Called, filled, sent: What the Torah says about anointing, service and spiritual fruit (Exodus 29; Isaiah 61–62; Hebrews 2)

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 1:21:44 — 56.5MB)

Subscribe: RSS

---

Imagine standing at the entrance of ancient Israel’s Mishkan (Tabernacle), watching Aharon’s empty hands slowly fill with oil, bread and sacrificial portions. Those hands, once ordinary, now carry a visible sign: Heaven is putting him to work. This study traces that movement — from empty to filled, from clothed to commissioned. God doesn’t just forgive; He clothes, fills and sends.

“I will greatly rejoice in the LORD,
My soul will exult in my God;
For He has clothed me with the garments of salvation,
He has wrapped me with a robe of righteousness…”

Isaiah 61:10 NASB95

This isn’t someone admiring a costume. It’s someone overwhelmed by transformation. The “garments of salvation” and “robe of righteousness” wrap not only the body but the whole self — “my soul will exult.” The prophets elsewhere describe this same renewal (New Covenant) as a “new heart” and a “new spirit” (Jeremiah 31:31–34; Ezekiel 36:25–27). The outside should illustrate what Heaven does on the inside. Otherwise, it’s just a show.

Messiah Yeshua (Christ Jesus) warned against “whitewashed tombs” — beautifully maintained yet full of decay (“dead men’s bones,” Matthew 23:27–28). Similarly, Isaiah’s garments become a test: Am I asking God to decorate my life, or to renew it?

Like we studied last Shabbat, the clothing metaphor refuses superficial religion. It invites a deeper honesty: if God robes, He also remakes.

Ordination as filling, not finishing

Exodus 29 takes that robe imagery and pushes it into vocation. The English word “ordination” can sound like a static status: once ordained, box checked. The Hebrew under it goes in a different direction. The term מְלוּאִים mĕlu’im (“filled, filled up, ordained”), from the root מלא malé (“to fill”), appears in the context of placing offerings, bread, and other items into the hands of Aharon and his sons.

This is more than ceremony. The text presents ordination as literal and symbolic “filling of the hands.” The priests stand there with empty hands; the ritual fills them. The message: you are not being set aside (“made holy”) to sit; you are being filled to act. Heaven does not hand Aharon a title; Heaven hands him tasks.

This reframes how to think of calling and ministry. Instead of asking, “Am I ordained?” as if ticking a checkbox, the more searching question is, “What has God placed in my hands — and for whom?”

When ‘end’ means ‘goal’

The Greek translation of the Torah, the Septuagint, sometimes uses τελέω teleó (“to bring to completion”) to capture this idea of completing a consecration or making something ready. That Greek word translates mĕlu’im in Exodus 29:31. This use in the Septuagint is key to understanding one of apostle Paul’s frequently misinterpreted statements:

For Christ is the end (τέλος telos) of the law for righteousness to everyone who believes.

Romans 10:4 NASB95

On a surface reading, “end” might sound like “done with, discarded.” But telos in Greek can mean goal, intended outcome, completion in the sense of maturity. A journey reaches its telos not when the path vanishes, but when the traveler arrives where the path was always leading.

Within this framework, Messiah does not abolish the Torah’s significance for righteousness; He brings its purpose to its full expression. What ordination does for the priest — bringing him to readiness — telos language does for Torah — it names the destination God always had in mind: righteousness realized in and through Messiah.

Oil purity and overflow

Oil saturates the priestly ordination ritual described in Exodus 29 (cp. Leviticus 8–9). There is unleavened bread, unleavened cakes mixed with oil, and unleavened wafers spread with oil. The key word here is שֶׁמֶן shemen (“oil”). In the ancient world, oil doesn’t only function as fuel or food; it signals richness, blessing, and consecration.

Clarified olive oil gives a particularly helpful analogy. The more refined the oil, the more purely and cleanly it burns. Likewise, the ritual calls for “pure” elements to make the point: God refines His servants, like oil, by removing impurities, not to make them delicate but to make their light more clear. The more refined the oil, the less smoke; the more purified the life, the less spiritual “smoke” obscures who God is.

Seven and the power of eight

Under the hood of the Hebrew original text about oil and consecration are numbers that communicate. In Hebrew, the words for seven and oath are bound up in the same root: שֶׁבַע sheva / שָׁבַע shavá. Like an oath, seven signifies completeness, a full cycle, a pledged seriousness. What has been committed will be done.

On that backdrop, eight — שְׁמֹנֶה shᵉmōneh — is connected to the verb שָׁמֵן shāmēn (“to be fat”) and the noun שֶׁמֶן shemen (“oil”). That points to what comes after completeness: overflow, newness beyond the cycle. (See how seven and eight are teaching tools in Israel’s annual festival of Shemini Atzeret, Convocation of the Eighth Day, the day after Sukkot, or the Festival of Tabernacles.)

In the priestly narratives, the priests undergo seven days of consecration, and then on the eighth day they begin to function in their role. The eighth day doesn’t cancel the seven; it activates them. It is not the closing ceremony; it is the first day on the job.

Spiritual “high points” (dedications, ordinations, festivals) are not endpoints. They stand as launchpads into long obedience. God’s pattern suggests, “Let Me fill you for seven; then live it out on the eighth.”

Fulfillment: Not abolition

The same logic runs underneath Yeshua’s words about the Torah and the Prophets, His preface to the Sermon on the Mount:

“Do not think that I came to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I did not come to abolish but to fulfill. For truly I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not the smallest letter or stroke shall pass from the Law until all is accomplished. Whoever then annuls one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, shall be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever keeps and teaches them, he shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven.”

Matthew 5:17-19 NASB95

The verb “fulfill” translates a verb similar to teleo: πληρόω pleróō (“to fill, bring to fullness, accomplish”). Yeshua explicitly rejects an “abolish” model and offers a “fill to the brim” one instead. He presents His mission as bringing Scripture’s intent to its full expression, not tearing its foundation away.

Teleo also shows up in Yeshua’s final cry at His execution:

Therefore when Jesus had received the sour wine, He said, “It is finished!” And He bowed His head and gave up His spirit.

John 19:30 NASB95

“It is finished” here reads as a declaration of work that has reached a goal. In Heaven’s view, the past, present and future are in view at once. That’s reflected by the statement “Lamb slain from the foundation of the world” (Revelation 13:8 margin). Heaven’s redemptive plan centers on Messiah’s work, and that work radiates backward and forward through time. God doesn’t improvise; He fulfills.

The danger of hollow splendor

In a recent study of the Mishkan, we explored how the inner sanctuary is filled with objects made entirely of or covered with זָהָב טָהוֹר zahav tahor (“pure gold”), and how Revelation’s image of transparent gold presses the point: God seeks not just shine but purity — substance transformed all the way through.

Unleavened bread and clarified oil operate the same way. Leaven often symbolizes corruption; its removal during consecration underscores singular devotion. The physical signs do real work in teaching: they train Israel to see holiness as separation from moral decay, not mere ritual fussiness.

Yet the prophets, especially Ezekiel, expose how easily people can keep the externals and lose the center. His visions of abominations inside the temple reveal a brutal truth: a community can polish its gold and keep its liturgy while its heart runs after other gods. The priestly garments then become not a sign of holiness but a cover for hypocrisy.

The study draws a clear warning: external forms — robes, rituals, structures — have value only when they match an internal reality of loyalty to the God who gave them.

Spirit on the many

Numbers 11:24–30 expands the filling imagery into the realm of the Spirit. Moses gathers 70 elders; God takes of the Spirit upon Moses and places it upon them; they prophesy. Two men, Eldad and Medad, remain in the camp yet also receive the Spirit and prophesy.

When Joshua urges Moses to stop them, Moses responds:

“Are you jealous for my sake? Would that all the LORD’s people were prophets, that the LORD would put His Spirit upon them!”

Numbers 11:29 NASB-style

This response cuts against the instinct to hoard spiritual experiences or status. Rather than guarding a monopoly on prophetic activity, Moses welcomes its spread. The ideal in this passage is not a lone gifted figure but a community saturated with God’s Spirit.

For understanding calling and gifts, this stands as a crucial insight: the Spirit’s abundance does not run on scarcity logic. One person’s anointing does not reduce another’s; it can invite and encourage it.

Spiritual gifts as tools for the common good

Paul’s description of spiritual gifts in 1Corinthians 12–14 fits squarely within that Numbers 11 perspective. He writes of “varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit,” “varieties of ministries, and the same Lord,” “varieties of effects, but the same God” (1Corinthians 12:4–6). Then he states that “to each one is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good” (1Corinthians 12:7).

The key phrase, “for the common good,” reorients the entire discussion. Gifts are not badges; they are tools. They exist so that a community can sustain faith, grow in love, and carry out its mission. Under this framework, the question shifts from “What gift will make me significant?” to “What has God entrusted to me for others’ sake?”

The study draws a particular line around coveting. Biblically, coveting involves more than strong desire; it involves desiring in such a way that another must lose. When applied to spiritual gifts, coveting appears in attitudes like resenting another’s calling or secretly wanting their influence diminished. That posture stands as the opposite of Moses’ wish and Paul’s “common good.”

Saul and David: Bad and better ways to handle anointing

The narrative of Saul in 1Samuel 10–15 offers a vivid example of how anointing can go wrong. In 1 Samuel 10, Samuel anoints Saul; the Spirit of the LORD comes mightily upon him, and he prophesies, becoming “another man.” God publicly marks Saul as king.

Over time, however, Saul disobeys, fears people more than God, and refuses to fully submit. Eventually, Heaven falls silent: no dreams, no prophets, no answers through priestly means. In this silence, Saul seeks help from a medium at Endor, violating his own earlier decree and Torah’s clear prohibitions. Instead of returning to trust and repentance, he attempts to force access to divine guidance through forbidden channels.

Simultaneously, David emerges — not as the obvious first choice, but as the overlooked youngest son. When Samuel arrives, Yishai (Jesse) presents seven sons; only after God rejects each does Samuel ask if another remains. David comes in from shepherding and receives the anointing. The contrast becomes stark: Saul, the tall, impressive figure, clings and spirals; David, the unexpected one, eventually takes the throne as God’s chosen.

This contrast embodies two responses to God’s shifting work: grasping or yielding. Saul clings to title and position, even to the point of hunting David. David, for his part, repeatedly refuses to kill Saul, recognizing another’s anointing even while he himself has already been anointed. The study uses this to illustrate how callings overlap and transition, and how jealousy can poison what began in genuine anointing.

Messiah, the sympathetic High Priest

Hebrews 2:10–18 gathers many of these strands into a christological center. The passage describes how God makes “the author of their salvation” perfect through sufferings, so that He can bring “many sons to glory.” Messiah shares “flesh and blood” so that, “through death,” He might “render powerless him who had the power of death,” and “free those who through fear of death were subject to slavery all their lives” (Hebrews 2:14–15 NASB95).

Here, the High Priest does not remain in a distant holy place untouched by human pain. He enters it. His perfection through suffering does not imply previous moral imperfection; rather, it indicates a completed qualification. He knows the path of obedience from the inside. That qualification places Him in a unique position to represent humans to God and God to humans.

For service and calling, this reshapes fear. If death — the ultimate threat — has lost its enslaving power, service no longer needs to orbit self-protection. A community can embrace costly obedience because its High Priest has already walked that road and broken its enslaving grip.

Leadership, vulnerability, and God’s reputation

Prophets repeatedly warned that God’s name is blasphemed among the nations because of Israel’s behavior (Ezekiel 36:20, 23; Isaiah 52:5). The same principle applies to any community claiming to serve Him: conduct shapes perception of God.

When leaders — religious or otherwise — use power to harm, cover abuse, or protect institutions over people, the damage reaches beyond immediate victims. It stains the public sense of who God is. The frequent biblical mention of widows, orphans, and the sojourner (ger) highlights where God’s scrutiny often falls: how do His people treat those with the least leverage?

Within this frame, ordination and anointing carry weight. They do not only authorize ministry; they heighten responsibility for the vulnerable and for God’s reputation.

Living as a filled-hands people

Messiah sends His followers, empowered by the Spirit, to participate in an ongoing mission. every believer becomes part of an eighth-day people — consecrated, clothed, filled, and then sent.

God does not merely rescue individuals from something; He consistently equips them for something: for service that reflects His character, honors His name, and blesses others.