The Lamb before time: Rethinking the role of sacrificial worship

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 12:59 — 9.3MB)

Subscribe: RSS

The New Testament tells us that the Pharisees were known for adding their own mark to the Word of God—making it more than it was meant to be. Many Christians say that since Yeshua’s death, resurrection and ascension, that some of the Torah’s ordinances have changed. For example, we no longer bring animals to the temple and slaughter them, because Christ became our Passover.

Actually, a better way to explain this is that we can’t bring sacrifices anymore—because there is no “there” anymore. There is no temple. So the ordinance of slaughtering animals has been put aside. 

Now, if the Temple was still in operation, would that ordinance still be in effect? And if the Levites were consecrated, would that ordinance still be in effect? Yes—because the Lord hasn’t revoked it. But where does Christ come into all this?

Christ is the ultimate representation of everything. Just like when the tabernacle was built—Moses didn’t build it on his own ideas. The Lord told him, “Build it according to the pattern you saw on the mountain.” That means it was a copy—not just a vague or partial one, but a true copy—of the original in heaven.

This shows us what God is doing. God commanded the tabernacle to be built, so it matters. All the offerings and ordinances recorded in the Torah were pictures of the true things happening in heaven. That’s what the book of Hebrews explains across several chapters—chapters 7 through 10, for example. It talks about the red heifer, the Day of Atonement, and the goats—how all of those are symbolic.

Specifically, the Day of Atonement was honored year after year. If the Yom Kippur offering had accomplished true atonement, why would it need to be repeated annually? It was a picture of what God would do—just like the promise in Jeremiah 31: “I will cleanse you. I will remove your iniquities.”

But what happens during times like we read about today, when the Levites weren’t consecrated—times when the people just dropped the ball or when the tabernacle in Shiloh was put out of commission and there were no sacrifices until Solomon built the first Temple? Later, the Babylonians destroyed that Temple. During those times, the Day of Atonement offerings weren’t possible.

Was the prophet Daniel out of luck then? No—because those sacrifices were copies of the original, not the source of atonement in and of themselves. Yeshua didn’t become the atonement—He’s always been the atonement. That’s the entire point of Hebrews: Yeshua is the atonement.

Leviticus 16 outlines a process that served as a memorial—a way for people to connect with the heavenly reality. But if the sacrifices recorded in Leviticus were the only path to atonement, and the temple didn’t exist, then you’d be out of luck. So is that really what God is saying? No—and we see that expressed through the prophets, especially Isaiah and Yeshua.

God says, “I hate your festivals.” What does that mean? That He’s canceling Yom Kippur and leaving everyone condemned? No. It means the people of Israel who were supposed to guide others closer to God—through Pesach, Shavuot, Yom Teruah, Yom Kippur, and Sukkot—failed in their role.

But does their failure mean everyone else is lost? Or is it that the leaders weren’t directing people to the true source of help?

God said the ministry would come first. Yes, those are the people who are supposed to know—who have the job of guiding others. But there are many who teach that the Messiah came to replace what God had previously set up. That presents all kinds of problems. Because if Leviticus 16 is your only source of atonement, and it sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t, then what? Messiah has to save you from something that keeps fading in and out?

Or—is He the Lamb who was slain from the foundation of the world?

If that’s true, then He’s always been your Pesach, your Yom Kippur offering, your deliverance—from the beginning, before the tabernacle was even built, when it was operating, when it wasn’t, when the temple was destroyed and rebuilt, and even now.

The Temple and it’s sacrifices didn’t remove Yeshua from the picture—He’s always been the atonement. He has always been the Lamb of God. That message has been consistent from the beginning.

Now, in the Kingdom—are we going to burn animals as sacrifices?

Well, that’s what Ezekiel says. But the question is: does that push Yeshua aside? I certainly hope not. And we should be clear—it doesn’t.

Why not? Because He is the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. The tabernacle was a copy of the heavenly reality, and the Messiah has always been a part of that divine order. He didn’t just step in and out of history. He has always been.

Yeshua is both the sacrifice and the high priest. That’s exactly what John the Baptist (Yochanan) was getting at when he said, “Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.” His statement combines imagery from both Passover and the Day of Atonement. So which is it? Both.

Is He the High Priest? Yes. Is He the goat—or goats—of Yom Kippur? Yes.

That’s why the tabernacle is a picture of what’s happening in heaven.

The Israelites continued keeping the feasts after they left Egypt. They kept them for hundreds of years before Messiah came. And even after He fulfilled them, we still keep them—not to earn atonement, but as a memorial of what He did. Every era still has a place for an object lesson.

The sacrifices never truly provided atonement. But they were actions that humbled the people—imagine how difficult it must’ve been to bring an animal, to watch it be slain. That act brought people to a place of humility and repentance.

It was a process that also prophesied what the Messiah would go through—to become our eternal Pesach.

All these appointed times build upon one another, forming a picture of God’s work from beginning to end. Every part—from the beginning of the cycle to the end—is communicating something happening in heaven. They show how God is transforming us.

That’s what we saw in 1 Corinthians 5. The lesson of Unleavened Bread isn’t just for the Exodus—it’s for life. Paul’s main point is that we must live this lesson every day.

Just like in traditional practice, where you search your house thoroughly to remove every bit of leaven—how much more should we search our lives for the spiritual “crumbs” of sin and pride?

In Corinth, they didn’t just have a crumb—they had a whole loaf hiding in plain sight! Their congregation tolerated something they should have confronted. They were, in a sense, forcing themselves to look past it.

As we reflect on the depth and beauty of God’s redemptive plan, let our hearts be stirred with gratitude that Yeshua has always been our atonement—before the tabernacle, through its service, and even now in its absence. The sacrifices, the feasts, the ordinances—all were shadows pointing to Him, the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world. Let us not only remember what He has done, but also respond with lives of humility, repentance, and intentionality, clearing out the “leaven” within us. May we honor Him not just in ritual, but in daily devotion, knowing that our High Priest intercedes even now, and that every part of God’s design—past, present, and future—draws us closer to His holy presence.