The Gift

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“Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift” —1 Corinthians 9:15

Charles Spurgeon, that great preacher of a past century, is quoted as saying: “While others are congratulating themselves, I have to lie humbly at the foot of Christ’s cross and marvel that I am saved at all.”

It is one of those unexplainable marvels in life that God would sacrifice Himself for me—or for any of us.

The humility displayed in Spurgeon’s comment is rare today. And perhaps that is why it is so easy for us to skip over the cross and hurry past its humiliation in our scramble to get to a happier event. It’s hard enough for us to consider how little we deserve any mercy from God, but to admit that we don’t deserve any mercy at all is especially difficult. There has to be something redeemable about us, doesn’t there?

In recent years the trend has been away from “worm” theology—the idea that we are nothing. When Isaac Watts (1674-1748) first wrote the classic hymn At The Cross, the first stanza went like this:

Alas, and did my Savior bleed?

And did my Sovereign die?

Would He devote that sacred head

For such a worm as I?

By the time we get to 1993, that last line had become For sinners such as I? That was fine—we are sinners. But in editions of some hymnbooks back as far as 1976, the words for the last line had been changed to For someone such as I? We seem to have gotten better over time.

In recent years the focus, both in secular society and in religious society, has been to build self-esteem—something “worm” theology doesn’t do too well. In an effort to soften the impact of the last line of the poem on our delicate psyches, someone has taken the opportunity to change the words of the old hymn.

Perhaps that is one reason, however minor, that has helped to dull our senses to the huge impact that the cross has on our lives: past, present and future. When we forget what we are we also run the risk of forgetting just how incredible a gift was given to us that day at Calvary.

Remember the drawing of the little boy and the caption underneath his picture that said: “I know I’m somebody ‘cause God don’t make no junk!!!!” that became a catch phrase some decades ago? Essentially that saying is true—God doesn’t make junk. What the phrase fails to recognize is that though God doesn’t make junk, we have “junked” ourselves because of our sin, the sin that separates us from the God who created us and who loves us beyond our capacity to understand.

Perhaps we are not quite worms (that might be to insult the hapless, innocent worm), but we are certainly hopeless, helpless sinners.

When we recognize just how far we have fallen from the “good” that God declared His creation to be in Genesis, and just how trashed our lives have become, then we can, like Spurgeon, kneel in awe at the foot of the cross and declare that the gift of God in His Son crucified on a cross to restore us to “good,” is indescribable.

Until we develop a “holy horror” toward just how bad we are, we will find it difficult, if not impossible, to appreciate the cross and our desperate need for the Saviour Who hung there in our place of judgment.

The Past Becomes the Present

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“In this way the priest will make atonement for him for the sin he has committed, and he will be forgiven” —Leviticus 4:35b

Did the religious authorities realize how “Old Testament” they were being when they insisted that Jesus be crucified? Did they notice that the actions they took that led to the Lord’s death paralleled closely the atonement ritual that their ancestors had carried out so assiduously, and that they themselves practiced. The death of the lamb, the sprinkling of the blood on the altar, was part of their own religious observance, as familiar to them as their wives’ faces.

            The trouble with familiarity is that oftentimes doing the same thing over and over again gets so routine that its true significance is lost in the science of the script and the art of the ceremony.

            Leviticus, one of those books of the Bible that most of us avoid, describes the numerous sacrifices that the ancients once offered. There were offerings for every occasion: for priests, for the community, for community leaders, for individuals. There were different animals that were part of the ritual: bulls, goats, lambs, and doves.

            In the case of an individual who committed a sin, Moses records this: “When anyone is guilty in any of these ways, he must confess in what way he has sinned and, as a penalty for the sin he has committed, he must bring to the Lord a female lamb or goat from the flock as a sin offering; and the priest will make atonement for him for his sin” (Leviticus 5:5, 6). The animal was killed. Some of its blood was sprinkled on the altar, the rest was drained out at the foot of the altar. The animal was then offered as a burnt offering to make atonement for the sin of the offender.

            The priests of Jesus’ day would not have recognized the cross-shaped altar, the cleansing flood of blood that flowed from the Lord’s body to pool at its base. Nor would they have understood that in the instant when the perfect Lamb died, atonement was provided for them. The Lamb had been sacrificed for the guilty. No, they would not have understood. They would not have confessed their guilt because they saw Jesus as guilty and themselves as the righteous. That was their fatal flaw.

            In a recent Bible study something the group was looking at triggered an “aha” moment in my head.  The Bible teacher was talking about the temple mount in Jerusalem where once these sacrifices described in the Scriptures were made. A mosque now sits on the site. It is the greatest desire of every orthodox Jew to see that mosque destroyed and the temple rebuilt where once it stood. I asked myself why God would have allowed a mosque to be built on the site of the holiest of holy places for the people of Israel, the place where once the cloud of His presence dwelt. As I thought about the question, I also wondered if God would ever allow the Jews to rebuild the temple, or if He would thwart every attempt to restore it.

            Is it possible that the mosque is there to prevent the Jews from returning to a system that doesn’t work, to keep them from sacrificing lambs in the futile attempt to do what has already been done once and for all time?

            The only completely sufficient sacrifice has been made. There is no need for another.

Who's Keeping Watch?

“Because the Lord kept vigil that night…” —Exodus 12: 42

Tucked away at the end of Exodus 12 is a verse that is easily skipped over. 

This chapter describes the last plague—the plague to end all plagues—the death of the firstborn of animals and humans. The ritual needed to prepare for this disaster—and to prevent it from impacting the Hebrews—is described in detail.

As God had promised, the angel of death passed over Egypt at midnight. The Almighty kept His promise, “When the Lord goes through the land to strike down the Egyptians, he will see the blood on the top and sides of the doorframe and will pass over that doorway, and he will not permit the destroyer to enter your houses and strike you down” (vs. 23).

This last plague was enough for Pharaoh. He urged Moses and the Israelites to go—and go quickly. They did, not even adding yeast to the next day’s bread that was waiting in their kneading troughs (vs. 34, 39). They needed to go before Pharaoh changed his mind again.

Of course the symbolism of this “pass over” drives us to the cross, illustrating what Christ did, and will do, for us. The destroyer cannot touch us. As believers we are covered by the blood He shed on Calvary.

But what struck me is a phrase that appears in the final instruction that Moses was given just at the end of the chapter. “Because the Lord kept vigil that night to bring them out of Egypt, on this night all the Israelites are to keep vigil to honour the Lord for the generations to come” (vs. 42).

The Passover continues to be an important observance for orthodox Jews to this day. I don’t know if they “keep vigil” as part of their observance, but the phrase caught my eye. It suggests that every year, in celebration of the night the destroyer passed over Egypt and did not touch any of the Hebrews because of the blood of the lamb on the doorpost—the night God Himself kept vigil to make sure that none of them were touched—the Jews held what we used to call a “watchnight service.” They watched, waited, remembered, celebrated, kept vigil until midnight as part of their observance of the greatest moment in their history.

We used to celebrate the “watchnight service” in our churches as December 31st rolled into January 1st. At midnight we met in the auditorium to welcome in the New Year with a prayer and praise service. I don’t know how the tradition started. It’s not a bad one, but perhaps it is misplaced. Perhaps it is on Good Friday that we, as redeemed believers saved from the touch of the destroyer because of the blood of Jesus Christ, ought to be keeping vigil in celebration of the greatest day in our history.

The tendency is to limit our Good Friday observance to an hour so as not to inconvenience anyone or intrude on family get-togethers, or, as in my experience, to ignore it altogether. But perhaps we need to learn a lesson from the Hebrews of ancient days. If they were to keep vigil to remember how God saved them from physical death, how much more should we keep vigil to remember how Christ has saved us from eternal death and has given us new live at the cost of His.

The Innocent For The Guilty — Part 1

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“…when I see the blood…” —Exodus 23:13

Hidden in the horrendous events of Exodus 11 and 12 are some of the most precious Gospel promises that God could ever give.

            As the Hebrews come to the end of their sojourn in Egypt, and as God came to the end of His patience in dealing with Pharaoh, Moses received instructions on how the people were to prepare for the Passover. They needed to be ready for that moment when the angel of God would pass over Egypt and take the first-born from every family, every flock, every herd. The lamb was to be sacrificed and its blood sprinkled on the doorposts of every Hebrew home. 

            “The blood will be a sign for you on the houses where you are; and when I see the blood, I will pass over you. No destructive plague will touch you when I strike Egypt” (Exodus 12:13).

So Moses passed on the message and the people prepared for an event that has remained a sacred celebration for Jews since that time. Moses said: “When the Lord goes through the land to strike down the Egyptians, he will see the blood on the top and sides of the doorframe and will pass over that doorway, and he will not permit the destroyer to enter your homes and strike you down” (Exodus 12:23).

“…when I see the blood…”

When, at last, we stand before God, those of us who know Jesus as Lord and Saviour will worship Him without fear. When He looks at us He will see, not our sins, but the blood of His Son—and will pass over. This theme becomes a constant in Scripture.

1 Peter 1:2, “…who have been chosen according to the foreknowledge of God the Father, through the sanctifying work of the Spirit, for obedience to Jesus Christ and sprinkling by his blood.”

Ephesians 2:13, “But now in Jesus Christ you who once were far away have been brought near through the blood of Christ.”

Revelation 1:5, “…To him who loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood, and has made us to be a kingdom and priests to serve his God and Father—to him be glory and power for ever and ever! Amen.”

We rail at being passed over for a promotion, or for not being recognized for work well done, or being overlooked when invitations are extended to some special event. But this one time, when it comes to the judgment for sin, being passed over is a really, really good thing.

What a promise, what a privilege.

What a relief!