In most people’s minds, the word sacrifice evokes images of blood, death, and loss. In the modern West, it often carries a negative tone—something you’re forced to give up, something painful, something you endure reluctantly. But in the ancient Hebrew mind, sacrifice had a completely different connotation. It was not about destruction. It was about connection.

The Hebrew word for sacrifice is QORBAN. It shares a root with the word QAROV, which means “near,” “close,” “intimate.” In other words, a QORBAN is not about death. It is about coming near.

In biblical Hebrew, the root Q-R-B forms words for warmth, proximity, nearness, kinship, and even giblets. If someone is your relative, they are your QAROV—your close one. And if you want to draw near to God, you bring a QORBAN—a gift of nearness.

Sacrifice, in the biblical sense, is not about punishment. It’s about relationship. It is about removing barriers and restoring closeness.

Giving as an Act of Intimacy

Think of the sacrifices you’ve made in life—not religious ones, but real, human ones. When have you given something up for the sake of someone you loved? When have you surrendered time, comfort, pride, or possessions to bless another? You weren’t punishing yourself or trying to pay a cosmic debt. You were expressing love. You were drawing near.

A mother who wakes in the night to tend to a crying child. A friend who donates a kidney. A soldier who shields a comrade. These are acts of QORBAN. They cost something—but their goal is intimacy, protection, and love. The gift is not the pain. The gift is the nearness.

This was the heart behind the sacrificial system in Israel. To draw near to God, one brought something valuable—grain, oil, wine, livestock. Not to feed God. Not to pacify an angry God. But to express devotion. To enact closeness. The blood, the fire, the aroma—these were not violence for its own sake. They were symbols of surrender. Of approach. Of relational restoration.

Misunderstood Offerings: The Pagan Inheritance

Unfortunately, much of Christian theology has inherited its understanding of sacrifice not from the Hebrew Scriptures, but from Greco-Roman and pagan frameworks. In those systems, the gods were hungry, angry, unstable, and had to be bribed or soothed with blood.

Sacrifice in that worldview was appeasement. “The gods are angry. Someone must die. Let’s kill an animal—or a person—to keep them off our backs.”

This idea has subtly crept into some Christian atonement theories, where God’s wrath is imagined as requiring violence to be satisfied. But this vision is a distortion of biblical truth. It turns God into the very kind of deity Israel was warned against emulating.

A theologian I highly respect is Tim Mackie, the creator of the renowned animated video series “The Bible Project.” In a podcast critiquing the John Calvin’s Penal Substitution Atonement theory, he stated:

Many of us [in the West] have inherited a story about animal sacrifice, and it goes something like this: “The gods are angry with me and are going to kill me. But maybe if I kill this animal and make sure the gods get their pound of flesh, they’ll be appeased and happy. Maybe they won’t kill me or send a plague on my family. Sure, it’s barbaric, but so are the gods…” Much of popular Christian belief has simply imported a pagan storyline into Leviticus and the stories about Jesus’ death on the cross. The result is a tragic irony. What the Bible is portraying as an expression of God’s love gets twisted into something dark. Our version goes like this: “God is holy and perfect. You are not. Therefore, God is angry at you, and hates you even, so he has to kill you. But because he’s merciful, he’ll let you bring this animal to him and will have the animal killed instead of you. Thankfully, Jesus came to be the one who gets killed by God instead of me. Jesus rescues us from God, so now we can go forever to the happy place after we die and not the bad place.” Is this story recognizable to you? If so, you’re not alone. The main problem with this story, to be a bit snarky, is the Bible. More specifically, the problem is that this story has enough biblical language in it that it can pass for what the Bible actually says about animal sacrifice and Jesus’ death. However, when you step back and allow Leviticus and the New Testament to speak for themselves, you can recognize this story as an imposter.

Tim Mackie

As Dr. Tim Mackie wisely pointed out, much of modern atonement theology retells a pagan story with biblical language. In this story, Jesus becomes the whipping boy who takes the beating so we can go free—while God watches, satisfied. But this is not the God revealed in the Hebrew Scriptures. It is not the God revealed in Jesus.

Now, let’s disregard everything we’ve been taught and examine what sacrifices were during ancient times.

Sacrifice Was Never Abuse

In the Hebrew Scriptures, sacrificial animals were treated with reverence. Slaughter was to be quick, humane, precise. The offering was not tortured. It was not “punished.” No one flogged the animal to transfer guilt. The act was sacred—not violent.

Maimonides, the revered medieval Jewish philosopher, wrote that the rules of ritual slaughter were given to minimize the animal’s pain. The goal was never destruction. It was transformation. A symbolic transfusion of life, “for the life of the flesh is in the blood…” (Leviticus 17:11)

To say Jesus was our sacrifice is true—but we must ask: what kind of sacrifice? According to which scriptural pattern? If we project violence onto the cross as if it pleased God to see His Son suffer (a grotesque misreading of Isaiah 53:10), we are not following Scriptures. We are following Marcion. We are adhering to Calvinism. We are projecting pagan categories onto the Hebrew Bible.

Jesus was not punished by the Father. He was given by the Father. He was not abused to satisfy wrath. He was lifted up in love to remove the barrier of fear between us and God.

Qorban and the Gift Economy of Love

To give a korban is to offer a gift. Not a bribe. Not a plea bargain. But a symbol of relationship.

William K. Gilders, a scholar of ancient religion, explains:

One way to think about ancient sacrifices is as “gifts” given to God. When they performed sacrifices, ancient Israelites gave to God some of what they believed God had given them, expressing their close relationship with God and seeking to deepen that bond.

This aligns perfectly with how love works. When someone gives you something meaningful—a hand-written letter, a favorite book, a handmade item—it’s not about price. It’s about presence. The object carries the weight of the heart behind it.

The same is true in our relationship with God. In Hosea 6:6, God declares: “I desire mercy, not sacrifice; and knowledge of God more than burnt offerings.” That is: what I want is your heart. Your love. Your nearness.

God was never hungry for blood. He was always hungry for connection.

Jesus, the Living QORBAN

In the life, teachings, and death of Jesus, the concept of QORBAN reaches its highest expression—not as a slaughtered hostage appeasing a wrathful deity, but as the fullest embodiment of self-giving love. He gave not to satisfy divine rage but to draw us near. He poured out His life, not to change God’s mind about us—but to change our hearts about God.

Jesus reframed the entire sacrificial system. When asked what offerings pleased God, He pointed not to killing or temple rituals, but to love in action (e.g., Matthew 5:23–24, 19:21).

The new altar is the heart. The new QORBAN is the gift of reconciliation, generosity, justice, and mercy. Jesus didn’t abolish sacrifice—He transfigured it.

As Hebrews 13:16 says:

“Do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased.”

The offerings that please God are not rituals of blood, but acts of compassion. The smoke that rises now is the aroma of kindness.

The Field Trip Theology of Sacrifice

Oddly enough, the meaning of QORBAN is something we all understood as children—before we were taught otherwise.

Imagine the school field trip. You’re seated on a bus. You brought snacks—your favorite ones. They’re precious. But you see a friend with none. So, you offer them yours. Maybe not the cheap ones, but the good ones—the ones that matter.

That gesture is sacrifice. Not because it hurts, but because it heals. It says: “You matter more to me than what I’m giving up.” It binds hearts. It creates belonging.

Ancient Israel understood this too. They gave from their best—not because God was hungry or angry, but because God was worthy. They offered to draw near, to say “Thank You,” to restore brokenness. They weren’t buying salvation. They were building relationship.

Even the idea of celebration was built into sacrifice. After offerings, many festivals followed. Joy, food, community. It was never about appeasing divine rage. It was about returning home to God’s table.

Sacrifice as a Language of Relationship

Gift-giving still follows this rhythm. The value is not in the object, but in what it represents. A diamond ring costs much, but it means more than its price. It symbolizes commitment. Presence. Closeness.

Likewise, when we give our time, our energy, our pride, our status—these too are QORBAN. Even our pain can become sacrifice, when we choose to suffer with others instead of remaining aloof. This is what Paul meant when he wrote, “Present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God—this is your spiritual worship” (Romans 12:1).

The true altar is life itself.

What Ancient Sacrifices Actually Meant

To understand QORBAN, we must remember: in ancient Israel, animals were not anonymous property. They were cared for, named, and raised like family. Offering one was costly not just financially, but emotionally. It was a sign of surrender, not savagery.

The Torah (the Law of Moses) required that the animal be unblemished—whole, sound. The act of slaughter was to be quick and humane. There was no abuse, no torture, no venting of anger upon the animal. If this is true of the shadow, how much more the substance?

If Jesus is our sacrifice in the spirit of Torah, then His death must not be seen as a punishment from the Father, but as the ultimate offering of love from the Son.

The “Gospel” of Divine Abuse

Consider a husband who hurts his wife and wants to apologize. He buys her flowers and chocolates—not to be destroyed, but to say “I’m sorry. I love you. I want to be close again.”

Now imagine she takes the gifts, stomps them into the floor, and says, “Now I feel better. Your gifts absorbed my anger. I forgive you.”

That’s absurd.

And yet this is the reasoning many were taught in their churches, particularly among Fundamentalist denominations (e.g., Baptists, Calvinists, Pentecostals, Evangelicals) — that God was so furious at humanity, He needed to take it out on someone—and Jesus became the object of that wrath.

But that is not the story of Scripture. In the Gospels, Jesus doesn’t die to change God’s disposition toward us. He dies to reveal God’s eternal disposition of love.

The real tragedy is not just the violence of this story—it’s that it hides a far more beautiful truth. A truth we already see in the Hebrew Scriptures, if we would just return to them.

I know I’m only scratching the surface here—and you may have questions or even objections. If so, I invite you to explore these ideas further in my short book, The “Gospel” of Divine Abuse: Redeeming the Gospel from Gruesome Popular Preaching of an Abusive and Violent God.

The Way Back Home

True sacrifice is always about one thing: nearness. QORBAN is the language of return. It says: “I want to come closer. I want to restore what was broken.”

And this, ultimately, is what Jesus offered us. Not a loophole. Not a courtroom drama. But a path home.

He invited us to bring our hearts to the altar—not to be crushed, but to be healed. Not to satisfy a wrathful deity, but to share in the divine life.

We are now called to walk in that same love. To become QORBAN—living sacrifices—not in death, but in daily acts of compassion, courage, and connection.

The call of discipleship is not to carry guilt, but to carry love into a broken world.

So let us make our lives an offering. Let us give our time, our presence, our resources, our hearts. Not to earn God’s favor—but to express it.

This is QORBAN. And through it, we draw near to one another, to God, and even to our enemies.

If you enjoyed this article, I can guarantee you’ll love this book: “Lost in Translation: “Lost in Translation: 15 Hebrew Words to Transform Your Christian Faith“