Joy

I would sacrifice to you. I would pour sweet aroma over fire in hopes that you could smell my sorrowful repentance and soothe your anger. I would lay prostrate before the priest, I would go without food, in hopes that you would spare my soul.

But I do not. Because the sacrifice is complete. The Lord has appeased himself with the scent of his own sweat, the shedding of his own blood. I will not hang him again.

My sacrifices now are from joy, not from sorrow. They are from redemption, not from guilt. I am free from the condemnation of my iniquities, and I have power over iniquity itself. No longer am I heavy with my sin. I can watch it from a distance , and I can kill it with one swing of my sword. I can hate it, but still love myself. I no longer am that person.

Let us talk about that old self like at the dinner table, discussing an old friend turned foul. Let us exchange head shakes and unashamed gossip about the things we once were, but are no more. And let us clank our bottles together in cheer of True life, True love and True hope.