Come to the Table
What the Peace Offering Teaches Us
About Presence
Earlier this week, we sat with the grain offering in Leviticus 2 and talked about what it means to give God our daily lives—our flour, our oil, our work, our worship—poured out as an offering. And if that struck something tender in you, just know: it did in me too. Because I’m still learning how to live this out.
Today, we’re moving into Leviticus 3—the peace offering. And I’ll be honest: I didn’t expect this one to hit me so deeply.
I thought I understood worship. I thought I understood peace. But as I’ve been studying this chapter, I’ve realized something—God isn’t just asking for my effort or my obedience. He’s inviting me into something deeper. Into fellowship. Into a life that doesn’t just sacrifice for Him, but actually sits with Him.
And I don’t know about you, but that’s harder for me.
It’s easier to stay busy, to do good things, to pour out. It’s much harder to stop. To be still. To bring not just the best of my work—but the weight of my heart. To believe that God actually wants to dwell with me in the middle of all this noise.
So if you’re wondering what the peace offering could possibly have to say to you in the middle of carpool lines, Zoom meetings, unfinished laundry, and quiet longings—you’re not alone. I’m wondering too. I’m exploring this with you.
But I believe the answer has something to do with presence. Something to do with wholeness. Something to do with offering our inward lives—not just our outer ones—as worship.
Let’s keep walking through it together.
Jesus Is Our Peace Offering
Before we talk about how we can bring a peace offering to God today, we have to pause and remember something foundational: We don’t come to God to make peace—we come because peace has already been made.
The peace offering in Leviticus 3 wasn’t about covering sin or fixing guilt. That’s what the sin and guilt offerings were for. The peace offering came after reconciliation—it was the response. The worshiper was already forgiven, already welcomed in. This offering was about fellowship. Closeness. Sitting in God’s presence without fear.
That changes everything.
Because I don’t know about you, but I have this habit of trying to “make it up to God.” I feel distant, so I serve harder. I feel shame, so I pour out more. And somewhere along the way, I start to believe that God is pleased by my striving.
But the gospel says otherwise.
“Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.” —Romans 5:1
Peace isn’t something I achieve. It’s something I’ve already received—because of Jesus.
“He Himself is our peace…” —Ephesians 2:14
Jesus is the peace offering. He gave not just the fat, the kidneys, the liver—He gave His whole body, His entire inner life, fully surrendered to the Father… so we could be brought near.
And because of that, we’re no longer outsiders trying to win our way in. We’re family, seated at the table.
So before we talk about what it looks like to live out the peace offering today, just pause here for a moment. Take a breath. You’re already loved. Already accepted. Already at peace. The offering’s been made. And now—you’re invited to respond.
But as I sat with this invitation to peace, I kept thinking about something Jesus said.
He told a story about a man who prepared a feast—a banquet, full and ready—and sent out invitations to the people he loved. But when the time came, the guests made excuses. Not dramatic ones. Just… life.
“I bought a field.”
“I have oxen to try out.”
“I just got married.”
And honestly? That part makes me pause. Because none of those are “bad” things. They’re just real life. Fields to tend. Work to do. Relationships to nurture.
Honestly? It sounds a lot like what we just saw in the grain offering.
So what do we do with that?
Here’s what I think Jesus was showing us: the problem wasn’t the work itself. It was the unwillingness to pause. The feast was already prepared. The host wasn’t asking for more effort—He was offering rest. Fellowship. Presence.
The peace offering carries the same invitation.
Not instead of your life, but inside it.
Not in place of your labor, but as a moment to breathe.
You don’t have to abandon the flour and oil to come to the table.
You just have to bring them with you—and sit.
Let the work be done. Let the worship shift. Let the moment be enough.
There’s a feast already waiting.
And the only thing you need to bring is your whole self.
What the Peace Offering Teaches Us About Worship Today
Now that we’ve grounded ourselves in the truth that Jesus is our peace, the question becomes: How do we live from that peace? How do we worship in response?
This is where Leviticus 3 began to open up for me in a whole new way. Because even though I know Jesus fulfilled the sacrificial system, the details of this offering still matter. God doesn’t waste words. So I started asking—what do these parts of the animal mean? Why these pieces?
And here’s what I’m learning—these instructions aren’t just about ritual. They’re a mirror for the kind of whole-life worship God still invites us into.
The Fat — Give God the Best of Who You Are
“All the fat is the Lord’s.” —Leviticus 3:16
In the ancient world, fat wasn’t seen as something to avoid—it was the richest, most prized portion. It symbolized abundance, strength, blessing. It was the part you reserved for someone important. And in the peace offering, it belonged to God.
That got me thinking: what’s the “fat” of my life? What’s the best I have to offer—not what’s left over after everyone else has taken their share? Is it the first 15 minutes of my morning? My clearest creative energy? The kind of focused attention I usually give to my phone?
To give God the fat means we offer Him our first and finest—not because He demands it, but because peace has already been made, and our offering becomes a way of saying, “I delight in You too.”
The Kidneys and Liver — Give Him the Deepest Parts of You
This is the part that stopped me in my tracks.
God specifically asked for the kidneys and the lobe of the liver—organs we don’t often think about when we imagine worship. But in Hebrew thought, the kidneys symbolized conscience, deep emotion, and inner truth. The liver was seen as the seat of life force and inner weight.
In other words, the worshiper didn’t just give what could be seen. They gave what was felt. What was hidden. What was heavy.
That’s the part I usually want to hold back. My disappointment. My anxiety. My longing. My gut reactions and unfiltered thoughts.
And yet—that’s the part God asked for.
He didn’t just want their strength. He wanted their soul.
Offering the kidneys and liver means inviting God into your interior life. It’s saying, “You can have my desires. My motives. My pain. My processing. My vulnerability.”
And the amazing part? He receives it. Not to crush it. Not to correct it on the spot. But to dwell with you in it.
Male or Female — This Is for Everyone
The peace offering is the only one where the animal could be male or female. That detail might seem small, but it’s so important. In a world that often measured worth by gender, role, or status, God made it clear: Everyone is welcome at this table.
It didn’t matter how wealthy or poor you were, what position you held, or whether you led in the Temple or labored at home—the peace offering was open to you.
That still speaks today.
Whether you’re a working professional, a stay-at-home parent, a ministry leader, or someone just trying to make it to tomorrow without burning out—you are invited.
There is no spiritual VIP section. There are no prerequisites for closeness. The peace offering isn’t about being good enough. It’s about being willing. Willing to come. Willing to bring the best and the hidden. Willing to sit with God instead of trying to impress Him.
How Do We Offer a Peace Offering Today?
So what does it look like—really—to bring a peace offering before God in a world where most of us are running on caffeine and five hours of sleep?
That’s what I’ve been sitting with.
Because this offering isn’t just about ancient rituals. It’s about how we respond to the God who made peace with us through Jesus. And how we, as modern-day worshipers, can return to Him—not just with good intentions, but with whole hearts.
The peace offering in Leviticus was a feast of presence, not performance. It was about being in relationship. Being seen. Being with God. That invitation still stands.
But now? The altar might look more like your steering wheel. The fire might be your worship whispered between dishes or deadlines. The table might be the stillness you fight for at 6:00 a.m. before the house wakes up.
So how do we bring this offering? Here are a few simple, sacred ways:
Start your day with your heart, not your phone. That “fat” we talked about—your first, your richest portion? It matters. Whether it’s five minutes or fifty, offer the beginning of your day to Him. Even just praying, “Lord, I’m Yours. This moment is Yours.” That’s worship. That’s a peace offering.
Tell God the truth about how you’re doing. This is how you offer your kidneys and liver—your conscience, your weight, your inward self. You don’t have to wrap it in pretty language. If you’re overwhelmed, say so. If you’re thankful, say so. If you’re not sure how you feel—bring that too. God isn’t asking for a filtered version of you. He’s asking for the real you.
Recognize that God wants you, not just your effort. Sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is stop. To rest. To breathe. To remember that Jesus already made the offering—you’re now invited to sit at the table of His peace. That moment of quiet in the car. That tear you didn’t expect. That whispered “thank You” in the middle of the chaos. That’s the offering.
Live like you’re already welcomed. You don’t need to fight for God’s attention. You already have it. You don’t have to prove your worth. Jesus already did. So instead of coming to God like a stranger hoping not to be rejected—come like a daughter. Come like a son. Come like someone He delights in. Because that’s what the peace offering says: Not “try harder.” But “draw near.”
This Is Your Peace Offering
The peace offering was never about earning a place at God’s table. It was about realizing you already had one.
Jesus made the way. He tore the veil. He poured out His life so we could come close—not just with clean hands, but with open hearts.
And now? Now, you get to respond.
Not by striving. Not by fixing. But by offering what He’s always wanted: you.
The best of your time. The depth of your emotion. The weight of your soul. The everyday, in-process, fully human, beloved you.
So if today feels like too much… if your spirit is tired and your list is long… if you’ve given your flour and oil, your effort and energy, and still feel like something’s missing—pause.
This might be your moment to simply be still. To breathe in His nearness. To let worship look like rest. To let surrender sound like, “Here I am, Lord. This is my peace offering.”
He doesn’t need more from you. But He invites all of you. And that? That’s worship.
Reflection
What would it look like for you to bring your whole self before God today? Not your polished self. Not your productive self. Just… you.
