15 And when Aaron and his sons have finished covering the sanctuary and all the furnishings of the sanctuary, as the camp sets out, after that the sons of Kohath shall come to carry these, but they must not touch the holy things, lest they die.
Numbers 4:15.
At first glance, the privileged status of the Levites in general—and the Kohathites in particular—smacks of nepotism. After all, Moses is a Levite (Exodus 2:1). Aaron is a Levite (Exodus 6:20). The priesthood comes from Aaron’s line (Exodus 28:1; Numbers 18:1). The tribe of Levi is set apart for service (Numbers 3:12–13). And within that tribe, the Kohathites—the same broader family as Moses and Aaron (Exodus 6:16–20)—are entrusted with carrying the most sacred objects in Israel’s worship (Numbers 4:4–15).
If you were reading this with a skeptical eye, you might ask:
Is this just Moses showing favoritism to his own tribe and clan? Did he give the Kohathites the most prestigious job because he was a Kohathite?
It’s not heresy to ask the question. The Bible doesn’t shy away from presenting our heroes of the faith with warts and all. So it’s worth slowing down and asking what’s really going on here.
Instead of seeing this as privilege, consider the responsibilities—and the cost—of being chosen for this role. It’s true that all priests were Levites. But not all Levites were priests. Only Aaron’s descendants could serve as priests. The rest of the Levites—even those carrying the holy objects—were not priests. They had responsibilities, but also restrictions.
The Kohathites, for example, were tasked with transporting the Ark, the table, the lampstand, and the altar—but they were not allowed to touch those objects. They couldn’t even look at them. The priests had to cover them before the Kohathites were allowed to enter the Tabernacle. If there was any doubt as to the severity of this, God makes it crystal clear in Numbers 4:20:
20 but they shall not go in to look on the holy things even for a moment, lest they die.
Here’s another detail that should keep you from thinking of this as a cushy job for a lot of “nepo-babies”: not only could the Kohathites not look at what they were carrying, they weren’t allowed to use carts or wagons to transport them. They had to carry them on their shoulders (see Numbers 7:6–9) while somehow still not touching them. The text explains how to do that with the Ark of the Covenant (Exodus 25:13–15), but it isn’t entirely clear how they managed that with all the other holy things.
In a few weeks, we will see just how seriously God took this, when Uzzah reached out to steady the ark after the oxen pulling it on a cart stumbled (see 2 Samuel 6:1–7).
That changes the tone, doesn’t it?
This isn’t a VIP pass into the presence of God. This is a high-stakes assignment where the margin for error is razor thin. The closer you get to holiness, the more careful you have to be.
And it’s not just about danger. It’s also about cost. The Levites didn’t receive land like the other tribes. They couldn’t build wealth in the same way. They were scattered throughout Israel, dependent on the offerings of the people. Their lives were structured around service, not ownership.
Even Moses himself doesn’t establish a dynasty. His sons don’t inherit leadership. The priesthood goes to Aaron’s line, and the leadership of the nation passes to Joshua—from a completely different tribe. Whatever this is, it’s not a family power grab.
So what do we do with the initial tension?
We don’t ignore it. We let it lead us deeper.
Yes, there is proximity.
Yes, there is calling.
But what looks like privilege is actually responsibility.
What looks like access is actually accountability.
The Levites are close to God—but that closeness comes with weight. That pattern doesn’t stop in the Old Testament.
In the New Testament, the people closest to Jesus are the ones He corrects the most. James 3:1 warns that not many should become teachers, because those who teach will be judged more strictly. Jesus Himself says that to whom much is given, much will be required (Luke 12:48).
Closeness to God is not safer. It’s more serious.
Which brings the question home.
Do I actually want to be close to God?
Or do I just want the appearance of being close to God?
It’s easy to admire the idea of proximity. It’s harder to live with the responsibility that comes with it. To carry His Word, not just quote it. To handle holy things carefully. To live in such a way that reflects the weight of what we claim to believe.
Because in the end, the issue isn’t access. In Christ, we’ve all been given that.
The issue is what we do with it.
God doesn’t draw people near so they can feel important.
He draws them near so they can live differently.
The closer you get to Him, the thinner the margin for error—and the greater the call to holiness.or error—and the greater the call to holiness.
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