Day 29 --Leviticus 1-4

When my father butchered cattle back home on the ranch in North Dakota, before he killed a critter, while it was tied down and ready to be slaughtered, he would lay his hand on its head and whisper softly and soothingly into its ear for a while, calming it down gently before he killed it. I knew then what he was doing--he was telling the animal that he was sorry it had to die so that we could eat. It was dying for us, and so it deserved thanks and a moment of gentleness and grace before the end.
I’m reminded of my father doing that as I read these chapters at beginning of the Book of Leviticus. When the Israelites brought their animal sacrifices offered for well-being or to atone for sins they had committed, they were commanded to lay their hand on the head of the animal so that it would be acceptable on their behalf as an offering of atonement—see Leviticus 1:4 as well as several other places in our reading for today.
It was not just a symbolic action. It was a moment of literal transference—by the laying of his or her hand on the head of the animal the sin of the person was literally transferred to the animal. The animal became the sinner. In the ritual of sacrifice—you might say, in the sacrament of animal sacrifice, something was really happening, something deeply personal between the worshipper and the LORD. Sin was being atoned—the sinner and the holy God were being made “at one.” Their relationship, fractured by the breaking of the Law, was restored through the shedding of blood.
Sin against the Law should mean death to the sinner. But the animal’s blood was spilled so that the person who sacrificed it would not have to die. You notice that blood must always be spilled—it was never to be eaten (3:17). Some little of the blood—life of the animal—was dabbed on the altar as a sign, but the rest was returned to the earth out of which life comes. The fat was not eaten either--it belonged to the LORD and was “turned into smoke as a food offering by fire for a pleasing odor” (3:16).
The priest met the worshipper at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting, but he was there only in the capacity of an expert helper. He functioned to help you make your sacrifice in the right way—righteously. He did what you could not ritually do. But the sacrifice itself was a deeply personal action, something that went on between the person who had offended and LORD who was wronged. The priest was at most a member of the supporting cast in the drama, never a primary actor. He stood outside the action—the expert butcher.
Our text says that “the priest shall make atonement on your behalf for the sin you have committed, and you shall be forgiven” (4:31), but sacrifice in ancient Israel was not part of a priestly cult. It was not a mystery. It was unique in the ancient world in that it took place in the presence of the worshipper, in the open air, not in some dark sanctuary. There was no hocus pocus involved—it was as straightforward as what goes on in a slaughter house. You brought the animal. You laid your hand on it. It was killed in the proper way. The blood was spilled on the ground. The fat was burned up. The meat was disposed of. The past was extinguished. And you went on your way, alive and reconciled to the LORD—the balance was restored--everything was all right--until the next time, of course.