The One Sacrifice and the Soul’s New Name

You are God who wakens me,

And who today has given me breath.

God who wakes the world,

To live another day.

God who sends His rain,

Upon the earth.


Sovereign God,

Who rules over all.

I wake today,

And I confess Your name.


I find You here,

In the secret place of the morning.

I find You here,

In my quiet place,

When I wake.


I sit in the quiet,

And I try to make out the sound,

Of Your voice.

It takes a while,

Before my ears tune,

And I can hear You speaking,

Your own name.


God who speaks His own name.

In pages of Scripture,

In spirit and truth,

In the light patter of the rain,

Outside my window.


Everything is speaking Your name,

If I only have ears,

To hear it.


I read Your word,

And it speaks of sacrifices,

And I think about how,

When the animal was given,

And the blood was slain,

There was also this offering of bread,

And wine.


And I think about what I read,

In John the other day.

When Jesus spoke to the crowd,

And told them to eat His flesh,

And drink His blood,

Because He was true bread,

And true drink.


I think of that,

And it strikes me.

Every time the Israelites offered sacrifice,

They were proclaiming Christ.

And they didn’t even know it.


But You did.


You were the One,

Who made it this way.

And that’s why Moses,

Had to do everything,

According to what He saw and received,

On the mountain.


Because all that they were doing,

And all that they were seeing,

Was a type of a heavenly reality.

And somewhere up in heaven,

The Lamb of God,

Was pledging Himself.


And each time a sacrifice was offered,

You smelled the promise,

Of the sacrifice,

Of the Son of God.


That’s why the offerings,

Were a pleasing aroma to You.

Because when You smelled them,

You smelled the sweet sacrifice of Christ,

Soon coming.


Lamb of God,

Who was slain before,

The foundation of the world.

And yet,

Not yet.

Promised and done,

Yet not done.


Yet with every offering,

It was Your Son You were receiving,

As promise.

As payment.


And that’s why the scent,

Was pleasing to You.

For You have no pleasure,

In the blood of bulls,

Or goats.


But it was the love offering,

Of Your Son,

That You were receiving,

Every time,

The blood was spilled,

On the altar.



The Israelites,

Had no idea,

That with every offering,

Of every sacrifice,

They were proclaiming the slaughter,

Of their God,

On their behalf.


They had no idea,

That this is what,

They were declaring.

They had no idea,

That this is the promise,

They were holding.


For who could have imagined,

That the Most High,

Fearsome and glorious,

Would make Himself,

Small and frail,

And bleed His own blood,

And be slaughtered like a lamb,

To redeem them?


Who among the Israelites,

Would have dreamt,

That the Most High,


Or could,

Die for them?


The Most High was the God they feared,

And served,

And followed,

And trusted,

And loved,

For His faithfulness to them.


He was the God,

Who hated their sin,

With all His holy wrath.


And yet with every slaughter,

Of every animal,

They were declaring it,

The way the Son of God,

Would die for their sins.


And every time they offered,

You smelled the sacrifice,

Of Christ,

Soon coming,

And Your heart found delight,

In its own mercy.


Who could have fathomed it?


Who can fathom it now?


God who delights,

In His own mercy.

God who delights,

To be the redeemer,

Of His people.


God who delights in being gracious,

At the cost,

Of His own hurt.


God who would delight,

To sacrifice for us.

And all along the Israelites,

Thought they were the ones sacrificing.

But really it was Your own sacrifice,

They were giving to You,

In promise.



And really the only sacrifice,

From even the very beginning,

Was Yours.


And every lamb,

And every goat,

Was really You.

And all along the mercy,

Was at Your own expense.

Was Your gift,

At Your own cost.


And You delighted to do this.

What kind of a God are You,

That You would delight,

To sacrifice Yourself,

To give mercy,

And grace?


A God beyond comprehension.

A God whose depths,

None can fathom.


The infinite God,

Who lavishes love,

And kindness,

And compassion on us.


And why,

Will keep us wondering forever,

At the mystery of You.

And we will never reach the end,

Of who You are.


We’ve been pardoned.

And more than that,


Beyond all measure.


And I wonder if we,

Have any idea at all,

What You have done,

And who You are,

And how You love us,

And what that speaks,

Of You.


Children once sinners,

Now brought into the Holy of Holies,

And right into the middle,

Of the fellowship of the Trinity.

And all around us we are embraced,

By the Triune God.


I wonder if we understand,

What that means.


For nothing unholy,

Can dwell in the middle,

Of the communion of the Trinity.

And yet it is here,

That we find ourselves,

Right now.


In the most holy place imaginable,

We stand.

In the communion of the Triune God,

We live.


It’s a wonder we can still breathe.


And how could sinners,

Stand in the middle,

Of the fellowship,

Of the Triune God?


In the holiest of the holiest of the holy places,

With the awesome power,

Of the Living God,

Here we are.


And we are beholding Him,

With unveiled faces.

And we are in the Trinity,

And the Trinity is in us.




May we give more thought to the wondering,

And the worship.

For all our eternal days,

We will never cease,

To worship this God,

And declare this mystery.


And all eternity,

We will sing the name,

Of the Son of God,

The Lamb who was slain.


The Lamb of God,

Who took away our sin,

And turned sinners into saints,

And made our souls,

Thoroughly and completely,



For no unclean thing,

Can dwell with the Most High.

But He dwells with us now,

And we will dwell with Him forever.


And how thorough,

And how powerful,

Is the blood of the Son,

That it could bring us into God’s presence,

As clean and spotless things?



I think of my own soul,

And how it’s clean,

Because of Your blood,

And to use the word clean,

On myself,

Makes me weep.


And the power of what You’ve done,

Hits home.

For if can be called clean,

You must be the Son of God.


And holy, holy, holy are You,

And all praise,

To Your name.


For the victory,

Is Yours.

And I am but a trophy,

Of what You have done.

And I am nothing but the vessel,

And the recipient,

Of redemption.


God who gave Himself,

As the only offering,

For sin,

From the very beginning,


And God who chose me,

To be one,

Of Your redeemed,

And Your praise,


All worship and glory,

And honor and power,

Are Yours.


And who I am,

Is nothing.

But You are all redemption.

And the only thing my life is,

Is praise.


Praise for what You’ve done.


I am nothing but Your praise.


This is the legacy of my life,

And my soul’s joy.

To be Your worship,

And Your praise.



Ponder that,

O my soul.

Ponder that,

And find your highest joy,

And you heart’s contentment,

And your rightful place.


Ponder that,

And enter into the joy of your Lord.

Enter into your new identity,

As the praise of Your God.


A trophy of His victory.

A song of His praise.

A vessel of His glory.

A work of His hands.

A living worship.

A living sacrifice.


That’s who you are, soul.


Enter into His finished work,

And live your life,

As His praise.


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