Leviticus

Read This Week: Leviticus 2

When anyone brings a grain offering to the Lord, their offering is to be of the finest flour. They are to pour olive oil on it, put incense on it, and take it to Aaron’s sons, the priests. The priest shall take a handful of the flour and oil, together with all the incense, and burn this as a memorial portion on the altar, a food offering, an aroma pleasing to the Lord. – Leviticus 2:1-2 NIV

Leviticus 2 tells us about the grain offering, a seemingly simple ritual that carries profound spiritual and practical weight. At its core, this chapter describes a voluntary act of worship where an Israelite presents a portion of flour, oil, and frankincense to God, often baked or cooked, with specific instructions: no leaven, no honey, but always salt. The priest burns a portion on the altar as a pleasing aroma to the Lord while the rest sustains the priests.

On the surface, it seems like another manual for ancient worship, but dig deeper, and it’s a blueprint for a life of intentional gratitude, purity, and trust in God’s provision. This offering wasn’t about grand gestures; it was accessible, practical, and deeply personal, reflecting the giver’s daily dependence on Father God’s gifts. It contained grain from the earth, oil for nourishment, and salt for preservation. As we read, this passage invites us to consider what we offer the Lord and how we approach Him with authenticity.

The absence of leaven and honey is something to pay attention to. Leaven, often symbolizing corruption or sin in Scripture, and honey, prone to fermentation, suggest a call to purity in worship. God desires offerings and, by extension, our lives, untainted by moral compromise or fleeting sweetness. Yet salt, a preservative and flavor enhancer, is mandatory, pointing to endurance and covenant faithfulness. Practically, this speaks to consistency in our spiritual lives. We’re not called to flashy, momentary displays of devotion but to steady, reliable commitment, seasoned with integrity. The grain offering wasn’t the showiest sacrifice. There was no blood, no drama, but it was deeply relational, a way to say that we trust God with our provision. Today, this might look like activating and dedicating our time, talents, or resources to the Lord, not out of obligation but from a heart that recognizes every good thing and perfect thing comes from Him.

The offering’s accessibility is another important takeaway. Unlike animal sacrifices, which required wealth or livestock, anyone could bring a grain offering. A handful of flour and a drizzle of oil are simple ingredients from daily life but became holy when given to God. This worship reminds us that God values the heart behind the gift, not its size or price. In practice, this could mean offering your skills, however modest, to serve others, or giving time to prayer when finances are tight. It’s a reminder that spiritual devotion doesn’t require perfection or abundance, just willingness. We also see that this chapter reveals God’s care for His priests, as the leftover portion sustained them. This balance of worship and provision shows a Father who doesn’t just demand but provides, weaving care for His people into the act of giving.

The Scriptures challenge us to examine our offerings. What do we bring to God from our daily grind? We can present our lives and our best—our time, energy, devotion, or resources—without expecting applause. This approach is our greater responsibility as followers of Jesus; a grain offering in this section required effort: grinding flour, mixing oil, and baking loaves. Worship, then and now, isn’t passive. It is an active faith. The pleasing aroma symbolizes God’s delight in our sincere efforts, not because He needs them but because they reflect our relationship with Him. Leviticus 2 isn’t just ancient law; it’s a timeless invitation to live gratefully, purely, and generously, trusting that God transforms our ordinary into something sacred. Just because something is small doesn’t mean it isn’t sincere or active. God can reshape our perspective by performing one small, active act of worship at a time.

Read This Week: Leviticus 1

The Lord called to Moses and spoke to him from the tent of meeting. He said, “Speak to the Israelites and say: ‘When anyone among you brings an offering to the Lord, bring as your offering an animal from either the herd or the flock.” ‘If the offering is a burnt offering from the herd, you are to offer a male without defect. You must present it at the the tent of meeting so that it will be acceptable to the Lord. – Leviticus 1:1-3 NIV

Leviticus is a continuation of the journey from Exodus to freedom for the children of Israel. At first glance, it might not seem like the first place one would turn for spiritual inspiration. One might read it and think it feels ritualistic or irrelevant to modern life. But when we dig a little deeper into the content of this part of the Scriptures, there’s something timeless worth exploring, something that points us as contemporary believers to our greater responsibility in our covenant relationship with God. This book isn’t just an account of ancient Israelite worship; it’s about human nature, intention, and connection with something bigger, something greater.

Chapter 1 starts with God speaking to Moses from the Tent of Meeting, laying out the rules for burnt offerings. These were voluntary sacrifices, a way for someone to approach God, often to express devotion, gratitude, or a desire for atonement. The chapter specifies what to offer, like cattle, sheep, goats, or birds, depending on what someone can afford. It’s meticulous: the animal had to be without defect, the offerer had to lay hands on it, slaughter it, and the priests would handle the blood and fire. The whole thing gets burned up, a pleasing aroma to God. On the surface, it’s a gritty, instructional part of the text. But there’s something greater going on.

What stands out is the intentionality of the sacrifice. This wasn’t a casual act; God didn’t want them to toss an animal on the fire and call it a day. The Israelites had to choose something valuable, something perfect, and actively participate in giving it up. Laying hands on the animal wasn’t just a formality. It symbolized transferring who you are or need for God and holiness to the offering. The fire consumed it completely. There were no leftovers or taking it back. It was a total commitment. It was a greater responsibility. This contrasts our current world, where we’re used to half-measures or scrolling through life, avoiding commitment and deeper investment. The burnt offering demanded focus, cost, responsibility, and follow-through. It was a physical act that mirrored an inner desire, surrender, trust, and a longing to align with Father God’s heart and purpose.

We, as believers in the 21st century, don’t slaughter livestock in worship anymore. But the principles here aren’t tied only to the people of that time. They’re about how we approach what matters most. So, what’s the equivalent today? What do we “offer” when we want to connect with something greater, whether that’s God, purpose, or values? The animals in Leviticus weren’t secondhand. They were costly and part of someone’s livelihood. Today that might look like giving up time (not just the leftover minutes), paying attention (putting the phone down), or using resources (money, energy, comfort) for something greater. It’s not about the act itself but the willingness to let go of what’s precious for what God has called us to.

The moment wasn’t accidental; it was personal. Whatever we’re offering, we should make it ours. If it’s serving others, we shouldn’t just go through the motions. If it’s worship, it shouldn’t just be from our leftovers. If it’s a goal or purpose, we shouldn’t chase it passively but should own it with passion and dedication. Intention turns routine into a habit and the mundane into meaningful. The fire in Leviticus 1 took everything. When we commit, we shouldn’t hold back a piece for ourselves. Half-heartedness doesn’t cut it, whether it’s forgiving someone, pursuing a dream, living on mission, or trusting a process. Burn it all up and give it to God for something greater as a follower of Jesus. Leave no regrets.

Leviticus 1 isn’t asking us to build an altar in our backyard, but it might encourage us to rethink how we live out our priorities with the help of the Holy Spirit. It isn’t just about rules; it’s about a relationship. The burnt offering was a bridge between a person and God that said, “We are here, and we are serious. We want this connection to a holy Father.” The Lord asks us to show up in the same way, to offer something of ourselves that is greater than the status quo for the glory of Christ, and to trust His process every day.