Sacrifice is a word that can sound severe to modern ears. It suggests loss, surrender, even pain. Yet when Paul writes to the Ephesian church that “Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God”, he frames sacrifice not as grim duty but as love’s fullest expression. At the heart of the gospel isn’t coercion, nor cold transaction, but self-giving love that rises like perfume before God.

When I linger with that verse, I picture the ancient temple, smoke curling upwards, the scent of an offering filling the air. It was tangible, costly, real. In the same way, Christ’s sacrifice wasn’t abstract. It was flesh and blood, sweat and tears, forgiveness breathed through cracked lips. He didn’t cling to status or safety. He gave himself up, freely, deliberately, lovingly. Sacrifice, then, isn’t about appeasing an angry deity, but about revealing the depth of divine love.

For us, sacrifice often feels smaller, yet no less significant. It’s the quiet choice to forgive when resentment would be easier. It’s giving time when we’re tired, generosity when budgets are tight, courage when silence would be safer. In these moments, we echo that fragrant offering. Not because we’re trying to earn favour, but because we’ve already been loved.

There’s something beautiful in the phrase fragrant offering. It suggests that self-giving love carries a sweetness in God’s presence. When we live in the way of Christ, when we walk in love as the verse invites us to do, our ordinary days become altars. A conversation handled gently, a burden shared, a truth spoken kindly; these rise like incense.

Sacrifice in this light isn’t about self-erasure. It’s about alignment. It’s choosing love over ego, grace over pride, compassion over indifference. And strangely, in giving ourselves away, we discover we’re not diminished. We’re drawn deeper into the life of God, whose very nature is self-giving love.