I entered the temple and there it was. Right there, in front of me--large, lonely, and covered in bronze. It was waiting for me. Beckoning, even. I stood staring at the somewhat intimidating piece of furniture (if you could call it that). Everything within me desired to turn and run, but something kept me there. I had come for a reason. A strange mixture of fear, curiosity, and purpose filled my senses as I ventured closer to the altar. I pictured hundreds and hundreds of bulls and goats being sacrificed there, year after year, time after time. I imagined the the priests in their priestly garments, slaughtering the animals, leaving the altar a bloody mess. It was supposed to be an atonement for sin. But bulls and goats would never be enough. I knew that. However, that wasn't why I had come, my sins had already been paid for. No, I was here for another reason. I had been summoned.
The same voice that had called me there, spoke again. Soft, yet audible. "What gets on that altar doesn't come back off."
I started to nod, imagining the bulls and goats whose lives would end here. Then a shudder went down my spine as His words sank in and I realized what He meant. He meant me. He meant that I wouldn't get off. That was why I was here. I had followed Him all this time, believing His promises, obeying His voice, and I had come to die. To climb onto that altar and be sacrificed.
I'd said I'd go. I'd said I'd do whatever it took. I'd said I was prepared for anything. But this? Death? This wasn't what I signed up for. And yet, it was. His own words were, "If anyone desires to find his life, he must lose it." They'd seemed so poetic and beautiful at the time, stirring up images of war heroes sacrificing themselves for the betterment of the people. But with the altar staring brazenly in my face, I was no longer so certain. How could this possibly be the betterment of anything?
And suddenly, it was as if a light went off in my heart. He wasn't commanding me to die. He was inviting me. His words weren't a threat, they were a promise. What gets on that altar will not come back off. That means me. That means my flesh. That means this constant battle, this constant war inside of me can cease--I would die so that He could live. He was offering to kill the very things that I had begged Him to destroy so many times before. My heart began to pound in excitement as I began to comprehend the reality of the offer that lay before me.
Still, it was my choice. I could climb onto that altar and be sacrificed or turn and run out the same way I'd entered. If I left, I would still be alive, unscathed. If I stayed...well, there was no guarantee. Excitement and fear collided inside of me, as I weighed the decision, My flesh screamed in agony while my spirit leaped in anticipation. I could almost hear the hordes of hell warring with the angels in heaven over my choice. If I climbed onto that altar, there was no turning back. What got on wasn't coming back off. I turned to leave, unable to bear the thought of my bloodied flesh on that altar, but something stopped me.
I had come this far already. I couldn't turn back now. Inhaling deeply and mustering every ounce of courage inside me, I turned around and stared brazenly at the bronze display before me.
The altar, it would be.
The same voice that had called me there, spoke again. Soft, yet audible. "What gets on that altar doesn't come back off."
I started to nod, imagining the bulls and goats whose lives would end here. Then a shudder went down my spine as His words sank in and I realized what He meant. He meant me. He meant that I wouldn't get off. That was why I was here. I had followed Him all this time, believing His promises, obeying His voice, and I had come to die. To climb onto that altar and be sacrificed.
I'd said I'd go. I'd said I'd do whatever it took. I'd said I was prepared for anything. But this? Death? This wasn't what I signed up for. And yet, it was. His own words were, "If anyone desires to find his life, he must lose it." They'd seemed so poetic and beautiful at the time, stirring up images of war heroes sacrificing themselves for the betterment of the people. But with the altar staring brazenly in my face, I was no longer so certain. How could this possibly be the betterment of anything?
And suddenly, it was as if a light went off in my heart. He wasn't commanding me to die. He was inviting me. His words weren't a threat, they were a promise. What gets on that altar will not come back off. That means me. That means my flesh. That means this constant battle, this constant war inside of me can cease--I would die so that He could live. He was offering to kill the very things that I had begged Him to destroy so many times before. My heart began to pound in excitement as I began to comprehend the reality of the offer that lay before me.
Still, it was my choice. I could climb onto that altar and be sacrificed or turn and run out the same way I'd entered. If I left, I would still be alive, unscathed. If I stayed...well, there was no guarantee. Excitement and fear collided inside of me, as I weighed the decision, My flesh screamed in agony while my spirit leaped in anticipation. I could almost hear the hordes of hell warring with the angels in heaven over my choice. If I climbed onto that altar, there was no turning back. What got on wasn't coming back off. I turned to leave, unable to bear the thought of my bloodied flesh on that altar, but something stopped me.
I had come this far already. I couldn't turn back now. Inhaling deeply and mustering every ounce of courage inside me, I turned around and stared brazenly at the bronze display before me.
The altar, it would be.
