Pondering the Priests

So, the last few weeks I've been finishing up Exodus and heading into Leviticus. The material isn't terribly exciting.  It is the Bible though so I try really hard to pay attention. Prior to today the subject was the Tabernacle and how to make it and decorate it.  While I was trying to pay attention, I kept thinking "hmm, almond blossoms might make a pretty tattoo...or maybe I could get alternating bells and pomegranates..." I really was trying to pay attention.
Today, I paid enough attention to catch something disturbing.  I had always imagined priests as very clean.  I imagined that since they were holy, they would be like the philosophy professors I studied under in college. They would walk around in their fancy robes, offering wise yet distant advice.
The instructions for sacrifices involve sprinkling blood all over the altar.  There are specific instructions to remove organs and wash the legs. The part that got my attention was the bird.  When they had removed the gizzard and other stuff, they were to pull it apart by the wings.  Bang!
At that point, I could smell the warmth of the bird. I could feel bones and sinews snap. The blood sticky causing the little feathers to stay on fingers.  Reaching into the poor thing to remove organs. Its life. A tiny little life, like many others in the flock, taken to repent for a sin that would no doubt be committed again.
No one but the Father would know the little creature's name.  The priest would kill it. He would carve it and yank it apart. He would follow the prescribed plan without variance.
How sad that an innocent creature would have to die.  The little girl in me screams  "no!". How much worse would it be to see a man without guilt die an even more gruesome death?  To know that his blood had to spilled to take away my sins and yet, still I sin.
The priests led the animals to the slaughter, placed the sins on their heads, and sprinkled their blood.  Our Jesus allowed himself to be led to the slaughter. He took our sins on his head. His blood continues to wash us. Because of his great love, we can call ourselves friends of the most high God.
On Valentine's day, with everyone dressed in red, I keep smelling the scent of blood. The image of priests in my mind has changed from philosophy professor to butcher. But most amazingly, my understanding of our Jesus grew a little more today.
Happy Valentine's Day