The Torah commands: "And the priest shall burn wood upon it every morning" (Leviticus 6:5), referring to the daily kindling of fire on the altar. The Mekhilta immediately asks: why? The prophet Isaiah already declared that "the whole forest of Lebanon is not sufficient to burn" (Isaiah 40:16) — meaning that even every tree in the great forests of Lebanon would not constitute an adequate offering to God. If all the wood in the world cannot truly honor God's greatness, what is the point of a priest placing a few logs on the altar each morning?
The answer follows the same principle established for the first-born: God does not need the wood. The fire on the altar is not fueled by human effort in any meaningful cosmic sense. God, who created the sun and the stars, does not require kindling from cedar and cypress.
The priest burns wood every morning "for the sake of receiving reward." The act exists for the benefit of the human being performing it. Tending the altar fire is a discipline, a daily practice of devotion that shapes the character and deepens the commitment of the one who does it. The priest who rises before dawn to lay wood on the altar is not warming God. He is warming himself — building a habit of service that sanctifies his own life.
The Mekhilta is building a systematic theology here. Commandment after commandment, the same pattern emerges: God's reality is complete without us. The mitzvot (commandments) are gifts to us, not payments to God. Every ritual act is an opportunity for human growth disguised as divine service.