Since I have sinned in thought and word,
Am I accepted by the Lord?
What offering is there for me?
What gift to purchase sanctity?
A spotless male of perfect form,
And costly for this purpose grown.
And so was Jesus all of these,
My Sacrifice and my High Priest.
The gift was offered to the Lord,
With hands out-laid and sins transferred.
And Jesus to the priests was brought,
Laid hands on Him and for Him fought.
The sacrifice by men was killed,
Its blood was on the altar spilled.
And Jesus too was killed by us,
His blood was drained into the dust.
The legs and bowels then were rinsed,
The meat was quartered, broke, and rent.
And Christ was rinsed in blood and sweat,
And as a whole was left when dead.
The sacrifice was burned in flame,
A pleasant fragrance upward came.
The fires of hell were quenched by Christ,
He, God’s accepted sacrifice.
“A book of rules, a book of laws,
It has no bearing on us now.
It’s obsolete and filled with flaws,
Why read of sacrificial cows?”
Why are there now no sacrifices?
Was this not promised in this book?
The High Priest’s holy blood suffices,
To sanctify – our sins He took.
Leviticus then points to Him,
It tells the covenant we own,
It shows the cleansing of our sin:
The law explains how grace is shown.
For God called from the meeting-tent,
As through the church the Christ would cry.
Yet man is sinful, broke and bent,
But sacrifice would sanctify.
This written to a migrant band,
Explaining how to live with God,
They had just plundered Egypt’s land,
In need of applications broad.
The book that God himself did speak,
And intimate His details shown,
Within the camp His interest peaks,
That we may trust in Him alone.
A book of peace, a book of grace,
That has all bearing yet today,
Let it fill us with ceaseless praise,
And let us walk in Jesus’ ways.
The genius of all art,
Is seen in whole and part:
Both intricately made,
Let Pauline letters quickly show,
The context here described below.
Though Corinth was of Rome,
Hellenics called it home.
An isthmus of earth,
Where sailors made their berths.
A melting pot which sprung,
Of diamonds and of dung.
Of pagans and of priests:
The wealth and filth of Greece.
Perhaps not very strange,
Location thus deranged.
Is our own modern time,
Not paralyzed in kind?
Here Paul a church would grow,
Like leather tents to sew,
The Spirit in his work,
Disclosed where devils lurked.
His soul and sorrow spent,
To sew this straying tent.
With tears and cries to guide,
For love of Jesus Bride.
But was his work in vain,
His life to shrink in pain?
To labor for the church,
This crushed and filthy Church?
But God can cure disease,
And prisoners release.
He suffered all for Her,
Her warts He’ll surely cure.