Blood and Gods

What god would ask for blood?  We wonder rightly at so grotesque a scene, as priests huddle over the congealing mess, as if the gods must hear us because of the stench.  Do gods really thirst for so sickening a drink?  Or is the blood only a symbol for what I am called to give away: life?  For one god calls me to obey and another to submit.  But the call is pointless.  Even if I could give my life to God for a minute, I could not do it for an hour.  Could I last an hour, I doubt I could submit for a day.  Or even if I was asked only for a second, I could not give my life to God wholly even for that moment.  So I say, “Here is blood, the symbol of a life flowing out, given wholly, finally, utterly.  Take it as if it were mine, for, see?  My blood runs too slowly.”