Chapter 4

Sacrifice and Atonement in the Old Testament Levitical System

Introduction: Why the Sacrifices Matter

If we want to understand the cross of Jesus Christ, we have to go back — way back — to the sacrificial system of the Old Testament. This might seem strange at first. After all, the world of animal sacrifice, priests in robes, blood sprinkled on stone altars, and smoke rising from burning flesh feels incredibly foreign to us today. Most of us have never even seen an animal slaughtered, let alone participated in anything like the rituals described in the book of Leviticus. And yet, without understanding these ancient practices, we simply cannot grasp what the New Testament authors are saying about the death of Jesus. As William Lane Craig has observed, the motif of sacrifice is the predominant image used in the New Testament to describe the atonement — no other atonement motif is so abundantly attested.¹ If sacrifice is the "table" of the gemstone — the large central facet that anchors the whole jewel — then we need to understand what that table looks like.

The thesis of this chapter is straightforward: the Old Testament sacrificial system, far from being primitive or arbitrary, provides the essential theological grammar for understanding the atonement — a grammar of substitution, blood, expiation, propitiation, and the bearing of sin that the New Testament authors presuppose and fulfill in Christ. I believe a careful examination of the Levitical sacrifices reveals a rich theology that points unmistakably toward what Jesus accomplished on the cross. That theology includes genuine substitutionary and penal dimensions that some modern scholars have tried to minimize or deny.

We will survey each of the major categories of Levitical sacrifice, examine the theology of blood and the laying on of hands, explore the meaning of the Hebrew word kipper (כָּפַר, "to make atonement"), and interact with scholars who read the sacrificial system differently. In particular, we will engage with William Hess, who argues in his book Crushing the Great Serpent that the Old Testament offerings were never about appeasing God's wrath or providing substitutes for sinners, but were instead participatory acts of worship designed to maintain sacred space.² I want to treat Hess's arguments fairly — he raises several important points — but I also want to show where his reading falls short of the full biblical picture.

Before we dive in, a quick note about what this chapter will and will not do. We will focus here on the Levitical sacrificial system in general — the various types of offerings and what they meant. The Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur), which is the climax of the sacrificial system, will receive its own in-depth treatment in Chapter 5. Isaiah 53, the most important Old Testament passage for atonement theology, will be treated fully in Chapter 6. And the New Testament's use of sacrificial language — especially in Hebrews, Romans, and the Gospels — will be addressed in the chapters dedicated to those texts (Chapters 7–12). Our job here is to lay the foundation.

The Major Categories of Levitical Sacrifice

The book of Leviticus describes an elaborate system of offerings, each with its own purpose and procedure. David Allen helpfully summarizes that "a variety of sacrifices are prescribed in the OT: burnt offering, grain offering, fellowship offering, sin offering, guilt offering."³ These were not random or arbitrary. Each served a distinct function in Israel's worship and relationship with God. Let me walk us through each one.

The Burnt Offering (olah, עֹלָה) — Leviticus 1

The burnt offering is described first in Leviticus, and it was the most common sacrifice in Israel. The Hebrew word olah (עֹלָה) literally means "that which goes up" — referring to the smoke of the offering rising to God. What made the burnt offering distinctive was that the entire animal was consumed by fire on the altar. Nothing was kept back. The worshiper brought a male animal without defect — a bull, a sheep, a goat, or if the person was poor, a dove or pigeon (Lev. 1:3, 10, 14). The worshiper then laid a hand on the animal's head, killed the animal, and the priest handled the blood and arranged the pieces on the altar.

The full text of the key verse reads:

"He shall lay his hand on the head of the burnt offering, and it shall be accepted for him to make atonement for him." (Leviticus 1:4, ESV)

Notice the language here: the offering is "accepted for him" and makes "atonement for him." This is significant. The burnt offering represented the worshiper's complete consecration and devotion to God — the whole animal consumed expressed the idea of total surrender. But it also involved atonement. Something about this offering dealt with the barrier between the worshiper and God.

Hess argues that the burnt offering was primarily a voluntary act of joyful thankfulness, a gift to God expressing love and relationship — not an act meant to deal with sin or appease wrath.⁴ He points to Noah's burnt offering after the flood (Gen. 8:20) as evidence that these were not about substitution: Noah was already righteous, and the flood had already occurred, so why would he need a substitute?⁵ Hess's point has some merit. The burnt offering certainly did carry a strong element of devotion and worship. God calls it a "pleasing aroma" (Lev. 1:9), which does suggest that it pleased God as an expression of the worshiper's heart. And Hess is right that not every offering was a direct response to a specific sin.

But we need to be careful here. The fact that the burnt offering included elements of worship and devotion does not mean it excluded elements of atonement and substitution. Leviticus 1:4 explicitly states that the burnt offering makes atonement — and the laying on of hands, as we will see, connects the identity of the worshiper to the animal. John Stott rightly notes that the burnt offering was one of the blood sacrifices that shared the same basic ritual involving worshiper and priest: the laying on of hands, the killing of the animal, and the application of the blood.⁶ These were not meaningless rituals. They pointed toward something deeper — the need for a life given in the place of another.

The Grain Offering (minchah, מִנְחָה) — Leviticus 2

The grain offering (also called the cereal offering or gift offering) was unique among the Levitical offerings because it did not involve an animal and did not involve bloodshed. It consisted of fine flour mixed with oil and frankincense, prepared without leaven or honey (Lev. 2:1–14). A portion was burned on the altar, and the rest was given to the priests.

This offering is not directly atoning in the same way as the blood sacrifices. It was an expression of devotion, gratitude, and dependence on God — a worshiper giving back to God from the gifts God had provided. The grain offering reminds us that Israel's worship was richer and broader than just dealing with sin. There was a dimension of grateful celebration in Israel's relationship with God. Hess rightly emphasizes this dimension, noting that the grain offering expressed "respect, fidelity, and reverence to God" as a tribute or gift.⁷

I agree with Hess on this point. The grain offering shows us that not every element of Israel's worship was about sin and guilt. But here is where I part ways with his larger argument: the fact that the grain offering was not about atonement does not mean that the blood sacrifices were also not about atonement. In fact, the contrast between the grain offering and the blood sacrifices highlights precisely the point that the blood sacrifices were doing something different — something that required the death of a living creature.

The Peace (Fellowship) Offering (shelamim, שְׁלָמִים) — Leviticus 3

The peace offering (or fellowship offering) was a voluntary sacrifice of thanksgiving, fellowship, and communion between the worshiper, the priests, and God. The Hebrew word shelamim (שְׁלָמִים) is related to shalom (שָׁלוֹם), the word for peace, wholeness, and well-being. After the blood was applied to the altar and the fat portions were burned for God, the remaining meat was shared in a communal meal — eaten by the worshiper, the worshiper's family, and the priests. It was, in a real sense, sharing a meal with God.

This was a joyful occasion. It celebrated restored relationship, gratitude for God's faithfulness, or the fulfillment of a vow. Hess describes the peace offering beautifully as an offering that had "nothing to do with 'making peace' with an angry God, but rather giving benediction to a God who brings peace, prosperity, and health through His own faithfulness."⁸

Once again, I appreciate Hess's emphasis on the relational and communal dimensions of these offerings. The peace offering was indeed about fellowship, gratitude, and celebrating God's goodness. But again, we must note that the peace offering was still a blood sacrifice — an animal died, and its blood was applied to the altar (Lev. 3:2, 8, 13). Even in the context of thanksgiving and communion, there was a reminder that access to God's presence required the shedding of blood. The relational and the sacrificial were intertwined, not opposed to one another.

The Sin Offering (chattath, חַטָּאת) — Leviticus 4:1–5:13

Now we come to the offerings that deal most directly with sin and impurity, and here the debates become especially intense. The sin offering — or, as many scholars now prefer, the "purification offering" — was required when someone sinned unintentionally or became ritually unclean. The Hebrew word chattath (חַטָּאת) can refer to both "sin" and the offering made for sin, which is why some scholars argue it is better translated "purification offering."⁹

The procedure varied depending on the status of the offender. If the high priest sinned, the procedure was more elaborate; if a common person sinned, the procedure was simpler. But the basic pattern was the same: the offerer brought an animal, laid hands on it, killed it, and the priest applied the blood in specific ways. Critically, the blood was applied to different parts of the tabernacle (or temple) depending on the severity of the offense (Lev. 4:5–7, 17–18, 25, 30). For the sin of an ordinary person, the blood was placed on the horns of the altar in the courtyard. For the sin of the high priest or the whole community, the blood was brought inside the holy place and sprinkled before the curtain.

This graduated system reveals something important about the nature of sin. Sin is not just a personal failing — it has consequences that radiate outward, contaminating the very place where God dwells among His people. The more serious the sin (or the more responsible the sinner), the deeper the contamination penetrates into the holy space, and the more elaborate the ritual needed to address it. An individual's inadvertent sin contaminated the outer courtyard. The sin of the high priest or the entire community contaminated the inner sanctum. And the accumulated weight of deliberate, unrepentant sin could penetrate all the way to the Most Holy Place — the very throne room of God — which is why the annual Day of Atonement was needed to cleanse even that innermost space (Lev. 16, discussed in Chapter 5). Hess's description of this graduated pollution of the sacred space is actually quite helpful: he compares the tabernacle to God's house, with the courtyard as the yard, the Holy Place as the living room, and the Holy of Holies as the throne room. Each level of sin required a more personal and penetrating act of purification.⁶¹

The text states the result plainly:

"And the priest shall make atonement for him for the sin which he has committed, and he shall be forgiven." (Leviticus 4:26, ESV)

Hess argues that this offering was not about satisfying God's wrath or providing a substitute to be punished in the sinner's place. Rather, he says, the purpose was to purify the sacred space — God's dwelling place among the people — from the contamination that sin introduced. In his reading, the blood functions as a "spiritual bleach" or "purging detergent" that cleanses the tabernacle so that God's presence can remain among the people.¹⁰ He draws on the work of Jacob Milgrom, who argued extensively that the sin offering was fundamentally about purging the sanctuary, not about punishing a substitute.¹¹

Hess further argues that the fact that the sin offering was primarily for unintentional sins (Lev. 4:1–26) weakens the penal substitutionary reading. If God's wrath is directed against intentional sin, he asks, why would the sacrificial system only address accidental sins? And if the same offering is required after childbirth or the completion of a Nazarite vow — occasions that are not sinful at all — how can we interpret the offering as a substitute for the sinner's punishment?¹²

These are fair questions, and they deserve a thoughtful response. Let me offer several points.

First, the purification dimension of the sin offering is real and important. I do not deny that the sin offering involved the cleansing of sacred space. The blood was applied to the altar and to the holy place, and there was a genuine concern about maintaining the holiness of God's dwelling among a sinful people. Milgrom's work on this point has been helpful, and Hess is right to highlight it.

But — and this is crucial — purification and substitution are not mutually exclusive. The question is not "Was the sin offering about purification OR about substitution?" The question is "Was it about both?" I believe the evidence points to both dimensions being present. Consider the following.

The laying on of hands in the sin offering (Lev. 4:4, 15, 24, 29) connected the offerer to the animal. As Stott notes, "by laying their hand(s) on the animal, the offerers were certainly identifying themselves with it" and designating "the victim as standing for him."¹³ This act of identification is central to what happens next — the animal is killed in the offerer's place. A life is given so that the offerer's life is spared.

Furthermore, the text says the offering results in forgiveness: "he shall be forgiven" (Lev. 4:20, 26, 31, 35). Forgiveness implies that there was something to be forgiven — some offense that needed to be dealt with. If the offering were purely about cleaning furniture and floors, why would the text speak of the offerer being "forgiven"? The language of forgiveness points toward something personal and relational happening between the offerer and God, not merely a ritual maintenance of sacred space.

Second, the fact that the sin offering covered unintentional sins does not eliminate the penal dimension. Even unintentional sins create real guilt before God. In the ancient Israelite understanding, sin — whether intentional or not — had objective consequences. It defiled, it contaminated, and it disrupted the relationship between the holy God and His people. The offering dealt with that disruption. As for the offerings after childbirth or after a Nazarite vow, these dealt with ritual impurity — a state of being that, while not involving moral guilt in the way we might think of it, still represented a barrier between the person and God's holy presence. The broader point is that human beings, simply by living in a fallen world, find themselves in a state that requires atonement to approach a holy God. Jeffery, Ovey, and Sach put it well: "The underlying point could be rather that uncleanness is an intrinsic problem for fallen human beings; simply as we exist, experiencing nothing more than is common to everyday human life, we find ourselves unable to approach a holy God."¹⁴

Third, I want to push back on the claim that there is no substitutionary dimension in the sin offering. Allen states the matter plainly: "Substitution is the essential factor in the sacrifices of the OT."¹⁵ He identifies three principles in the Old Testament sacrifices: "(1) The sacrifice is offered to God, who is holy. (2) The sacrifice is a substitution on the part of the innocent for the guilty. (3) The laying on of hands by the one who offers indicates substitution by incorporation."¹⁶ The animal dies; the offerer lives. That is substitution, whether or not the word "penal" is explicitly used in the text.

The Guilt (Trespass) Offering (asham, אָשָׁם) — Leviticus 5:14–6:7

The guilt offering (or reparation offering) was closely related to the sin offering but dealt specifically with cases where someone had committed a wrong that required restitution — for example, misuse of sacred property, unintentional violation of God's commands, or defrauding a neighbor (Lev. 5:14–6:7). In addition to the animal sacrifice, the offender was required to make full restitution plus a twenty percent penalty to the injured party.

The Hebrew word asham (אָשָׁם) carries the sense of guilt or liability — something is owed because of a wrong that was done. Hess describes this offering as "a reparation offering" whose purpose was "to repair a broken relationship" and make restitution for wrongs committed.¹⁷ I appreciate this framing. The guilt offering does emphasize the relational dimension — repairing what was broken, making things right between the offender, the offended party, and God.

But the guilt offering also carries profound significance for atonement theology because of one critical fact: Isaiah 53:10 uses this very word, asham, to describe the Suffering Servant's sacrifice. "Yet it was the will of the LORD to crush him; he has put him to grief; when his soul makes an offering for guilt [asham], he shall see his offspring; he shall prolong his days" (Isa. 53:10, ESV). The Suffering Servant does not just offer a generic sacrifice — he makes himself a guilt offering, an asham. This is extraordinarily specific. It tells us that the prophet understood the Servant's death in terms of the Levitical guilt offering: a sacrifice that deals with real guilt, that makes restitution for real wrongs, and that restores what was broken. We will explore this connection in depth in Chapter 6, but it is worth noting here because it shows how the categories established in Leviticus become the categories used to interpret the cross.¹⁸

Hess argues that the guilt offering's emphasis on restitution and relationship supports a participatory rather than substitutionary reading.¹⁹ But I find this puzzling. The offering still required the death of an animal. The priest still made atonement on the offerer's behalf. And the offerer was still forgiven as a result (Lev. 6:7). The restitution element does not replace the sacrificial element — it is added to it. Both are required. The wrong must be made right and atonement must be made through blood.

Substitution Before Leviticus: Genesis 22 and the Passover

Before we even get to the detailed procedures of the Levitical system, the Old Testament has already established the principle of substitution through two powerful narratives: the binding of Isaac in Genesis 22 and the Passover in Exodus 12.

In Genesis 22, God commands Abraham to offer his son Isaac as a burnt offering on Mount Moriah. Abraham obeys, and at the last moment — with the knife raised — the angel of the LORD stops him. Abraham looks up and sees a ram caught in a thicket, and he sacrifices the ram "instead of his son" (Gen. 22:13, ESV). The Hebrew word here is tachath (תַּחַת), which means "in place of" or "instead of." This is as clear an expression of substitution as one can find. An animal dies so that a person does not. Allen identifies two principles at work in this passage: "(1) the divine rejection of human sacrifice coupled with divine sanction of sacrifice in general, in that God commanded Abraham to offer a sacrifice; (2) the acceptance of an animal sacrifice as the substitute for the life of a human being."⁵⁵

Stott likewise sees Genesis 22 as a foundational illustration of the substitutionary principle at the very dawn of Israel's story.⁵⁶ The ram died; Isaac lived. And critically, God Himself provided the substitute — Abraham named the place "The LORD will provide" (Gen. 22:14). This is the template that the entire sacrificial system develops and expands.

The Passover in Exodus 12 adds another crucial dimension. On the night before the exodus from Egypt, God instructed each Israelite household to slaughter a lamb and apply its blood to the doorposts of their homes. When the destroying angel came through Egypt, he would "pass over" the homes marked with blood, and the firstborn would be spared. Allen summarizes the significance: "In order for the inhabitants of the house to be safe, a lamb had to die. This death was viewed as a substitute for the firstborn sons of Israel."⁵⁷

Craig emphasizes that the Passover sacrifice was not originally about expiating sin at all. It was about averting God's judgment. The blood of the lamb on the doorframes sheltered Israel as God's deadly judgment swept over Egypt. Had they not offered the sacrifices, God's judgment would have fallen on the Israelites as well.⁵⁸ This is propitiation — a sacrifice that turns aside divine judgment — in its most vivid and dramatic form.

The New Testament sees Jesus as the fulfillment of both these narratives. Paul declares, "Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed" (1 Cor. 5:7). Peter says we are "redeemed ... with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without blemish or spot" (1 Pet. 1:19). And John's Gospel carefully arranges its chronology so that Jesus dies on the cross at the very time the Passover lambs are being slaughtered in the temple (John 19:14). The substitutionary logic is the same: the lamb dies so that the people live. These pre-Levitical narratives establish a pattern — substitution, blood, and the averting of judgment — that the Levitical system then elaborates in comprehensive detail.

There is also the covenant sacrifice of Exodus 24 to consider. After the giving of the law at Sinai, Moses sprinkled the blood of sacrificed animals both on the altar and on the people, declaring, "Behold the blood of the covenant that the LORD has made with you" (Exod. 24:8). Allen observes that "God teaches Israel that He must be approached through an offering. True worship of God must be based on atonement for sin."⁵⁹ The covenant between God and Israel was inaugurated through blood — through sacrificial death. This is the context into which Jesus' words at the Last Supper directly speak: "This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins" (Matt. 26:28). Jesus understood His death in terms drawn directly from the sacrificial tradition of Israel.

The Theology of the Laying on of Hands (semikah, סְמִיכָה)

One of the most important — and most debated — elements of the sacrificial ritual is the laying on of hands, known in Hebrew as semikah (סְמִיכָה). Before the animal was killed, the offerer placed a hand (or hands) on the animal's head (Lev. 1:4; 3:2, 8, 13; 4:4, 15, 24, 29, 33). What did this act signify?

Three main interpretations have been proposed. Some scholars see the laying on of hands as simply a designation — the offerer is identifying which animal is being offered. Others see it as an act of identification — the offerer is symbolically uniting himself with the animal, so that what happens to the animal is understood to happen on behalf of the offerer. Still others go further and see it as a transfer — specifically, a transfer of sin from the offerer to the animal, so that the animal bears the offerer's sin and guilt.

Craig argues that at minimum the laying on of hands involves identification and representation — the offerer identifies with the animal, and the animal represents the offerer before God.²⁰ Stott acknowledges the scholarly debate but notes that the laying on of hands certainly involved the offerer "identifying themselves with it" and "designating the victim as standing for him," and that "some scholars go further and see the laying on of hands as 'a symbolic transferral of the sins of the worshipper to the animal.'"²¹ This transferral interpretation is most clearly supported by the scapegoat ritual in Leviticus 16, where the high priest lays both hands on the goat's head and explicitly confesses the sins of the people over it (Lev. 16:21). In that case, the transfer of sin is unmistakable.

Allen is direct: the laying on of hands "indicates substitution by incorporation" — the offerer is incorporated into the animal, and the animal then acts as the offerer's substitute.²² I find this reading the most persuasive. Whether we call it "identification," "representation," or "transfer," the practical result is the same: the animal takes the offerer's place. The animal dies; the offerer lives. That is the logic of substitution, and it runs throughout the sacrificial system.

Hess, by contrast, interprets the laying on of hands as an act of participation rather than substitution. The offerer is participating in a relationship with God, not transferring guilt to the animal.²³ He draws a sharp distinction between "substitutionary offerings" (where the animal dies instead of the sinner) and "participatory offerings" (where the animal is given as a gesture of love to share in a relationship with God), and argues that the latter is the correct category.²⁴

I understand why Hess frames it this way, and I do not deny that there is a participatory element in Israel's sacrificial worship. But Hess presents participation and substitution as if they are mutually exclusive options — as if the offering can be one or the other, but not both. I do not see why this must be the case. In fact, I think the best reading holds both dimensions together. The offerer participates in a ritual that God has ordained, and through that ritual, the animal substitutes for the offerer. Participation is the mode; substitution is part of the content. As Jeffery, Ovey, and Sach argue: "When a person lives who otherwise would have died, and an animal dies that would otherwise have lived, substitution is necessarily entailed."²⁵

The Theology of Blood: "The Life of the Flesh Is in the Blood"

No discussion of the Levitical sacrificial system is complete without addressing the theology of blood. Blood is everywhere in Leviticus. It is sprinkled, poured, daubed on altar horns, and applied to the mercy seat. Why? What makes blood so central to atonement?

The key text is Leviticus 17:11, one of the most important verses in the entire Old Testament for understanding atonement:

"For the life of the flesh is in the blood, and I have given it for you on the altar to make atonement for your souls, for it is the blood that makes atonement by the life." (Leviticus 17:11, ESV)

This verse is packed with theology. Let me unpack it step by step, following the analysis of several key scholars.

Stott identifies three crucial affirmations in this verse.²⁶ First, blood is the symbol of life — specifically, life given up in death. The emphasis is not on blood flowing through veins (life being lived) but on blood shed (life ended). When blood was drained from the animal, the animal's life was given up.

Second, blood makes atonement, and the reason is given in the repetition of the word life: "the life of the flesh is in the blood" and "it is the blood that makes atonement by the life." One life is forfeit because of sin; another life is sacrificed instead. T. J. Crawford expressed it well, as quoted by Stott: "The text, then, according to its plain and obvious import, teaches the vicarious nature of the rite of sacrifice. Life was given for life, the life of the victim for the life of the offerer."²⁷

Third — and this is often overlooked — the blood was given by God for this atoning purpose. "I have given it to you," God says, "to make atonement for yourselves on the altar." The sacrificial system was not a human invention designed to bribe or manipulate God. It was God's own provision. God Himself established the means by which sinful people could be reconciled to Him. This is a crucial point that protects us from the caricature of an angry deity being bribed by human offerings. The sacrifices were God's gift to His people.²⁸

Jeffery, Ovey, and Sach highlight the ransom dimension in Leviticus 17:11, noting that the Hebrew phrase "to make atonement for yourselves" uses the same construction found in Exodus 30:15–16, where kipper (atonement) is connected to the payment of a ransom (kopher). They also observe that "there may also be an element of substitution implied in Leviticus 17:11 by the parallelism 'the life of the creature ... for one's life.'"²⁹

Hess acknowledges that the blood is the vehicle of atonement, but interprets its function differently. He argues that the blood works as a "cleansing agent, a ritual detergent, to cleanse the holy space of all impurities" rather than as a substitute bearing the sinner's punishment.³⁰ He emphasizes that the blood is applied to the altar and the sanctuary — not to the people — and therefore its function is purificatory rather than penal. He writes that the blood, being "pure life," serves to counteract the corruption and death that sin introduced into God's holy dwelling place.³¹

Again, there is something right in Hess's observation. The blood was applied to the altar and to the sanctuary. The purificatory dimension is undeniably present. But I believe Hess creates a false dichotomy. Leviticus 17:11 does not say, "I have given the blood to cleanse the sacred space." It says, "I have given it for you on the altar to make atonement for your souls." The atonement is for the people — for their souls, their lives. The blood makes atonement by the life — one life given in place of another. The purification of sacred space and the substitutionary atonement for persons are both happening together.

The Debate over Blood: Life Released or Life Poured Out?

A significant debate in Old Testament scholarship concerns whether sacrificial blood symbolizes "life released" (that is, life set free to accomplish something positive, like purification) or "life poured out in death" (that is, death — the loss of life as a penalty). This debate matters because it shapes how we understand the atonement itself.

The "life released" view was championed in the early twentieth century by scholars like C. H. Dodd and Vincent Taylor. In this reading, when blood was shed in sacrifice, it was not the death that mattered but the life that was released — life set free from the body so that it could be offered to God as a positive, life-giving force. On this view, the sacrifices were not primarily about death and penalty but about the release of life-force for purification and renewal.

The "life poured out in death" view was powerfully defended by Leon Morris in his landmark work The Apostolic Preaching of the Cross. Morris argued that in the Old Testament, "blood" almost always refers to death — specifically, violent or sacrificial death. When blood is shed, it means a life has been taken. The blood on the altar represents not "life released" but "death accomplished." The animal has died so that the offerer does not have to.³²

I believe Morris has the stronger case. The consistent pattern of the sacrificial ritual is: the animal is killed, its blood is drained, and that blood is applied for atonement. The death is the prerequisite. Without the death, there is no blood to apply. As the author of Hebrews would later summarize the whole system: "without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins" (Heb. 9:22, ESV). This does not mean that blood is merely a symbol of violence or punishment. It means that blood represents the cost of atonement — a life given so that another life might be spared. Stott summarizes the logic powerfully: "No forgiveness without blood meant no atonement without substitution. There had to be life for life or blood for blood."³³

This does not mean there is no purificatory dimension to the blood. Of course there is. The blood cleanses; the blood purifies; the blood removes defilement. But it does these things precisely because a life has been given — sacrificially, substitutionarily — in the place of the one who needed cleansing. The purificatory and the substitutionary are not rival interpretations. They are two sides of the same coin.

The Meaning of Kipper (כָּפַר) — What Does "Atonement" Actually Mean?

The word "atonement" in our English Bibles almost always translates the Hebrew verb kipper (כָּפַר, in its piel form — the intensive verbal pattern). This is one of the most important words in the Old Testament for our subject. But what does it actually mean?

The word kipper occurs sixteen times in Leviticus 16 alone — the chapter describing the Day of Atonement — and dozens of times elsewhere in the sacrificial legislation.³⁴ Scholars have proposed several meanings, and as Allen notes, "the word kipper includes the notions of propitiation, expiation, purification, and reconciliation."³⁵ That is, kipper is a rich, multidimensional word that should not be reduced to just one meaning. Let me walk through the main proposals.

First, kipper can mean "to forgive." When God is the subject of the action, kipper sometimes functions as a near-synonym for forgiveness. But in many texts, kipper is distinguished from forgiveness and is actually a prerequisite for it — the atonement is made, and then the offerer is forgiven (Lev. 4:20, 26, 31; 19:22; Num. 15:25). This suggests that atonement is the basis on which forgiveness becomes possible.³⁶

Second, kipper can mean "to cleanse" or "to purify." This meaning is present in texts like Leviticus 16:30: "On this day shall atonement be made for you to cleanse you. You shall be clean before the LORD from all your sins." The language of cleansing and purification is closely tied to atonement.³⁷

Third, kipper can mean "to ransom." The related noun kopher (כֹּפֶר) means "ransom" or "ransom price" — a payment made to secure the release or safety of someone (e.g., Exod. 30:12). In the sacrificial system, the life of the animal functions as a ransom for the life of the offerer. The lid that covered the Ark of the Covenant was called the kapporet (כַּפֹּרֶת) — the "mercy seat" — the very place where the blood was sprinkled on the Day of Atonement. Allen notes that this word became the basis for the Greek word hilastērion (ἱλαστήριον) used in Romans 3:25 to describe Christ (see Chapter 8 for the full discussion of this passage).³⁸

Fourth, kipper can refer to the averting of God's wrath. This is the propitiatory dimension. In several Old Testament texts, kipper is used in contexts where God's wrath is explicitly present and the atonement functions to turn that wrath aside. Jeffery, Ovey, and Sach provide two striking examples.³⁹ In Numbers 25, when Israel sinned with the Moabite women and God's anger burned against them in a plague, Phinehas's zealous act is described as having "turned my anger away from the Israelites" and "made atonement [kipper] for the Israelites" (Num. 25:10–13). The connection between kipper and the averting of God's wrath is, as Jeffery, Ovey, and Sach put it, "inescapable."⁴⁰ In Numbers 16:46–47, Aaron offers incense to make atonement during a plague sent by God against Israel's grumbling, and the plague is stopped. Again, kipper functions to turn aside divine wrath.

Hess and scholars in the expiation-only camp tend to downplay or deny this fourth meaning. Hess insists that the Old Testament sacrifices were about expiation (cleansing, purification, wiping away) rather than propitiation (satisfying wrath, averting anger).⁴¹ He argues that the Hebrew terms surrounding sacrifice focus on "dedication and consecration — a gift," not on violence or wrath-satisfaction.⁴²

But the textual evidence is against him on this point. The examples from Numbers 25 and Numbers 16 are not obscure — they are clear, explicit cases where atonement functions to avert God's wrath. And as Jeffery, Ovey, and Sach astutely observe, the fact that we do not see God's wrath more often in the Levitical system is actually evidence that the system was working: "It is precisely because sacrifice does relate directly to anger that we see anger so rarely! When the sacrificial system is abused, as in the case of Nadab and Abihu, God's wrath is seen plainly."⁴³ The comparison they make is apt: the fact that our drinking water is safe does not mean contamination is never a problem — it means the purification systems are working properly. Turn off the system, and you quickly discover why it was needed.

Expiation and Propitiation: Both, Not Either/Or

This brings us to one of the most important debates in the entire field of atonement theology: the debate between expiation and propitiation. This debate is treated in depth in Chapter 2 (on atonement terminology) and Chapter 8 (on Romans 3:25), but because it is so central to the Levitical system, a brief treatment is needed here as well.

Expiation refers to the removal or cleansing of sin. When a sacrifice expiates sin, it wipes away the offense, purifies the contamination, and removes the stain. The object of expiation is sin. Propitiation refers to the satisfaction or averting of God's wrath. When a sacrifice propitiates, it turns aside God's righteous anger against sin by satisfying the demands of His justice. The object of propitiation is God — specifically, God's wrath.

In the mid-twentieth century, C. H. Dodd argued that the biblical concept of atonement was purely expiatory — it was about cleansing sin, not about appeasing an angry God. He thought the idea of propitiation was a pagan concept that had been wrongly imported into the biblical text. Leon Morris responded at length, demonstrating from both the Old and New Testaments that propitiation — the averting of God's wrath through sacrifice — is a genuine biblical concept that cannot be explained away.⁴⁴ Morris showed that the Hebrew word kipper and its related terms carry propitiatory overtones in numerous contexts, and that the attempt to eliminate propitiation from the Bible's sacrificial vocabulary required ignoring a significant body of textual evidence. This debate is not merely academic. If Dodd is right that the sacrifices were only about cleansing sin (expiation), then there is no wrath of God to be satisfied, and penal substitutionary atonement loses one of its key biblical supports. If Morris is right that the sacrifices also addressed God's wrath (propitiation), then the penal dimension of the atonement has deep roots in the Old Testament itself.

Craig provides helpful clarity on this debate. He argues that the Levitical sacrifices clearly served both expiatory and propitiatory functions. The Passover sacrifice (Exod. 12), for example, was not originally about expiating sin at all — it was about averting God's judgment. The blood on the doorposts did not cleanse sin; it sheltered Israel from the destroying angel. That is propitiation, pure and simple.⁴⁵ Craig further notes that the repeated description of the burnt offerings as producing "a pleasing odor to the LORD" (Lev. 1:9, 13, 17; 2:2; 3:5) "implies that the sacrifices were accepted by God and helped to cultivate His favor."⁴⁶ This, too, is propitiatory language.

I believe the evidence supports the conclusion that the Levitical sacrifices included both expiation and propitiation. They cleansed sin and they satisfied God's justice. They purified and they propitiated. Once we recognize this, the sacrificial system reveals a rich, multi-layered theology that anticipates the fullness of what Christ accomplished on the cross. As Allen summarizes: "The sacrificial offering (the shedding of blood) propitiates the wrath of God, expiates the guilt of sin, and effects reconciliation."⁴⁷

Responding to Hess: Participation or Substitution?

Throughout his chapter on the Old Testament offerings, Hess builds a case that the sacrificial system was fundamentally about participation rather than substitution. Let me gather his key arguments and respond to them as a whole.

Hess's central claim is that the offerings were "gifts meant to establish, maintain, and repair relationships with God and each other."⁴⁸ He identifies five aspects of the offerings: showing reverential sacrifice, sharing a meal with God, breaking bread with the Creator, representing oneself as given over to God, and symbolizing the outcome of sin.⁴⁹ He concludes: "Nowhere in the Torah does it hint to God's wrath being appeased or needing satiation."⁵⁰

Hess also draws a sharp line between the Hebrew sacrificial system and pagan systems of sacrifice. He warns that "due to surrounding nations using similar burnt offerings as a means of propitiation, wrath appeasement, and expiation, many people have mistakenly placed a similar meaning to the offerings in Israel," and reminds us that God specifically told Israel not to worship Him as the pagans did (Deut. 12:4, 31).⁵¹

There are legitimate insights in Hess's treatment. He is right that the offerings were relational. He is right that they included dimensions of worship, gratitude, fellowship, and communion that go beyond mere sin-management. He is right that we should not import pagan concepts of manipulating angry deities into the biblical text. And he is right that not every offering was about dealing with sin — the grain offering and the peace offering demonstrate that clearly.

But I believe Hess overreaches in several ways.

First, the claim that "nowhere in the Torah does it hint to God's wrath being appeased" is simply not supported by the textual evidence. As we have seen, Numbers 25 and Numbers 16 both explicitly connect atonement (kipper) with the averting of God's wrath. The death of Nadab and Abihu (Lev. 10:1–2), which is the backdrop for the Day of Atonement instructions in Leviticus 16, shows what happens when God's holiness is approached improperly — deadly judgment. The sacrificial system existed, in part, to prevent that kind of catastrophe.

Second, Hess's sharp either/or distinction between participation and substitution creates a false dichotomy. Why can the offerings not be both? The offerer participates in a God-ordained ritual that involves substitution — the animal dies in the offerer's place. Participation is how the offerer engages the system; substitution is what the system accomplishes. To say that Israel "participated" in their relationship with God through sacrifice is true but incomplete. The question is: what was happening in that participation? And the answer, at least in the blood sacrifices, includes the death of a substitute.

Third, while Hess is right that we should not simply equate Israelite sacrifice with pagan sacrifice, the conclusion he draws — that therefore Israelite sacrifice cannot involve propitiation — does not follow. The fact that pagans distorted the concept of sacrifice does not mean that the concept itself is wrong. As Stott wisely observes, it is better to say that "the Israelites (despite their backslidings) preserved the substance of God's original purpose, whereas pagan sacrifices were degenerate corruptions of it."⁵² The difference between Israelite and pagan sacrifice is not that Israel's sacrifices had no propitiatory dimension. The difference is that Israel's sacrifices were ordained by the true God and functioned within a covenant relationship rather than as attempts to manipulate a capricious deity.

Fourth, Hess appeals to N. T. Wright's claim that "the killing of the sacrificial animals was not, in ancient Israel, the important part of the ritual" and that the focus was on the blood as "the all-important agent for purging or cleansing."⁵³ Wright concludes: "There is nothing here about punishment." But this is misleading. The killing was certainly essential — without the death of the animal, there would be no blood to apply. The death was the prerequisite for everything that followed. To say the killing was "not the important part" obscures the fact that it was the necessary part. You cannot have purification through blood without first having death.

The Sacrificial System as Foreshadowing: Pointing to Christ

Having surveyed the individual offerings and engaged with the scholarly debate, let me draw the threads together. What does the Levitical sacrificial system as a whole teach us about atonement?

I believe it teaches us at least seven things.

First, sin is serious. The elaborate system of sacrifices — the constant shedding of blood, the careful procedures, the need for ongoing offerings — all testify to the gravity of sin. Sin is not a minor problem that God can simply overlook. It defiles, it separates, and it brings death.

Second, atonement requires blood. The consistent testimony of the Levitical system is that without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness (cf. Heb. 9:22). A price must be paid. A life must be given.

Third, substitution is at the heart of the system. The laying on of hands, the death of the animal, the application of blood — all point to the principle that one life is given in place of another. The animal dies so that the offerer can live.

Fourth, atonement includes both expiation and propitiation. The sacrifices cleanse sin (expiation) and satisfy God's justice (propitiation). These are complementary, not competing, functions.

Fifth, God Himself provides the means of atonement. The sacrificial system was not a human invention. God ordained it as His own gracious provision for dealing with the barrier that sin created between Himself and His people.

Sixth, the offerings were relational and communal. Hess is right about this. The sacrifices were embedded in a covenantal relationship between God and Israel. They were not cold, mechanical transactions but acts of worship, gratitude, and love. Fellowship with God was the goal.

Seventh, the system was incomplete. The constant repetition of the offerings pointed to their inadequacy. They could never finally deal with sin. As the author of Hebrews would later write: "For it is impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins" (Heb. 10:4, ESV). "For the law, having a shadow of the good things to come, and not the very image of the things, can never with these same sacrifices, which they offer continually year by year, make those who approach perfect" (Heb. 10:1). The entire system pointed forward — beyond itself — to a greater sacrifice yet to come.⁵⁴

That greater sacrifice, of course, is Jesus Christ. The New Testament authors understood this with crystal clarity. Paul declares that "Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed" (1 Cor. 5:7). The author of Hebrews portrays Christ as both the perfect priest and the perfect sacrifice, fulfilling everything the Levitical system foreshadowed (Heb. 9–10, discussed in Chapter 10). Peter says we were redeemed "with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without blemish or spot" (1 Pet. 1:19). John the Baptist pointed to Jesus and declared, "Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!" (John 1:29). And Paul tells us that God put Christ forward as a hilastērion — a propitiation, a mercy seat — by His blood (Rom. 3:25, discussed in Chapter 8).

Every lamb that died on an Israelite altar, every splash of blood on the bronze horns, every wisp of smoke that carried the "pleasing aroma" heavenward was a signpost pointing to Calvary. The sacrificial system was God's way of preparing His people — teaching them the grammar, the vocabulary, the logic — of what He would one day accomplish definitively and finally through the death of His Son. Craig puts it beautifully: Jesus Himself chose the Passover festival as the setting for the climax of His ministry. This was no accident. Jesus saw His death symbolized in the elements of the Passover meal — the broken bread, the poured-out wine — and He understood Himself as the Servant of Isaiah 53 who "makes himself an offering for sin."⁶⁰

We should also note how the New Testament weaves together multiple sacrificial categories when describing the death of Christ. Jesus is the Passover lamb (1 Cor. 5:7), the sin offering (Rom. 8:3; 2 Cor. 5:21), the guilt offering (Isa. 53:10, applied to Christ by the New Testament authors), the sacrifice of the Day of Atonement (Heb. 9–10), and the covenant sacrifice (Matt. 26:28; Heb. 9:15). He is the offering that produces a "fragrant offering and sacrifice to God" (Eph. 5:2), echoing the "pleasing aroma" of the burnt offering. The New Testament does not select just one sacrificial category and apply it to Christ. It applies all of them. Christ fulfills the entire sacrificial system — every offering, every ritual, every drop of blood. This is strong evidence that the early Christians understood the sacrificial system as a unified, God-given preparation for the cross.

Conclusion

The Old Testament sacrificial system is not a relic of a primitive age. It is a masterpiece of divine pedagogy — God teaching His people, through vivid and tangible rituals, the deep truths about sin, holiness, blood, substitution, and atonement that would find their ultimate fulfillment in Jesus Christ.

We have seen that the five major offerings each served a distinct purpose: the burnt offering expressed total consecration; the grain offering expressed gratitude and devotion; the peace offering expressed fellowship and communion; the sin (purification) offering dealt with the contamination of sin; and the guilt (reparation) offering dealt with the debt that sin incurs. Together, they painted a comprehensive picture of what it means for a sinful people to live in the presence of a holy God.

We have seen that the laying on of hands connected the offerer to the sacrificial animal in an act of identification and substitution. We have seen that the blood — the life of the animal given up in death — was the divinely ordained means of atonement. And we have seen that the Hebrew word kipper encompasses forgiveness, cleansing, ransom, and the averting of God's wrath — all dimensions that converge in the cross of Christ.

I have engaged at length with Hess's reading of the sacrificial system, and I want to be fair: he rightly emphasizes the relational, participatory, and communal dimensions of Israel's worship. The offerings were not cold transactions. They were embedded in a living, covenantal relationship between God and His people. But Hess is wrong, I believe, to deny the substitutionary and propitiatory dimensions of the blood sacrifices. The textual evidence — Leviticus 17:11, the laying on of hands, the language of forgiveness, and the explicit connection between kipper and the averting of wrath in texts like Numbers 25 — points toward a sacrificial theology that includes genuine substitution and genuine propitiation.

In the end, the sacrificial system teaches us something profound about the God we worship. He is a God of blazing holiness who cannot simply ignore sin. But He is also a God of extravagant love who provides — at His own initiative and cost — the means for sinful people to be reconciled to Him. The sacrifices were His idea, His provision, His gift. And they all pointed to the greatest gift of all: His own Son, the Lamb of God, who would take away the sin of the world.

In the next chapter, we will turn to the climax of the sacrificial system — the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur), described in Leviticus 16 — and explore how its remarkable dual ritual of the sacrificed goat and the scapegoat provides the fullest Old Testament picture of what Christ accomplished on the cross.

Bibliography

Allen, David L. The Atonement: A Biblical, Theological, and Historical Study of the Cross of Christ. Nashville: B&H Academic, 2019.

Craig, William Lane. Atonement and the Death of Christ: An Exegetical, Historical, and Philosophical Exploration. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2020.

Hess, William L. Crushing the Great Serpent: Did God Punish Jesus? 2024.

Jeffery, Steve, Michael Ovey, and Andrew Sach. Pierced for Our Transgressions: Rediscovering the Glory of Penal Substitution. Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2007.

Milgrom, Jacob. Leviticus 1–16. Anchor Bible Commentary. New York: Doubleday, 1991.

Morris, Leon. The Apostolic Preaching of the Cross. 3rd ed. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1965.

Morris, Leon. The Atonement: Its Meaning and Significance. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1983.

Stott, John R. W. The Cross of Christ. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2006.

Wright, N. T. The Day the Revolution Began: Reconsidering the Meaning of Jesus's Crucifixion. San Francisco: HarperOne, 2016.