Christ’s Cross: The Fulfillment of Leviticus 1

Christ’s Cross: The Fulfillment of Leviticus 1

The smoke rises. The scent of burning flesh fills the air. A worshiper stands at the entrance of the tabernacle, his hands resting on the head of a living sacrifice.

He feels the warmth of the animal’s body, the slight rise and fall of its breath. This creature does not yet know its fate, but the man does. He is here to meet God, but he cannot come empty-handed. Sin demands blood.

The priest stands by, solemn. This is not a ritual of casual observance. This is an act of substitution. The worshiper presses down with both hands, symbolizing a transfer—a life for a life. The animal, a spotless male from his own herd, will die in his place.

And with one swift motion, the knife flashes, the throat opens, and the blood begins to flow.

This is the burnt offering of Leviticus 1.


THE ENTRANCE OF THE TABERNACLE: WHERE MAN AND GOD MEET

The law was clear. The worshiper could not rush into God’s presence. He had to stop at the entrance of the tabernacle. It was here that the sacrifice was made, here that atonement began. No one casually wandered past the altar. To approach God was to acknowledge the cost.

Imagine the scene. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of worshipers standing at the entrance, their hands upon the heads of their sacrifices. The ground is stained red.

The priests, Aaron’s sons, work tirelessly—throats cut, blood caught, bodies flayed, the scent of death clinging to their garments. This was the daily routine in Israel. The price of sin was paid in blood, over and over again. But this was not just about ritual. It was a prophecy.

The placement of the blood itself held significance. The priests were commanded to sprinkle the blood on the north side of the altar (Leviticus 1:11). North. Not east, not west, not south. North.

Fifteen hundred years later, on the north side of Jerusalem, the blood of the ultimate sacrifice would be poured out. Golgotha, the Place of the Skull, lay to the north of the city. The priests, blinded by tradition, should have seen it. They should have recognized that the burnt offering, repeated for generations, was whispering a name—Jesus.


THE PRIEST’S TASK: FLAY, DISSECT, AND BURN

Once the sacrifice was slain, the work of the priest began.

“He shall flay the burnt offering and cut it into its pieces” (Leviticus 1:6).

The animal was skinned, its insides exposed. This was not careless but deliberate. The word used for “cut” here means to dissect—a precise and careful division. The offering was not simply hacked apart. Each section was laid out, piece by piece, to prove that what appeared spotless outwardly was also spotless within.

Can you see it? The lifeless body, flayed open, fully exposed before the altar. Nothing hidden. No impurity found.

Is this not the Christ?

A Lamb without blemish and without spot, inside and out.

The priest then took the severed pieces and placed them upon the fire. No part was kept back. The whole of the offering was consumed in flame. Nothing remained but ashes.

The sacrifice was not about partial surrender. It was total. It was complete.

“He himself bore our sins in his own body on the tree” (1 Peter 2:24).

Not part of Him. Not a fraction of His being. The whole of Christ was given.


THE PILE OF SKINS: THE PRIEST LONGS FOR SOMETHING GREATER

There was only one thing left after the burnt offering—the skin.

“And the priest that offers any man’s burnt offering, even the priest shall have to himself the skin of the burnt offering which he hath offered” (Leviticus 7:8).

The priest would take the skin as his portion. No meat. No choice cuts. Just the hide.

Now, imagine this. Day after day, sacrifice after sacrifice, the skins pile up. The priest is left holding nothing but the empty, lifeless remains of what once was.

What do you think went through his mind? How long could he continue this work before realizing—this is not enough? How many lambs had to die before the weight of repetition crushed his spirit? Did he look at the growing pile of skins and think back to the garden?

Genesis 3:21—“Unto Adam also and to his wife did the Lord God make coats of skins and clothed them.”

From the very beginning, God used a sacrifice to cover shame. Adam and Eve, naked in their sin, were given a covering—one that required blood. Every burnt offering echoed Eden.

But the priest knew this was not the final answer. He knew the skins were not enough. The shame remained. The cycle continued.

He longed for a better sacrifice. One that would not need to be repeated. One that would finally take away sin.


A SACRIFICE FOR ALL PEOPLE

Not every Israelite could afford a bull. Some brought sheep. Some, pigeons. The law made room for every economic status. The rich and the poor stood side by side, each with an offering in hand.

The gospel is no different.

Rich or poor, slave or free, Jew or Gentile—the blood of Christ is for all.

There is no price you can pay, no wealth you can offer, that could add to what He has done. And there is no poverty so deep that His blood does not reach you.


THE FIRE, THE ASHES, THE ACCEPTANCE

The offering is gone. The fire has done its work. The smoke has risen to heaven, a sweet savor to the Lord.

But the worshiper? He leaves with empty hands.

No meat. No portion. No prize. He has given all, and he receives nothing. His acceptance is based solely on the death of another.

This is the gospel.

We come to the altar with nothing. We do not bring our good works, our righteousness, our self-worth. We come with a confession: we deserve death. We lay our hands upon the Lamb, and we watch as He takes our place.

And then we walk away, not boasting in what we have given, but in what has been given for us.

The cross was not merely for man. It was first and foremost for God.

Christ offered Himself without spot to God (Hebrews 9:14).

This was the burnt offering fulfilled. This was total surrender.

And this was the only sacrifice that could truly take away sin.


THE FINAL SACRIFICE

The priests of old kept working. The blood kept flowing. The ashes kept piling up.

But then, one day, in the north of Jerusalem, the Lamb was slain.

The ground shook. The sky darkened. And from the cross, a cry rang out:

“It is finished.”

The fire had done its work.

And for the first time in history, the altar fell silent.


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