NOT GUILTY!
the Saving GRACE of God’s Redeeming LOVE
April 7th, 2023
STRIPES
Isaiah 53:5, ‘But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on Him, and by His wounds, we are healed.’ (NIV)
I wonder if I would take the beating, the whipping, intended for someone else. I’d like to think, for my children, for my grandbabies, for my loved ones, I would. I am hopeful I would be that brave. That I wouldn’t—at the last minute, close my eyes, squeeze out the trust in me with which any one of them might have, plug my ears to their cries—choose myself. I waver, wondering, even then, if I would be trustworthy enough to my family and friends, to take their blows, bear their bruises.
But for someone I don’t even care for?! No way. It’s not in me, to do that, I don’t think. There are so many encounters I have every day with people where I find myself whispering under my breath, ‘You Idiot.’ ‘What a Loser!’ ‘I would never…’ ‘Com’on, you Joker.’ I then follow that by muttering, ‘It’s just as easy to give a blessing as it is a curse,’ I chastise myself. I am hard on myself when it comes to looking at others through my lens, not God’s lens. Because I seldom get it right.
I let myself imagine though, on this day of all days, Jesus trudging up the hill, my cross tied to His shoulders. I stood in the crowd; His eyes met mine. I may not have chanted, but I stood there, never once offering to take one of the many lashes He took which were really meant for me. I didn’t wipe His tears nor clean the blood from His brow or even the sweat and the dirt and grime, while He cried and bled for me. I didn’t even stick around—I was such a sissy I couldn’t bear to see Him suffer. I covered my ears as the hammer thudded metal against metal while the nails pierced His hands, and I hid my eyes as they scourged Him, while the blood dripped from His face and His sides. I left before I saw it all play out. I couldn’t handle the truth that a part of me would always be right there, sacrificing another bleating lamb to cover my shame, if He hadn’t taken my badness upon His goodness. I didn’t even stay with Him when His Father turned away, unable to look at Jesus because He would see me and all my sin heaped upon His Son’s shoulders.
Just a week ago, we were all shouting Hosanna! in the square. We laid palm branches across the dirt road in front of Him as He ambled in on a borrowed donkey. It’s like we were paving a road for Him, like He was royalty, or something. We praised this Son of God. We believed it was really He Who had been prophesied for generations. Now, today, here we are, scoffs rolling off our tongues, as we catcall ‘King of the Jews’ and ‘Son of Man’, mocking Him, thinking we are shaming Him. It’s really us who should be shamed! Because He just gave Paradise to a thief hanging on a cross next to Him. I heard it as I ducked out of sight. He offered Him forgiveness. Who does that? Who forgives the one who wields the lashes? Who says you’re ‘Not Guilty !‘ and ‘I’ll see you in Paradise before the sun sets’? Who does that? But this Son of God.
Like a coward, I ran away.
Like I still do today.
I don’t know what it is about this Savior…but He gave it all for me. On Calvary. For eternity.
God’s Loving Kindness Leads Me to Repentance
