’” (Heb. 10:5-7) The Hebrew writer, quoting from Psalm 40:6-8, explains that Jesus achieved what burnt offerings only symbolized. He came into the world, took on a flesh and blood body and gave his body as a sacrifice on the cross for us.

The burnt offering, a sacrifice in which the entire animal was consumed with fire on the altar, symbolized the worshiper’s total commitment to God. When asked what was the greatest commandment, Jesus responded with Deuteronomy 6:4-5, to love God with “all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength” and to love your neighbor as yourself (Mk. 12:30-31). The scribe who asked Jesus the question responded, “You are right, Teacher… to love him with all the heart and with all the understanding and with all the strength, and to love one’s neighbor as oneself, is much more than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices.” (Mk. 12:32-33). This scribe was “not far from the kingdom of God.” He got it—he understood what God desired: our whole self.

Jesus exemplified this total giving of self to God and others in love on the cross. In him, we are purified and redeemed. Our sins are completely atoned for and there is no need for us to offer sacrifices to either appease God’s wrath (propitiation) or plead for his mercy (expiation). Jesus’ sacrifice has done it all (Rom. 3:25; Col. 1:14; 1 Jn. 2:2). Now we are to give ourselves as a “living sacrifice” to God out of love and gratitude (Rom. 12:1-2). A life of such sacrifice would be “a pleasing aroma to the LORD” (Lev. 1:9, 13, 17).

Then Samuel said to Saul, “Why have you disturbed me by bringing me up?” Saul answered, “I am in great distress, for the Philistines are warring against me, and God has turned away from me and answers me no more, either by prophets or by dreams. Therefore I have summoned you to tell me what I shall do.”

1 Samuel 28:15

The account of the witch of Endor in 1 Samuel 28 raises several difficult questions: Was she truly able to summon the dead? Was the spirit that appeared really Samuel? Where did this spirit come from? And since the spirit tells Saul that he and Jonathan will “be with me,” does that suggest Saul was saved or lost?

The text does not provide definitive answers to every question we might ask. We know that the Law of Moses clearly condemned necromancy (Deut. 18:9-12). The Law called such practices abominations—it never claimed they didn’t “work.” We cannot infer from this text whether occult practices are effective or not. Regardless, would we expect the Bible to give saints detailed instructions on how to perform a seance? Clearly the text warns us against ever doing such a thing.

Perhaps your recollection of this story is a little cloudy. Here’s a refresher. Saul’s decision to seek out a medium was the result of a long spiritual and political decline. Over time, he had repeatedly disobeyed God’s commands—most notably by offering unauthorized sacrifices (1 Sam. 13) and by sparing King Agag and the Amalekite spoils (1 Sam. 15). As a result, God rejected Saul as king and withdrew his Spirit from him (16:14). Samuel, God’s prophet and Saul’s means of receiving guidance, distanced himself from Saul and eventually died (25:1).

Meanwhile, David, whom God had chosen to replace Saul, was gaining strength and popularity. By the time of 1 Samuel 28, Saul faced a massive Philistine army and was overwhelmed with fear. He sought guidance from the Lord, but God gave him no answer—neither through dreams, nor prophets, nor the Urim (28:6). Isolated and desperate for direction, Saul turned to the very thing he had once outlawed: he sought a medium to contact Samuel’s spirit. This act of necromancy marked the tragic low point of Saul’s reign, showing how far he had fallen.

Was the spirit that appeared really Samuel, or a demon impersonating him? The text strongly indicates that it was indeed Samuel. The message the spirit delivers (16-19) is entirely consistent with what Samuel had declared during his lifetime (cf. 15:17-19, 22-23, 28). Saul receives no new revelation—only a reiteration of the judgment he already knew. Some scholars suggest that the medium’s startled reaction (28:12) implies she was a fraud and did not expect a genuine encounter with a spirit. Whatever the case, it appears that God allowed a true manifestation of Samuel’s spirit through a forbidden means—not to endorse necromancy, but to confirm Saul’s complete rejection and the certainty of his impending judgment.

Where did the spirit come from? The text says that Samuel was “brought up,” suggesting he came from Sheol, the Old Testament term for the realm of the dead. When Samuel tells Saul that he and his sons will be “with me” the next day (28:19), he is simply stating that they will die and join him in death—he is not making any judgment about Saul’s eternal destiny. Therefore, we cannot determine Saul’s salvation status based on this statement alone.

What does this text teach the church today? To grasp its relevance, we must consider the broader narrative context. The previous chapter (1 Sam. 27) describes David’s moral and spiritual dilemma. Though living among the Philistines and serving as a mercenary under King Achish, David was secretly attacking Israel’s enemies—not Israel itself. But in 1 Samuel 28:1-2, the Philistines prepare to march against Israel, and David appears trapped. He cannot fight against his own people, yet his position with the Philistines is precarious. When told he will march with the Philistines against Israel, David replies enigmatically, “Very well, you shall know what your servant can do.” (28:2)

At this critical moment, the narrative abruptly shifts from David to Saul and his desperate visit to the medium at Endor (1 Sam. 28:3ff), the night before the battle. The author is intentionally placing these two crises side by side, inviting a comparison. David is among the Philistines but God is with him. Saul is facing the Philistines yet with no guidance from the Lord. As 1 Samuel 28:6 (also v. 15) states, “And when Saul inquired of the Lord, the Lord did not answer him, either by dreams, or by Urim, or by prophets.” The two stories press the question upon us: whose sandals would we rather be in?

Saul’s greatest problem was not the Philistines—it was the silence of God. He stood on the eve of battle completely cut off from divine counsel. This contrast drives home a sobering truth: it is far worse to face life’s battles without the word of God than to be surrounded by enemies but still walking with him. For saints today, this passage warns us of the danger of drifting from God to the point that we no longer hear his voice in Scripture—and it reminds us that the presence of God is our greatest security, no matter how dire the situation.

Don’t get sidetracked by questions about whether necromancy works or whether Saul was saved. A.W. Tozer once said when asked whether Demas (2 Tim. 4:10) was ultimately saved or lost, “All I can say is that the last time we see Demas, he was walking in the wrong direction.” The same can be said of Saul. The final image we have is him walking into the night, cut off from God and his word (28:25). That should unsettle us. Fear doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing, especially if it causes us to turn around and start heading in the right direction.

It happened at that time that Judah went down from his brothers and turned aside to a certain Adullamite, whose name was Hirah. There Judah saw the daughter of a certain Canaanite whose name was Shua. He took her and went in to her, and she conceived and bore a son, and he called his name Er. She conceived again and bore a son, and she called his name Onan. Yet again she bore a son, and she called his name Shelah. Judah was in Chezib when she bore him.

Genesis 38:1-3a

Genesis is divided into two sections. The primeval history (chs. 1-11) recounts the origins of the world, humanity, sin, and judgment, culminating in the Tower of Babel and the scattering of the nations. The patriarchal history (chs. 12-50) shifts the focus to Abraham and God's covenant relationship with his family, who would later become the nation of Israel. While there is some overlap, each patriarch has a primary narrative section in which he is the central figure: Abraham (11:27-25:11), Isaac (25:19-28:9), Jacob (25:19-36:43), and Joseph (37-50). Chapter 38 stands out sharply, interrupting the flow of Joseph’s story with the shocking and morally complex account of Tamar’s pursuit of justice.

First, let’s summarize the events of chapter 38. Judah separates from his brothers and marries Shua, a Canaanite woman—an inauspicious decision, especially in light of Esau’s disastrous choice to marry Canaanite women (26:34-35; 28:6-9). Judah has three sons: Er, Onan, and Shelah. Tamar becomes the wife of Er, but Er is wicked and dies under God’s judgment. Following custom (later codified in the Law of Moses as the Levirate marriage law), Judah gives Tamar to Onan. However, Onan also dies after refusing to fulfill his duty to provide an heir for his deceased brother. Fearing for the life of his youngest son, Shelah, Judah does not give him to Tamar—despite having promised to do so.

Tamar, realizing she’s being denied justice, disguises herself as a prostitute and tricks Judah into sleeping with her. She becomes pregnant by him and, after three months, starts to show. People bring news of her pregnancy—and assumed immorality—to Judah, who responds with hypocritical indignation: “bring her out, and let her be burned” (24). But Tamar is ready to play her trump card. She produces evidence that proves that Judah was the man who impregnated her (his seal, cord, and staff). When confronted with his sin, Judah declares, “She is more righteous than I, since I did not give her to my son Shelah.” (26). The narrative concludes with Tamar giving birth to twins, Perez and Zerah.

What is the significance of this story and why does it interrupt the Joseph narrative? To answer this question, let’s ask three more questions!

What do we learn from Judah? In chapter 38, Judah is presented as a moral failure, which helps explain why this chapter interrupts Joseph’s story. Judah stands in stark contrast to righteous Joseph: while Judah pays to engage in sexual immorality, Joseph resists temptation and flees from Potiphar’s wife; while Judah fails his family by denying Tamar an heir, Joseph preserves his from extinction during a time of famine. By highlighting Judah’s moral failings, the author of Genesis emphasizes Joseph’s integrity.

But Judah’s story doesn’t end in disgrace. This low point sets the stage for his transformation later when he steps forward with selfless leadership, offering himself in Benjamin’s place (ch. 44). Ultimately, Judah is chosen to be the ancestor of kings (49:10) and is included in the genealogy of the Messiah (Mt. 1:3), showing how God can redeem even the most broken lives for his purposes.

What do we learn from Tamar? While Tamar is not presented as a moral example (she intentionally deceives and manipulates Judah), she is presented sympathetically. Denied justice and left vulnerable in a culture that offered little protection or status to childless widows, she acted resourcefully to secure her rightful place and future. Judah spoke rightly when he said, “She is more righteous than I.”

Tamar’s inclusion in Matthew’s genealogy of Jesus highlights her significance as part of a broader pattern: God working through the marginalized and overlooked. She is one of only four women named in Christ’s lineage—Tamar, Rahab, Bathsheba, and Mary—a striking detail, since Jewish genealogies typically excluded women. Notably, each of these women was associated with some form of scandal or social stigma, whether real or perceived. Tamar’s story is undeniably sordid, yet Scripture neither hides nor sanitizes it. Instead, it shows God’s redemption, weaving the story into the larger narrative of his grace—a grace that would one day be revealed in Christ, the Savior of the downtrodden and forgotten.

What do we learn from Perez? When Tamar was in labor with her twins, the midwife tied a scarlet thread around Zerah’s hand to mark him as the firstborn, but before Zerah was fully born, his twin brother emerged ahead of him. Tamar named him Perez, meaning “breach” or “breaking out.”

By this point in Genesis, the reader is well acquainted with the pattern of God choosing the younger over the older, overturning human customs and expectations—Abel over Cain, Isaac over Ishmael, Jacob over Esau, and now Perez over Zerah. Perez’s birth becomes a vivid symbol of the divine reversals so often seen in God’s redemptive work. God brings his promise forward—even through broken, messy, or unlikely circumstances. His eternal purpose overcomes every obstacle: a vulnerable widow denied justice, a patriarch caught in multiple transgressions, or a second-born son in a culture that prized the firstborn. And in the greatest reversal of all, it is through Perez, not Zerah, that David—and ultimately Jesus the Messiah—would come (Mt. 1:3).

Genesis 38 may seem like an literary interruption, but it is actually a deliberate juxtaposition enhancing themes of sin, redemption, and providence. The chapter serves as a striking contrast to Joseph’s righteousness, highlighting Judah’s moral failure while preparing us for his eventual transformation. It introduces the beginning of Judah’s redemptive arc, a journey from selfishness to sacrificial leadership. At the same time, the story reveals God’s grace toward victims of injustice, as seen in his vindication of Tamar. It stands as another example of how God often works through the unexpected, choosing unlikely people and broken situations to accomplish his purposes. Ultimately, Genesis 38 preserves a lineage of grace, reminding us that God’s redemptive plan advances not because of human perfection, but by his grace and wisdom.