If you have ever tried to read through the book of Leviticus, you know the experience. You start with good intentions. You get through the first chapter or two. Then somewhere around the detailed instructions for sprinkling blood on the sides of the altar and burning the fat of the kidneys, your eyes glaze over. Many Christians, if they are honest, would admit that Leviticus is the book where their "read the Bible in a year" plan goes to die.
I understand that feeling completely. The world of ancient animal sacrifice can seem strange, even disturbing, to modern readers. We live in a world of grocery stores and climate-controlled homes, far removed from the blood and smoke of an ancient altar. The detailed rituals of Leviticus — the slaughtering of bulls and goats, the sprinkling of blood, the burning of animal fat — can feel primitive, even barbaric. Why would God command such things? What possible relevance could these ancient rituals have for us today?
The answer, I believe, is that they have enormous relevance. In fact, we cannot understand the death of Jesus on the cross without them. The Old Testament sacrificial system is not a relic of a bygone age that we can safely ignore. It is the theological foundation — the essential grammar — that the New Testament writers assumed their readers would know when they wrote about the cross of Christ. When Paul says Christ was our "Passover lamb" (1 Cor. 5:7), when the author of Hebrews says Jesus offered "one sacrifice for sins for ever" (Heb. 10:12), when Peter says we were redeemed "with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without blemish or spot" (1 Pet. 1:19) — all of these statements presuppose the world of Leviticus. They draw their meaning from the Old Testament sacrificial system. Without Leviticus, the cross loses its theological context.
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. In the pages that follow, we will survey the major types of Levitical sacrifice, explore the meaning of the laying on of hands, examine the theology of blood and atonement, and investigate the crucial Hebrew word kipper (כָּפַר). Throughout, we will see that the theme of substitution — one life given in place of another — runs like a golden thread through the entire system.1
Before we dive in, a word about what this chapter will and will not cover. The Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur), described in Leviticus 16, is such an important topic that it deserves its own chapter. We will treat it in detail in Chapter 5. Likewise, Isaiah 53 — the great Suffering Servant passage — receives its own full treatment in Chapter 6. This chapter focuses on the broader Levitical sacrificial system and its theology. We will touch on the Day of Atonement and Isaiah 53 briefly where necessary, but the in-depth treatment belongs to those later chapters.
To understand the sacrificial system, we need to understand why it existed in the first place. And that begins with understanding who God is. The God of Israel is holy. That word — qadosh (קָדוֹשׁ) in Hebrew — means "set apart, distinct, other." God is not like us. He is morally perfect, utterly pure, and completely free from any taint of sin or evil. When Isaiah saw a vision of God in the temple, the seraphim cried out, "Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory!" (Isa. 6:3). Isaiah's response was immediate terror: "Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips" (Isa. 6:5).2
This is the fundamental problem. God is holy, and we are not. God is pure, and we are stained by sin. How, then, can sinful human beings come into the presence of a holy God without being consumed? This question stands at the heart of the entire Old Testament. As Fleming Rutledge observes, the detailed codes of Leviticus, strange as they seem to us today, were given to a people living as exiles and sojourners who needed to know how to live in the presence of their holy God. The Holiness Code was designed to differentiate the people of God from the surrounding nations and to make it possible for a holy God to dwell among an unholy people.3
The answer God gave to this problem was the sacrificial system. God did not leave Israel to figure things out on their own. He gave them the sacrificial system as a gift — as His own chosen means of dealing with the barrier that sin had erected between Himself and His people. This is an essential point that we must not miss. The sacrifices were not a human invention designed to appease an angry deity. They were God's own provision, given in love, so that His people could remain in relationship with Him despite their sin. As Leviticus 17:11 makes clear, "I have given it to you on the altar to make atonement for your souls" (emphasis added).4 The sacrificial system was a divine gift, not a human scheme.
Key Point: The Old Testament sacrificial system was not a human invention designed to bribe or appease God. It was God's own gracious provision — a gift He gave to His people so that sinful human beings could remain in relationship with a holy God. God Himself provided the means of atonement.
The early chapters of Leviticus describe five major types of offering. Each one served a distinct purpose, and together they give us a rich, multi-layered picture of what it means to approach God in worship and atonement. Let us walk through each one.
The burnt offering, or olah (עֹלָה), is the first offering described in Leviticus and in many ways the most foundational. The Hebrew word olah literally means "that which goes up" — referring to the smoke that ascended from the altar when the entire animal was consumed by fire. Unlike other offerings where parts of the animal might be eaten by the priests or the worshiper, in the burnt offering the entire animal was burned on the altar. Nothing was held back. It was a complete and total consecration to God.5
The ritual was carefully prescribed. The worshiper brought a male animal without blemish — a bull, a sheep, a goat, or in cases of poverty, a turtledove or pigeon. The worshiper then laid his hand on the head of the animal. After this, the animal was slaughtered, its blood was sprinkled on the sides of the altar by the priests, and the entire animal was burned. The fire consumed everything.
What was the purpose? Leviticus 1:4 tells us: "He shall lay his hand on the head of the burnt offering, and it shall be accepted for him to make atonement for him." The burnt offering was an atoning sacrifice. But it also expressed something more: total dedication and surrender to God. The fact that the entire animal was consumed — nothing held back — symbolized the worshiper's complete self-offering to God. The aroma rising to heaven was described as a "pleasing aroma" to the LORD (Lev. 1:9), an expression that the New Testament applies to Christ's own sacrifice (Eph. 5:2).6
We should also note the requirement that the animal be "without blemish." This was not arbitrary. The offering had to be the best the worshiper had — not a sick animal, not a leftover, not second-rate stock. It had to be perfect. God would not accept a damaged or defective sacrifice. Why? Because the sacrifice represented the worshiper before God. To offer a defective animal would be to treat God's holiness as something cheap, something that could be satisfied with leftovers. The prophet Malachi would later rebuke Israel for offering blind, lame, and sick animals — asking pointedly, "Would your governor accept such a gift?" (Mal. 1:8). If we would not insult an earthly ruler with inferior gifts, how much less should we insult the God of heaven?
This requirement anticipates what the New Testament says about Jesus: He was "a lamb without blemish or spot" (1 Pet. 1:19). The perfection required of the Old Testament sacrifice points forward to the perfect sacrifice of Christ. Jesus was morally and spiritually flawless — the only human being who ever lived a completely sinless life. He alone was qualified to stand as the unblemished offering for the sins of the world.
The grain offering, or minchah (מִנְחָה), was the only bloodless offering among the five. It consisted of fine flour, oil, and frankincense. Part of it was burned on the altar as "a memorial portion" to the LORD, and the rest was given to the priests (Lev. 2:2–3). The grain offering was typically presented alongside the burnt offering or the peace offering rather than on its own.
Because it involved no blood, the grain offering was not directly atoning in the same way the blood sacrifices were. Instead, it expressed devotion, gratitude, and dedication to God. It recognized God as the provider of daily sustenance and acknowledged that everything the worshiper had came from God's hand. The inclusion of salt ("the salt of the covenant," Lev. 2:13) underscored the enduring nature of the covenant relationship between God and His people.7
The grain offering reminds us that the sacrificial system was not only about dealing with sin. It was also about relationship — about gratitude, thanksgiving, and acknowledging God's goodness. This is an important corrective to those who reduce the entire sacrificial system to nothing more than a mechanism for appeasing an angry deity. There was joy in the offerings, not just sorrow for sin.
The peace offering, or shelamim (שְׁלָמִים), is sometimes also called the "fellowship offering." The Hebrew name comes from the root shalom (שָׁלוֹם), meaning peace, wholeness, well-being. This offering was unique because it was a shared meal. After the fat portions were burned on the altar and the priests received their share, the worshiper and his family ate the rest together in a communal feast before the LORD.8
Think about what this means. The worshiper, the priests, and — in a very real sense — God Himself all shared in the same sacrifice. The fat (considered the choicest part) went to God on the altar. The priests received their designated portions. And the worshiper's family ate together in celebration. It was a meal of communion, reconciliation, and fellowship. It said, in effect: "All is well between us and God. We are at peace. Let us celebrate together."
The peace offering could be offered as a thanksgiving offering (Lev. 7:12), a freewill offering, or a vow offering (Lev. 7:16). In every case, the emphasis was on restored relationship and joyful communion with God. This offering beautifully pictures what the atonement ultimately achieves — not just the removal of sin's penalty, but the restoration of fellowship between God and His people. The cross does not merely pay a legal debt; it brings us home to the Father's table.
Now we come to the two offerings most directly connected to atonement for sin. The sin offering, or chattath (חַטָּאת), was prescribed for sins committed "unintentionally" — that is, sins of ignorance, negligence, or inadvertence rather than deliberate, high-handed rebellion (Lev. 4:2). The Hebrew word chattath is interesting because it can mean both "sin" and "sin offering" — the very word ties the problem (sin) to the solution (the offering).9
The sin offering ritual varied depending on who had sinned. If the anointed priest sinned (and thereby brought guilt on the whole people), a young bull was required — the most costly sacrifice. If the whole congregation sinned, a young bull was again required. If a leader sinned, a male goat was prescribed. And if a common person sinned, a female goat or a female lamb was offered. For those who could not afford even these, two turtledoves or pigeons could be substituted, or in the case of extreme poverty, a portion of fine flour (Lev. 4:3, 13, 22, 27; 5:7, 11).10
This sliding scale is remarkable. It shows us that God cared about accessibility. No Israelite was excluded from atonement because of poverty. God made provision for everyone. At the same time, the scale reveals something about responsibility: the higher the position of the sinner, the more costly the sacrifice required. A leader's sin carries greater weight than a common person's sin, and the high priest's sin affects the entire community. Greater privilege brings greater responsibility.
The ritual involved laying hands on the animal's head, killing it, and then — this is crucial — the priest manipulated the blood in specific ways. For the sins of the priest and the congregation, blood was sprinkled seven times before the veil of the sanctuary and applied to the horns of the altar of incense (Lev. 4:6–7, 17–18). For the sins of a leader or a common person, blood was applied to the horns of the altar of burnt offering (Lev. 4:25, 30). In every case, the remaining blood was poured out at the base of the altar.
What was the purpose of this blood manipulation? It dealt with the defilement that sin had caused. Sin was not merely a legal problem in ancient Israel's theology; it was a pollution problem. Sin contaminated the sanctuary — the place where God dwelt among His people. If the contamination was not dealt with, God's presence would eventually withdraw. The blood of the sin offering purified the sanctuary, cleansing it of the defilement caused by sin and making it possible for God to continue dwelling among His people.11
The Sin Offering: The chattath (חַטָּאת) addressed the pollution and contamination caused by sin. Through the blood ritual, the sanctuary was purified and the relationship between God and His people was maintained. The offering dealt with both the guilt of the sinner and the defilement caused by sin.
The guilt offering, or asham (אָשָׁם), was closely related to the sin offering but had a distinct focus. While the sin offering dealt primarily with the purification of the sanctuary and the sinner, the guilt offering dealt specifically with reparation — making things right when someone had committed a specific offense against God's holy things or against a neighbor. It carried a strong sense of restitution. The offender was required not only to bring the sacrifice but also to make full restitution for the wrong committed, plus an additional twenty percent (Lev. 5:16; 6:5).12
The asham was required in cases such as unintentional desecration of holy things (Lev. 5:14–16), uncertain guilt — cases where someone suspected they may have sinned but was not sure (Lev. 5:17–19) — and specific offenses against a neighbor involving deceit, fraud, theft, or lying (Lev. 6:1–7). In each case, the offering involved bringing a ram without blemish, along with full restitution plus the additional penalty.
This offering is enormously significant for atonement theology because of one passage in particular. In Isaiah 53:10, the prophet describes the Suffering Servant's death using this very term: "when his soul makes an offering for guilt (asham, אָשָׁם)." The Servant's death is described as a guilt offering — the specific sacrifice that dealt with reparation for wrongs committed. As David Allen observes, Isaiah's use of asham in Isaiah 53:10 links the Servant's death directly to the Levitical sacrificial system and its substitutionary theology.13 We will explore this connection in much greater depth in Chapter 6, but it is important to note here: the guilt offering is not just an ancient ritual. It is a category that the Old Testament itself applies to the coming Messiah's death.
We have surveyed the five major offerings. Now let us step back and ask the theological question: What did these sacrifices mean? And specifically, did they involve substitution — one life given in place of another?
I believe the answer is clearly yes. Substitution is the essential factor in the sacrifices of the Old Testament. As Allen puts it, substitution is evident in at least two ways: "First, sometimes the one who brings an offering is represented by the offering, which is viewed as a substitute in his stead. This is the case with all animal offerings for sin. Second, sometimes something is substituted for the animal to be offered. Either way, substitution is front and center."14
The principle of substitution appears early in Scripture, long before the Levitical system was established. In Genesis 22, when God tested Abraham by asking him to sacrifice his son Isaac, God provided a ram caught in a thicket as a substitute. Abraham "sacrificed it as a burnt offering instead of his son" (Gen. 22:13). The Hebrew word translated "instead of" is tachath (תַּחַת), which means "in the place of." This is unmistakably substitutionary language. An animal died so that Isaac could live. One life was given in place of another.15
John Stott draws out the significance of this event, noting two principles: "the divine rejection of human sacrifice coupled with divine sanction of sacrifice in general" and "the acceptance of an animal sacrifice as the substitute for the life of a human being." The substitutionary principle is established from the very beginning.16
The same principle appears in the Passover (Exodus 12). On the night before the exodus from Egypt, God told each Israelite family to slaughter a lamb and paint its blood on the doorposts of their house. When the angel of death came through Egypt, he "passed over" the houses marked with blood, and the firstborn sons in those houses were spared. A lamb died so that a son could live. As Allen rightly observes, "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."17
The substitutionary principle is then woven into the very fabric of the Levitical system. Three principles govern 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."18 Let us now look more closely at this third point — the laying on of hands — because it is one of the most discussed elements of the sacrificial ritual.
In the sacrificial ritual, before the animal was killed, the worshiper laid his hand (or hands) on the animal's head. This act is called semikah (סְמִיכָה), from the Hebrew verb samak (סָמַךְ), meaning "to lean upon, to press, to lay." It is one of the most debated elements of the sacrificial system. Scholars disagree about exactly what this action meant. There are three main views.19
The first view is that the laying on of hands was a simple act of identification or designation. By placing his hand on the animal's head, the worshiper was identifying the animal as his offering — saying, in effect, "This is mine. This animal represents me." It was like putting a name tag on the sacrifice.
The second view goes further and sees the laying on of hands as a transference of sin. By pressing his hand on the animal's head, the worshiper was symbolically transferring his sin and guilt onto the animal, so that the animal bore the sin in his place. This interpretation draws strong support from the scapegoat ritual of the Day of Atonement (Lev. 16:21), where Aaron was explicitly told to "lay both his hands on the head of the live goat, and confess over it all the iniquities of the people of Israel... He shall put them on the head of the goat." In that case, the transference of sin was explicit and unmistakable.
The third view sees the laying on of hands as an act of substitutionary identification — a combination of the first two views. The worshiper identified himself with the animal, and the animal became his representative and substitute. The animal would now die in the worshiper's place, bearing the consequences that were due to the worshiper because of his sin.
I believe the third view — substitutionary identification — is the most faithful reading of the evidence. As Stott argues, "By laying their hand(s) on the animal, the offerers were certainly identifying themselves with it and solemnly designating the victim as standing for him." Stott adds that some scholars go further and see it as "a symbolic transferral of the sins of the worshipper to the animal, as was explicitly so in the case of the scapegoat." In either case, "having taken his place, the substitute animal was killed in recognition that the penalty for sin was death, its blood (symbolizing that the death had been accomplished) was sprinkled, and the offerer's life was spared."20
The Laying on of Hands: When the worshiper placed his hand on the sacrificial animal's head, it was an act of substitutionary identification. The worshiper identified himself with the animal, and the animal became his representative and substitute. The animal died so that the worshiper could live. This is the principle of substitution at the heart of the entire sacrificial system.
It is worth noting that some scholars have challenged the substitutionary reading of the laying on of hands. William Hess, for example, argues that the sacrifices in the Torah were never meant to appease God's wrath or transfer guilt. He contends that the offerings were primarily about maintaining sacred space, enabling relationship with God, and expressing dedication and gratitude — not about satisfying divine justice or transferring sin.21
Hess makes some fair points. He is right that not every offering in the Levitical system was about sin. The grain offering and the peace offering, as we have seen, had dimensions of gratitude, fellowship, and dedication that go well beyond atonement for sin. He is also right to emphasize the relational dimension of the sacrifices — they were about bringing people near to God, not just satisfying a legal requirement. The Hebrew word for offering, qorban (קָרְבָּן), comes from the root meaning "to draw near," and Hess highlights this connection effectively.22
However, I think Hess goes too far when he denies the substitutionary dimension. The texts themselves make it difficult to avoid this conclusion. In the sin offering and guilt offering, the animal dies and the worshiper lives. The animal's blood makes atonement for the worshiper's sin. The laying on of hands establishes a connection between worshiper and animal before the animal is killed. And in Leviticus 17:11, as we shall see shortly, God explicitly says the blood makes atonement "for your souls" — one life given for another. When a person lives who otherwise would have died, and an animal dies that would otherwise have lived, substitution is necessarily involved.23
I want to be fair to Hess's broader concern, which is that the sacrificial system should not be reduced to a crude mechanism of divine anger being pacified through violence. I share that concern. The sacrificial system was richer and more multi-dimensional than such a reductionist picture suggests. But the solution is not to deny the substitutionary element; it is to place it within the broader context of God's gracious provision for relationship with His people. Substitution is not the whole story of the sacrifices, but it is an essential part of the story.
We come now to one of the most important — and most debated — topics in Old Testament sacrifice: the meaning of blood. Why was blood so central to the sacrificial system? Why did God require the shedding of blood for the forgiveness of sins? The key text is Leviticus 17:11, one of the most theologically significant verses in the entire Old Testament:
"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 single verse packs an enormous amount of theology into a few words. Three critical affirmations are made here, and Stott helpfully unpacks all three.24
First, blood is the symbol of life. "The life of the flesh is in the blood." This understanding goes back to the earliest chapters of Genesis. After the flood, God told Noah he could eat meat but not "flesh with its life, that is, its blood" (Gen. 9:4). The reason for the prohibition on eating blood was that blood represented life itself. To shed blood was to take a life.
Second, blood makes atonement. And the reason it makes atonement is connected to the life it represents: "it is the blood that makes atonement by the life." One life is given for another. The animal's lifeblood, poured out on the altar, makes atonement for the worshiper's life. This is substitutionary logic at its clearest. As the nineteenth-century scholar T. J. Crawford expressed it: "Life was given for life, the life of the victim for the life of the offerer" — indeed, "the life of the innocent victim for the life of the sinful offerer."25
Third, 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." We must never forget this. The sacrificial system was God's initiative, God's provision, God's gift. The sacrifices were not a human device to manipulate or placate a reluctant deity. They were the means of atonement that God Himself provided, in His own grace and love, for the benefit of His people.
Leviticus 17:11 — The Key Text: "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." Three truths: (1) blood represents life; (2) blood makes atonement — one life given for another; (3) God Himself gave the blood for this purpose. This is the heart of sacrificial theology.
There has been a significant scholarly debate over whether "the blood" in the sacrificial system primarily represents life or death. Some scholars, following the influential work of C. H. Dodd and others, have argued that blood represents "life released" — that is, the life-force of the animal being liberated so it can be offered to God. In this view, the important thing is not that the animal died but that its life was "poured out" or "released." Death is almost incidental — merely the necessary step to get at the life-giving blood.26
Other scholars — most notably Leon Morris, whose work on sacrificial theology remains enormously influential — have argued that blood represents life given up in death. The shedding of blood is not a way of releasing life but a way of ending it. Blood shed means a death has occurred. And in the sacrificial system, that death is substitutionary — the animal dies so that the worshiper does not have to.27
Rutledge offers a wise perspective on this debate. She argues that, in the final analysis, the dispute between blood as life and blood as death is unnecessary. What matters is that both dimensions are present. It is right to say that the essence of Christ's sacrifice is the giving of His life, but separating the life from the death creates serious theological problems. If all the emphasis falls on "life released" and none on the death itself, then we lose the ability to speak meaningfully about substitution, propitiation, and vicarious suffering. We are left with no explanation for why the cross had to be so brutal, so agonizing, and so horrifying. If it were simply a matter of releasing the life-force in the blood, surely it could have been accomplished more cleanly.28
Rutledge quotes the nineteenth-century theologian James Denney, who powerfully critiqued the attempt to divide life from death in the sacrificial system. Denney insisted that "there is no meaning in saying that by his death his life, as something other than his death, is 'liberated' and 'made available' for men. On the contrary, what makes his risen life significant and a saving power for sinners is neither more nor less than this, that his death was in it."29
I find this persuasive. The blood in the sacrificial system represents life given up in death. It is not merely life released; it is life laid down. The animal truly dies, and its death is the means by which the worshiper's sin is covered. This is what gives the sacrificial system its substitutionary logic, and it is what makes the New Testament's application of sacrificial language to the cross so powerful. When Paul says we are "justified by his blood" (Rom. 5:9), he does not mean we are saved by Jesus' "life released." He means we are saved by Jesus' death — by His life voluntarily laid down for us.
At the heart of the Old Testament sacrificial system stands a Hebrew word that shows up again and again: kipper (כָּפַר). This is the word translated "to make atonement" or "to atone." It is the most important word in the vocabulary of Old Testament sacrifice. It appears sixteen times in Leviticus 16 alone — the chapter describing the Day of Atonement.30 Understanding what this word means is essential for understanding what the sacrifices were intended to accomplish.
So what does kipper mean? Scholars have proposed several possibilities, and Allen helpfully summarizes four main options — none of which necessarily excludes the others.31
First, kipper can mean "to forgive." When God is the subject of the verb, the word sometimes carries this meaning. However, in many texts, kipper is distinct from forgiveness and is actually a prerequisite for it. Leviticus 4:20, 26, and 31 all follow a pattern: the priest makes atonement (kipper) for the person, and then the person is forgiven. Atonement comes first; forgiveness follows as a result. This suggests that kipper describes the means by which forgiveness becomes possible, not forgiveness itself.32
Second, kipper can mean "to cleanse" or "to purify." This sense is especially prominent in Leviticus 16:30: "For on this day shall atonement be made for you to cleanse you. You shall be clean before the LORD from all your sins." The idea here is that sin defiles and contaminates, and atonement removes that defilement — it purges the stain of sin from the person and from the sanctuary.
Third, kipper can mean "to ransom." The related noun kopher (כֹּפֶר) means "ransom price" — the payment made to redeem a life. In Exodus 30:12, each Israelite was required to pay a "ransom" (kopher) for his life when the people were counted in a census. The idea is that a life is at stake, and a price must be paid to redeem it. In the sacrificial system, the life of the animal is the kopher — the ransom price paid for the life of the worshiper.33
Fourth, kipper can mean "to avert God's wrath" — that is, to propitiate. In Numbers 25:11–13, Phinehas's zealous action is said to have "made atonement for the people of Israel" by turning back God's wrath. The sacrificial offering, by covering sin and satisfying the demands of God's justice, averts the just consequences that would otherwise fall on the sinner.
Which meaning is correct? I believe the answer is: all of them, working together. As Allen concludes, "The word kipper includes the notions of propitiation, expiation, purification, and reconciliation."34 The word is rich enough to encompass multiple dimensions of what happens when sin is dealt with through sacrifice. The sacrifice forgives, cleanses, ransoms, and averts God's just judgment — all at once. Trying to reduce kipper to a single meaning impoverishes the concept.
This is directly relevant to the debate about whether the Old Testament sacrifices involve propitiation (turning aside God's wrath by satisfying His justice) or merely expiation (cleansing sin's defilement). Some scholars, following C. H. Dodd, have argued that kipper means only "to wipe away" or "to cleanse" — expiation without propitiation. They reject the idea that God's wrath is involved at all.35 Others, following Leon Morris, have argued that the propitiatory dimension is clearly present in the Old Testament texts and cannot be dismissed.36
I believe the evidence supports Morris's position. The concept of kipper includes both expiation and propitiation. Sin is cleansed (expiation), and God's justice is satisfied (propitiation). These are not competing ideas; they are complementary dimensions of what atonement accomplishes. The full treatment of the propitiation-expiation debate belongs to Chapter 2's discussion of atonement terminology and Chapter 8's exegesis of Romans 3:25, where the Greek word hilastērion (ἱλαστήριον) — which translates the Hebrew kapporet (כַּפֹּרֶת), "mercy seat" — becomes the center of the discussion. But it is important to establish here that the Old Testament concept of atonement is broad enough to include both dimensions.
Speaking of the kapporet, we should briefly note its significance. The kapporet (כַּפֹּרֶת), translated "mercy seat" in most English versions, was the golden lid that sat on top of the ark of the covenant in the Most Holy Place. It was made of pure gold, with two cherubim sculpted on top with their wings stretching over the ark (Exod. 25:17–22). This was the most sacred object in all of Israel's worship. It was here, on the mercy seat, that the high priest sprinkled the blood of the sacrifice on the Day of Atonement — and it was here that God's presence dwelt in a special way.37
The word kapporet comes from the same root as kipper. The mercy seat is, quite literally, "the place of atonement." It is the place where the blood of sacrifice meets the presence of God — where sin is covered and forgiveness is granted. The New Testament picks up this imagery in a breathtaking way when Paul says that God put forward Christ Jesus as a hilastērion (ἱλαστήριον) — the Greek word that translates kapporet — "by his blood" (Rom. 3:25). Paul is saying that Jesus Himself is the mercy seat. He is the place where God's justice and God's mercy meet. We will explore this in depth in Chapter 8, but the foundation is laid here, in the Levitical system.38
Before the Levitical system was established at Sinai, God had already demonstrated the principle of substitutionary sacrifice in the most dramatic way possible: through the Passover. The story is told in Exodus 12, and it forms the foundation of Israel's national identity.
God told each Israelite family to select a lamb on the tenth day of the month, keep it until the fourteenth day, and then slaughter it at twilight. They were to take the blood and paint it on the two doorposts and the lintel of their houses. That night, when the angel of death moved through Egypt to strike down every firstborn, "when I see the blood, I will pass over you, and no plague will befall you to destroy you" (Exod. 12:13).39
The logic is unmistakably substitutionary. A death must occur. Either the firstborn son dies, or the lamb dies. The lamb's blood on the doorpost is the sign that a substitutionary death has already taken place — a life has been given so that another life can be spared. Allen draws out the significance: "The consecration of the firstborn sons functioned as a reminder to Israel of the first Passover, particularly the substitutionary aspect of it."40
The New Testament makes the connection to Christ explicit. Paul declares: "Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed" (1 Cor. 5:7). Peter writes that we were "ransomed... with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without blemish or spot" (1 Pet. 1:18–19). Jesus Himself chose the Passover meal as the occasion for His Last Supper, deliberately connecting His impending death to the Passover sacrifice. "This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins" (Matt. 26:28). The Passover lamb pointed forward to Christ. The blood on the doorpost pointed forward to the blood of the cross.41
Another crucial Old Testament text for understanding sacrificial theology is Exodus 24, where the Mosaic covenant was ratified with blood. Moses built an altar at the foot of Mount Sinai, sacrificed burnt offerings and peace offerings, collected the blood, read the Book of the Covenant to the people, and then threw the blood on them, saying: "Behold the blood of the covenant that the LORD has made with you in accordance with all these words" (Exod. 24:8).42
This covenant blood had a double function. Half of the blood was thrown against the altar (representing God), and the other half was thrown on the people. Both parties — God and His people — were united by the blood of sacrifice. The message was vivid: this covenant is sealed with blood. It is not a casual agreement. It is a solemn, binding commitment ratified by the death of a substitute. Breaking this covenant means death, because the covenant itself was established through death.
The implications are profound. In the ancient world, a covenant sealed with blood was the most serious commitment possible. It was, in effect, saying: "May what happened to this animal happen to me if I break this covenant." The blood served as both the bond of union and the warning of consequences. When Israel later violated the covenant through idolatry and injustice, the prophets warned that the covenant curses would fall upon them — because the covenant had been sealed with blood, and its terms were deadly serious.
When Jesus said at the Last Supper, "This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins" (Matt. 26:28), He was deliberately echoing Moses' words at Sinai. He was establishing a new covenant — sealed not by the blood of bulls and goats, but by His own blood. The old covenant ratification at Sinai pointed forward to the new covenant ratification at Calvary. As Allen observes, "The substitution of the animal for the worshiper indicates that the sacrifice was vicarious and penal."43
Not everyone agrees with the substitutionary reading of the Levitical system that I have been defending. It is important to engage the counterarguments fairly and carefully.
Some scholars argue that the Old Testament sacrifices were exclusively about expiation — purifying the sanctuary and removing the contamination of sin — without any element of propitiation (satisfying God's justice) or substitution (one life given in place of another). In this view, the sacrifices cleansed sacred space, but they did not satisfy God's wrath or serve as substitutes for the offerer.
Hess represents a version of this position. He argues that the sacrifices were means of purification and dedication, not mechanisms for appeasing divine wrath. He emphasizes that the Hebrew terms associated with sacrifice focus on concepts like drawing near, dedication, and consecration rather than on violence, punishment, or wrath-satisfaction. He notes that some offerings (like the grain offering) have nothing to do with sin at all, and that the ritual was designed to be "quick, clean, and painless" rather than wrathfully brutal.44
I have already acknowledged the valid elements in this critique. The sacrificial system is richer than simple penal substitution. Relationship, dedication, gratitude, and purification are all genuine dimensions. But the expiation-only view cannot account for several key features of the system.
First, it cannot account for the substitutionary logic of Leviticus 17:11: "it is the blood that makes atonement by the life." One life is given for another. Second, it cannot explain the laying on of hands followed by the death of the animal — a ritual that makes most sense if the animal is taking the place of the offerer. Third, it struggles with the fact that kipper sometimes refers to the averting of God's wrath, as in Numbers 25 and Numbers 16:46–48. Fourth, the Passover — with its explicit logic of "the lamb dies so that the firstborn does not" — establishes a substitutionary framework that the Levitical system builds upon.45
As Jeffery, Ovey, and Sach put it bluntly: "When a person lives who otherwise would have died, and an animal dies that would otherwise live, substitution is necessarily entailed." This is the basic logic of the system, and it cannot be reasoned away.46
A related objection claims that the sacrificial system says nothing about God's wrath being involved. The offerings are calm, orderly rituals — not scenes of divine fury. If God's wrath were really at stake, wouldn't the texts say so more clearly?
This objection has some surface plausibility, but I think it misunderstands the nature of what is happening. The sacrificial system is God's provision for dealing with sin — the calm, orderly way that God has given His people to address the problem before it leads to the catastrophic consequences of unresolved sin. The fact that the system is orderly and calm does not mean that the underlying reality is not serious. A fire extinguisher is a calm, orderly device — but that does not mean fire is not dangerous. The sacrificial system is God's gracious "fire extinguisher" for the problem of sin in His holy presence.
Moreover, when we look at what happens when the sacrificial system is neglected or abused — when sin is allowed to accumulate without atonement — we do see God's wrath. The entire prophetic tradition warns that unrepentant sin leads to judgment. The destruction of the temple, the exile, the cries of the prophets — all testify that sin has devastating consequences when it is not atoned for. The sacrifices are the means by which those consequences are averted. They are, in this sense, inherently propitiatory: they deal with a real problem (sin's offense against a holy God) and avert real consequences (judgment).
Hess makes an interesting argument about the scapegoat in relation to penal substitution. He points out that the scapegoat — the goat that bears Israel's sins — is not killed. It is sent alive into the wilderness. If penal substitutionary atonement were the model, Hess argues, one would expect the sin-bearing goat to be slaughtered. Instead, it is merely expelled. Hess concludes that the scapegoat represents sin being cast away from God's people, not punishment being inflicted on a substitute.47
This is a thought-provoking observation, and we will engage it more fully in Chapter 5's treatment of the Day of Atonement. For now, a few brief responses are in order. First, the Day of Atonement involves two goats, not one. The first goat is killed as a sin offering, and its blood is sprinkled on the mercy seat. The second goat (the scapegoat) bears the sins away. The two goats together provide a complete picture: sin is both purged (through the blood of the first goat) and removed (through the sending away of the second). As Allen observes, "The first animal was slain sacrificially. The shedding of blood pictured the necessary means of atonement (propitiation/expiation). The scapegoat ritual pictured the effect of the atonement: the removal of guilt and forgiveness."48
Second, the fact that the scapegoat is not killed does not eliminate the substitutionary element. The scapegoat "bears all their iniquities" (Lev. 16:22) — it carries what belongs to others. This is substitutionary language even if no death occurs. The goat suffers banishment and exile in place of the people. Third, the scapegoat is only half the picture. Isolating it from the first goat — which is killed — distorts the overall ritual. We will develop these points further in Chapter 5.
A Both-And, Not Either-Or: The sacrificial system includes both expiation (cleansing sin's defilement) and propitiation (satisfying God's justice). It involves both purification of sacred space and substitution of one life for another. It expresses both dedication to God and atonement for sin. Reducing the system to any one of these dimensions impoverishes its rich theology. The fullest reading affirms all of them working together.
For all their theological richness, the Old Testament sacrifices had a built-in limitation. They were temporary. They had to be repeated endlessly — day after day, week after week, year after year. The very fact that they needed constant repetition showed that they could never permanently solve the problem of sin. As the author of Hebrews puts it with devastating clarity: "It is impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins" (Heb. 10:4).49
This is not a criticism of the system. The system was doing exactly what God designed it to do: it was pointing forward. It was teaching Israel the vocabulary of atonement — substitution, blood, expiation, propitiation, the bearing of sin — so that when the reality came, God's people would recognize it. The law was "a shadow of the good things to come, and not the very image of the things" (Heb. 10:1). The shadow was real, but it was not the substance. The substance was Christ.50
Stott makes this point with characteristic clarity. He observes that the Old Testament sacrifices could not ultimately atone for human sin because the animals were not appropriate equivalents. A sheep is not equal to a human being. Jesus Himself said that a person "is much more valuable than a sheep" (Matt. 12:12). For a substitute to be effective, it must be an adequate equivalent. Animal sacrifices could never be that. "Only the precious blood of Christ was valuable enough," as Stott concludes.51
This is a crucial theological point. The insufficiency of the Old Testament sacrifices is not an argument against substitutionary atonement — it is an argument for it. The logic of the system demands a better sacrifice, a perfect substitute. The entire Levitical system cries out: "Something more is needed!" And that something more is Christ. He is the reality to which all the sacrifices pointed. He is the Lamb without blemish who takes away the sin of the world (John 1:29). He is the guilt offering (asham) of Isaiah 53:10. He is the true Passover lamb whose blood marks God's people for salvation. He is the high priest who enters the true holy of holies with His own blood. Everything we have studied in this chapter finds its ultimate fulfillment in Him.
We can also say this: the repetition of the sacrifices was not a design flaw. It was a built-in feature. Every morning and evening, when the priests offered the daily burnt offerings, they were proclaiming the same message: sin is not yet finally dealt with. Every year, when the high priest entered the Most Holy Place on the Day of Atonement, his re-entry proclaimed the same truth: the problem remains. The blood of animals cannot permanently solve it. This relentless repetition created a longing — an ache — for something more, something final, something once-for-all. When the author of Hebrews says that Christ "offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins" (Heb. 10:12), we can almost hear the centuries of accumulated longing finding their resolution at last.
Let me draw together the threads of what we have covered in this chapter. The Old Testament sacrificial system teaches us a theological vocabulary — a set of concepts and categories — that we need in order to understand the cross of Christ. Here is what the system teaches us:
Sin is serious. It is not a minor infraction or a minor inconvenience. It defiles, contaminates, and destroys. It separates us from a holy God. Dealing with sin requires drastic measures — not because God is petty, but because sin is genuinely destructive.
Atonement requires blood. "Without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins" (Heb. 9:22). This is not because God is bloodthirsty, but because life must be given for life. The penalty of sin is death, and only the giving of a life can cover the debt that sin has incurred.
Substitution is at the heart of sacrifice. The laying on of hands, the death of the animal in place of the worshiper, the blood poured out on the altar for the life of the offerer — all of this speaks the language of substitution. One life is given so that another can be spared.
Atonement is God's gift. God Himself provided the sacrificial system. God Himself gave the blood on the altar. Atonement is not a human achievement but a divine provision. This is essential: the cross is not humanity bribing God. It is God providing what we could never provide for ourselves.
The sacrifices point beyond themselves. Their very inadequacy — their need for endless repetition, their inability to permanently cleanse the conscience — points forward to a greater sacrifice still to come. The shadow demands the substance. The type demands the antitype. The lamb demands the Lamb of God.
Philippe de la Trinité, writing from the Catholic tradition, reminds us that the key framework for understanding these sacrifices is not wrath-satisfaction but love. Christ's sacrifice is ultimately a "victim of love" — the sacrifice of the Son offered in union with the Father, not against Him. The sacrificial system, rightly understood, does not depict an angry God demanding blood. It depicts a loving God providing blood — providing the means of atonement that His people desperately need but could never supply on their own.52
We began this chapter by acknowledging that the Old Testament sacrificial system can seem strange and even off-putting to modern readers. I hope that by now, the strangeness has given way — at least in part — to wonder. The Levitical system is not primitive or arbitrary. It is a carefully designed theological curriculum, given by God Himself, to teach His people the vocabulary they would need to understand the greatest event in human history: the death of God's Son on the cross.
The five major offerings — burnt, grain, peace, sin, and guilt — paint a rich, multi-layered picture of what it means to approach God. The laying on of hands establishes substitutionary identification between worshiper and sacrifice. The blood poured out on the altar represents life given in death — one life for another. The Hebrew concept of kipper encompasses forgiveness, cleansing, ransom, and the averting of judgment. And the mercy seat — the kapporet — is the place where God's justice and God's mercy meet, a concept that Paul will apply directly to Christ in Romans 3:25.
All of this prepares us for what comes next. In Chapter 5, we will zoom in on the Day of Atonement — the climax of the entire sacrificial year — and see how its dual ritual of the sacrificed goat and the scapegoat provides the most complete Old Testament picture of atonement. In Chapter 6, we will turn to Isaiah 53, where the Suffering Servant's death is described as an asham — a guilt offering — and the substitutionary language reaches its Old Testament peak.
The sacrificial system is not the whole story. It is the prologue. But it is a prologue without which the story makes no sense. To understand the cross, we must first understand the altar. To understand the Lamb of God, we must first understand the lambs of Leviticus. And when we do, we see that the cross of Christ is not a random act of violence or an unfortunate tragedy. It is the fulfillment of everything the sacrificial system had been pointing toward for centuries — the ultimate sacrifice, the final substitute, the once-for-all atonement provided by God Himself, in love, for the sins of the world.53
1 David L. Allen, The Atonement: A Biblical, Theological, and Historical Study of the Cross of Christ (Nashville: B&H Academic, 2019), 29–30. Allen's Chapter 2, "Atonement in the Old Testament," provides an extensive treatment of the substitutionary nature of the sacrificial system. ↩
2 All Scripture quotations are from the English Standard Version (ESV) unless otherwise noted. ↩
3 Fleming Rutledge, The Crucifixion: Understanding the Death of Jesus Christ (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2015), 241–42. Rutledge provides a rich discussion of the Holiness Code in Leviticus and its relevance for understanding the sacrificial system. ↩
4 John R. W. Stott, The Cross of Christ (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2006), 138. Stott emphasizes that the sacrificial system was "God-given, not of human origin." ↩
5 Gordon J. Wenham, The Book of Leviticus, New International Commentary on the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1979), 55–66. ↩
6 Allen, The Atonement, 29. ↩
7 Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, Anchor Bible (New York: Doubleday, 1991), 188–96. ↩
8 Wenham, The Book of Leviticus, 76–80. ↩
9 Allen, The Atonement, 30. The dual meaning of chattath — both "sin" and "sin offering" — is significant. It suggests that the offering was so closely connected to the problem it addressed that the same word described both. ↩
10 Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 228–92. ↩
11 Milgrom argues that the primary function of the sin offering was the purification of the sanctuary rather than the expiation of the offerer's guilt. While I believe Milgrom overemphasizes the purgation function at the expense of the substitutionary element, his insight about the sanctuary-purifying role of the sin offering is valuable. See Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 253–61. ↩
12 Allen, The Atonement, 23. ↩
13 Allen, The Atonement, 37–38. See also Simon Gathercole, Defending Substitution: An Essay on Atonement in Paul (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2015), 38–44, where Gathercole demonstrates that the language of "Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures" (1 Cor. 15:3) is rooted in Isaiah 53's use of sacrificial terminology including the asham. ↩
14 Allen, The Atonement, 29. ↩
15 Allen, The Atonement, 30. ↩
16 Stott, The Cross of Christ, 136–37. ↩
17 Allen, The Atonement, 31. ↩
18 Allen, The Atonement, 30. Allen is here drawing on the summary provided in the secondary literature. ↩
19 For a thorough discussion of the scholarly debate, see Wenham, The Book of Leviticus, 61–63; Leon Morris, The Apostolic Preaching of the Cross, 3rd ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1965), 55–64; and Stott, The Cross of Christ, 137. ↩
20 Stott, The Cross of Christ, 137. Stott here cites both views and concludes that the substitutionary reading is warranted by the evidence. ↩
21 William L. Hess, Crushing the Great Serpent: Did God Punish Jesus? (2024), chap. 8, "To Make an Offering." Hess argues that the sacrifices were primarily about maintaining sacred space and enabling relationship, not about appeasing divine wrath. ↩
22 Hess, Crushing the Great Serpent, chap. 8, "To Make an Offering." Hess rightly emphasizes that qorban means "to be brought near." ↩
23 Steven Jeffery, Michael Ovey, and Andrew Sach, Pierced for Our Transgressions: Rediscovering the Glory of Penal Substitution (Wheaton: Crossway, 2007), 48. Cited in Allen, The Atonement, 34. ↩
24 Stott, The Cross of Christ, 137–38. Stott's treatment of Leviticus 17:11 is one of the clearest summaries available. ↩
25 T. J. Crawford, The Doctrine of Holy Scripture Respecting the Atonement, 5th ed. (Edinburgh: Blackwood, 1888), 232. Cited in Stott, The Cross of Christ, 138. ↩
26 See C. H. Dodd, The Bible and the Greeks (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1935), 82–95. The "blood as life released" position was influential throughout much of the twentieth century but has been significantly challenged by scholars such as Leon Morris. ↩
27 Leon Morris, The Apostolic Preaching of the Cross, 3rd ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1965), 112–28. Morris's treatment of blood in the sacrificial system remains one of the most thorough defenses of the "blood as life given up in death" position. See also his later work, Leon Morris, The Atonement: Its Meaning and Significance (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1983), 43–67. ↩
28 Rutledge, The Crucifixion, 237–38. ↩
29 James Denney, The Death of Christ (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1902), 149. Cited in Rutledge, The Crucifixion, 238. ↩
30 Allen, The Atonement, 34. ↩
31 Allen, The Atonement, 34–35. Allen draws here on the summary provided by Jeffery, Ovey, and Sach. ↩
32 Allen, The Atonement, 34. ↩
33 Morris, The Apostolic Preaching of the Cross, 148–55. Morris demonstrates that the ransom/redemption concept is integral to the sacrificial system and cannot be separated from the substitutionary logic. ↩
34 Allen, The Atonement, 35. ↩
35 C. H. Dodd, "ΙΛΑΣΚΕΣΘΑΙ, Its Cognates, Derivatives, and Synonyms, in the Septuagint," Journal of Theological Studies 32 (1931): 352–60. Dodd argued that the biblical usage of hilaskomai and its cognates consistently means "to cleanse" or "to expiate" rather than "to propitiate." ↩
36 Morris, The Apostolic Preaching of the Cross, 125–85. Morris's response to Dodd is thorough and, I believe, decisive. See also I. Howard Marshall, Aspects of the Atonement: Cross and Resurrection in the Reconciling of God and Humanity (Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2007), 38–44. ↩
37 Allen, The Atonement, 35. ↩
38 The full exegesis of hilastērion in Romans 3:25 is provided in Chapter 8. See also Allen, The Atonement, 35, and Stott, The Cross of Christ, 168–75. ↩
39 Allen, The Atonement, 31. ↩
40 Allen, The Atonement, 31. ↩
41 Gathercole, Defending Substitution, 58–62. Gathercole shows how the Passover tradition feeds into the earliest Christian confession that "Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures" (1 Cor. 15:3). See also Stott, The Cross of Christ, 139–41. ↩
42 Allen, The Atonement, 31–32. ↩
43 Allen, The Atonement, 32. ↩
44 Hess, Crushing the Great Serpent, chap. 8, "To Make an Offering." ↩
45 Morris, The Apostolic Preaching of the Cross, 160–74. Morris demonstrates that the propitiatory dimension of kipper is present in a range of Old Testament texts and cannot be eliminated from the sacrificial system. ↩
46 Jeffery, Ovey, and Sach, Pierced for Our Transgressions, 48. Cited in Allen, The Atonement, 34. ↩
47 Hess, Crushing the Great Serpent, chap. 9, "The Scapegoat." Hess argues that the scapegoat's survival undermines PSA because the sin-bearing goat is not killed. ↩
48 Allen, The Atonement, 34. See also the full treatment of the Day of Atonement in Chapter 5 of this book. ↩
49 The full exegesis of Hebrews 9–10 and its treatment of Christ as the definitive sacrifice is provided in Chapter 10 of this book. ↩
50 Stott, The Cross of Christ, 138. ↩
51 Stott, The Cross of Christ, 138. ↩
52 Philippe de la Trinité, What Is Redemption? How Christ's Suffering Saves Us (Steubenville, OH: Emmaus Road, 2021), 45–50. Philippe de la Trinité emphasizes that Christ's sacrifice was a "victim of love" offered in union with the Father, not a victim of the Father's wrath. ↩
53 Gustaf Aulén, Christus Victor: An Historical Study of the Three Main Types of the Idea of Atonement, trans. A. G. Hebert (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2003), 35–40. Aulén acknowledges the sacrificial background of the New Testament atonement theology, though he frames the "classic" view as primarily one of divine victory rather than substitution. As argued throughout this chapter and this book, the evidence supports a both-and approach: the sacrificial system includes both substitutionary and victory dimensions. ↩
Allen, David L. The Atonement: A Biblical, Theological, and Historical Study of the Cross of Christ. Nashville: B&H Academic, 2019.
Aulén, Gustaf. Christus Victor: An Historical Study of the Three Main Types of the Idea of Atonement. Translated by A. G. Hebert. Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2003.
Crawford, T. J. The Doctrine of Holy Scripture Respecting the Atonement. 5th ed. Edinburgh: Blackwood, 1888.
Denney, James. The Death of Christ. London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1902.
Dodd, C. H. The Bible and the Greeks. London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1935.
Dodd, C. H. "ΙΛΑΣΚΕΣΘΑΙ, Its Cognates, Derivatives, and Synonyms, in the Septuagint." Journal of Theological Studies 32 (1931): 352–60.
Gathercole, Simon. Defending Substitution: An Essay on Atonement in Paul. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2015.
Hess, William L. Crushing the Great Serpent: Did God Punish Jesus? 2024.
Jeffery, Steven, Michael Ovey, and Andrew Sach. Pierced for Our Transgressions: Rediscovering the Glory of Penal Substitution. Wheaton: Crossway, 2007.
Marshall, I. Howard. Aspects of the Atonement: Cross and Resurrection in the Reconciling of God and Humanity. Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2007.
Milgrom, Jacob. Leviticus 1–16. Anchor Bible. 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.
Philippe de la Trinité. What Is Redemption? How Christ's Suffering Saves Us. Steubenville, OH: Emmaus Road, 2021.
Rutledge, Fleming. The Crucifixion: Understanding the Death of Jesus Christ. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2015.
Stott, John R. W. The Cross of Christ. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2006.
Wenham, Gordon J. The Book of Leviticus. New International Commentary on the Old Testament. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1979.