The sacrifice was transformed and elevated into a sacrament. By being
offered the sacrifice was ennobled. The offerer did not lose what he
laid on the altar, but it came back to him, far more precious than
before. It was no longer mere food for the body, and to eat it became
not an ordinary meal, but a sacrament and means of union with God. It
was a hundredfold more the offerer's even in this life. All its savour
was more savoury, all its nutritive qualities were more nutritious. It
had suffered a fiery change, and was turned into something more rich
and rare.
That is blessedly true as to all which we lay on God's altar. It is far
more ours than it ever was or could be, while we kept it for ourselves,
and our enjoyment of, and nourishment from, our good things, when
offered as sacrifices, are greater than when we eat our morsel alone.
If we make earthly joys and possessions the materials of our sacrifice,
they will not only become more joyful and richer, but they will become
means of closer union with Him, instead of parting us from Him, as they
do when used in selfish disregard of Him.
Nor must we forget the wonderful thought, also mirrored in this piece
of ancient ritual, that God delights in men's sacrifices and surrenders
and services. 'If I were hungry, I would not tell thee,' said the
Psalmist in God's name in regard to outward sacrifices; 'Will I eat the
flesh of bulls, or drink the blood of goats?' But he does 'eat' the
better sacrifices that loving hearts or obedient wills lay on His
altar. He seeks for these, and delights when they are offered to Him.
'He hungered, and seeing a fig tree by the wayside, He came to it.' He
still hungers for the fruit that we can yield to Him, and if we will,
He will enter in and sup with us, not disdaining to sit at the poor
table which we can spread for Him, nor to partake of the humble fare
which we can lay upon it, but mending the banquet by what He brings for
_our_ nourishment, and hallowing the hour by His presence.