Whenever members of my congregation let me know that they will be bringing guests to church, I always threaten to preach on the Levitical skin diseases. They smile and know I won’t. And I don’t. But maybe I should, for there is plenty of gospel in those exotic stories. Like in the fourteenth chapter of the Book of Leviticus, which details the procedures for ceremonial cleansing.

Two birds are brought to the priest. Pigeons or doves are mentioned in the previous chapters, so presumably these are the sorts of birds in mind. One is sacrificed – its blood caught in a clay jar. The other live bird is then dipped in the blood, and sent soaring into the air, to indicate that the person is now free from their burden. It’s a grim picture for the bird that was sacrificed. It’s a lovely picture for the bird set free. Above all, it’s a gospel picture: a bird, daubed with the blood of another, set free to fly.

Is this not what happens for me according to the gospel? Christ, my substitute, is sacrificed in my place, for my inner disease. And I then, sprinkled with his blood, am sent soaring to the skies. Healed, forgiven, cleansed, set free. And not just to limp away, but to fly. To soar. With both wings. What a poignant and powerful experience. The awful sigh at the sight of the bloody sacrifice. The lovely song at the joy of forgiveness and freedom.