Now, what is my identity,
My master whom I can not flee?
A slave to Christ, not sin or me,
In Jesus Christ I am defined.
Identifying not with death,
But in Jehovah’s living breath,
His covenant, His grace, His rest,
With Christ my king, His law is mine.
Identifying with His bride,
Communion with the crucified,
And with His people unified,
His holy bride from sin refined.
So Satan’s feeble fantasies,
And sin, not your identity.
Redemption is reality,
We will in Christ perfection find.
No priest was passed the need to give his tithe,
Thanks-giving for the fruits the Lord endued,
A curse on them whose greed consumes their life,
Give gifts to God with gifts that He gave you.
And priests would reconcile men from sin,
A sacrifice of service, prayer, and praise,
Proclaiming the salvation Christ extends,
A mouth-piece, martyr, embassy of grace.
The priest receives and eats the holy food,
The work of God, the sustenance he needs,
Communion with the Christ our strength renews,
So through His sacrifice, His worker feeds.
And God has called us each as priests of Christ,
In service then, surrender all your life.
This world of holocaust and war,
Tumult, hate, and dying.
Is there yet hope of peace in store,
World and flesh denying?
Let chaos cease, for God’s my peace.
For I – the problem with this world,
Man in damned rebellion –
Must bring my scape-goat from herd,
Substitute for hell-sins.
A perfect beast to die for peace.
The priest would kill him, drain his blood,
On the altar pour it.
The offal burnt before our God,
Fat – the best – the Lord gets.
On him we feast who bought our peace.
So Christ fulfills this sacrifice,
Drained for our redemption.
His blood, His flesh, a feast of life,
My life bequeathed in thanks for peace.