O Lord,
Your Word speaks of guilt offerings and restitution.
When I have cheated, lied, taken what was not mine,
You do not let me hide behind excuses.
You call me to admit, confess, repay, restore.
And the truth is I don’t like this.
I want forgiveness without responsibility,
mercy without humbling myself before others.
But You are too just, too holy,
to let me make peace with You while leaving others broken.
I confess, Father, that I want shortcuts to grace.
I want the cleansing of the altar,
but I resist the hard work of making things right.
I want peace in my heart,
but not always reconciliation in my relationships.
Forgive me for treating Your mercy like a cheap trinket.
Yet You also speak of fire.
The fire on the altar was never to go out.
Day and night the priest was to tend it,
adding wood, feeding flame, guarding spark.
And I hear Your Spirit whisper
“This fire is not only for them, but for you.”
The fire of devotion, of prayer, of worship
let it never burn out in me.
So here I am, Lord.
Take my guilt confessed, surrendered, restored.
Burn it away in the sacrifice of Christ.
And ignite my soul with Your flame.
Keep the fire alive when I grow weary,
feed it when I grow distracted,
sustain it when the night feels long.
Let my life be like that altar
always burning, always offered, always Yours.
Amen.