O Lord,
I read of the burnt offering, and I feel the weight of it.
Blood spilled, fire consuming, smoke rising it all screams of guilt and distance.
This is what my sin deserves death, loss, the end of something innocent.
And it breaks me, because I know the cost of my sin is far greater than I admit.
I confess, Father, too often I come to You casually,
forgetting that holiness burns, that sin destroys,
that to draw near to You is not cheap.
I confess I have lived like my sin doesn’t matter,
but it mattered enough to demand a sacrifice.
Yet here I cling to Your mercy.
The offering was accepted not because of me, but because of the substitute.
The fire consumed the lamb, not me.
The smoke rose, and You called it “a pleasing aroma.”
O God, how can it be that You are pleased to forgive what should condemn me?
So I bring myself to Your altar
not an animal, not grain, but my broken, trembling heart.
Consume what is false in me.
Burn away my pride, my shame, my idols.
Let my life rise to You as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing in Your sight.
Amen.