Rescued

When I was a child, I went to church with my parents and attended Sunday school every week. By the time I turned fourteen, there were no other kids my age in the church. The Sunday school supervisor decided that, since he was short of teachers, I could take on a class. So I found myself teaching a class of ten and eleven-year-olds.

It was daunting, but I enjoyed finding ways to bring the old familiar Bible stories to life. Then Easter came along, and I became aware that I really had no idea how Jesus dying on a cross had anything to do with me or the children I was teaching. 'Jesus died to save sinners'. It said so in the prayer book. I'd heard it every week. But what did it mean?

I was in my early twenties before I found the answer. While reading a Christian book, I discovered that Jesus willingly took on himself the sins of the whole world. On the cross, he paid the penalty for our rebellion and indifference to God. My sins were included. And because my sin had already been judged and the penalty paid by God himself, in Jesus, I could be at peace with him. I didn't have to earn my way to heaven (a task which I had already learned was impossible). That discovery became a precious moment. Not only did I have an answer, I also had a Saviour, a Rescuer.

Since then I have learned that the Bible gives many different answers to my question, 'What does "Jesus died for sinners" mean?' Jesus was the ransom, paid to set us free from our slavery to sin. Jesus took our sins to the grave and left them there when he was raised to life. Jesus, being sinless, overcame the power which death held over sinners. Satan threw everything he had at Jesus, and lost, so that he no longer has any claim over us.

Jesus became the new representative of humankind, replacing the old representative, Adam. Jesus was the sacrificial lamb, the true sacrifice which the Old Testament sacrifices had only mirrored. Jesus, by his supreme example of love for people and obedience to God, draws us to himself. Jesus conveys to us the lengths to which God would go to save us from the consequence of our rebellion towards him.

The Bible writers used these and other examples, drawn from human experience, to explain how Jesus' death could save sinners. They are all helpful and true. And yet in the end, salvation is still something which is beyond our full comprehension. It is too marvellous for words. All that we can do is accept it from God with wonder and gratitude.

Image by Hans Braxmeier from Pixabay

Staying power

Poverty, chastity and obedience are the traditional vows of those entering religious orders. Benedict, however, added a fourth vow for his order - stability. Benedictine monks and nuns are expected to remain within the same community for life.

This might seem strange, even harsh to us. We expect to move house and change jobs several times over a lifetime. Our whole society is hooked on the idea that change is progress. We are enticed and cajoled into changing our clothes, our furniture and our cars, not because the old ones have worn out, but because "new is better".

Current wisdom sees no virtue in staying put. If a relationship is no longer satisfying, leave it and find someone more compatible. If the church you attend is a bit dreary or disagreeable, try the one down the road. After all, wasn't Jesus himself a wandering preacher with nowhere to lay his head?

What Benedict recognised was that neither true community nor growth of the individual Christian is possible without some stability. This may not necessarily mean living a lifetime in one place. But we should be slow to move unless we have a clear call to do so.

When Jesus told Peter that he should forgive his brother “seventy times seven’ (Matt 18:21-22), he was surely implying some sort of long-term relationship between the two. It's relatively easy to forgive a petty offence two or three times. To go on forgiving day after day goes beyond our own resources. Even minor irritations become painful sores if they are constantly renewed. By enduring, we not only learn to forgive as God forgives, but we also learn to rely on God for grace to forgive.

When we first join a community we are often enthusiastic. Our relationship to others is positive but superficial. People are kind to us because we are new. After a while, we begin to feel disillusioned. We're no longer given special attention. We discover that these people have all the usual human faults and weaknesses. Sometimes our relationships with others become quite difficult or painful. It is tempting at this stage to leave.

But by leaving we miss the opportunity to become more Christ-like. Love which is patient, not easily angered, keeps no score of wrongs, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres (1 Cor 13) takes time and adversity to develop. By moving on we also miss the opportunity to become part of a community in which we are accepted as we really are.

(This article originally appeared on "One Candle", my former website. It may be copied (without alteration) for non-commercial use, but please acknowledge its source. Photo copyright Stella Budrikis)

The Pharisees had something right

"Let us then approach God's throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need." (Hebrews 4:16)

The Pharisees knew the scriptures well. They knew that in order to approach a good and holy God, you must live a life of scrupulous obedience to his law. Since no human being could hope to live a perfectly sinless life, a sacrifice was needed to atone for your sins. Then you must have a priest appointed by God to act as your intermediary. Only then was it safe to approach God. Those who encountered him unprepared, like Isaiah, cried out in terror at his presence (Isaiah 6:5).

When a young preacher from Galilee claimed that he was God in human form, it was easy enough to see that his claims were false. He ate and drank with blatant sinners. He let those made unlcean by diseases touch him. He didn't allow his disciples to stop anyone from coming to him. Even gentile sinners were welcome. And he talked to God with the familiarity of a child with his father.

In one sense the Pharisees were right. How could God appear among them and not consume those who approached him carelessly and in sin? Jesus was not even a priest, so how could he pretend to represent God? Were his claims not blasphemous?

What they didn't understand was that Jesus himself was living a sinless life, the only truly sinless life, on behalf of those who came to him. Jesus himself was the ultimate sacrifice for sin that would end all sacrifices. Jesus was the great high priest who would be the eternal intermediary between God and his people.

While the Pharisees’ problem was that they couldn’t imagine a holy God appearing among them, our problem is that we sometimes take it for granted. We “approach the throne of grace” with a confidence that is based on a diminished view of God’s holiness rather than an appreciation of Jesus’ role in making it possible. In an act of sheer grace, our holy and loving God has provided us with all that we need to come to him. Who could imagine that?

Jesus our sacrifice - what does that mean?

In everyday language, a sacrifice is something precious or important to us which we give up for the sake of something more precious or important. We talk about people sacrificing their time on behalf of others. Soldiers sacrifice their lives for the sake of their country. Some people are able to "salary sacrifice", meaning that they give up part of their salary in order to obtain some other, greater benefit.

Sacrifice in the Old Testament had the same idea behind it. In a community in which wealth was measured in cattle, sheep and goats, a blemish-free male lamb or young bull was a most valuable commodity. It could potentially have become the nucleus of a new flock or herd. Instead it was offered up, sacrificed, to God. A great cost was involved to the person making the sacrifice.

Many cultures have had this idea of sacrificing, or offering up, something precious to the gods. Sacrifices were made in order to impress or appease the gods, and thus bring some benefit or avoid some consequence. Since human life was the most precious commodity of all, human sacrifice was often the ultimate, most terrible expression of this.

That is not to say that the Old Testament sacrificial system was just a continuation of the sacrifices of the surrounding cultures of the day. Yet in commanding a pattern of sacrifices God graciously used a system the Israelites were already familiar with. The sacrificial system provided a means by which they could express sincerity in their commitment to God, repent of their sin and obtain forgiveness.

Nor was personal cost the only element involved. But costliness was an important aspect of any sacrifice. The Israelites understood that bringing a blemished animal was not acceptable, since little or no personal sacrifice was involved in presenting such a beast to the priest for slaughter.

When we come to the New Testament, we find Jesus being described as the Lamb of God, who is the sacrifice for our sins. While there are many aspects to this, it at least includes the everyday meaning of sacrifice as involving a cost to the one making it. We might then ask "At the crucifixion, who sacrificed what, and to whom?"

Was it God who made the sacrifice? In one sense, yes. He gave up his own, beloved son, the most precious offering he could make. But to whom? To Satan? To human beings? How could God, the sovereign creator of the universe, feel the need to offer anything to anyone, least of all to any of his creatures? Ultimately we can say that God offered a sacrifice to himself, no matter how strange that seems.

Did Jesus sacrifice himself? He certainly gave up his glory in heaven to become human, and then laid down his own sinless life. He offered himself to God in order to obtain a benefit, not for himself, but for the whole of humanity.

Could it be that we sacrificed Jesus? This is an aspect of Jesus' death that I've only recently begun to think about. Would it be true to say that God provided us, humanity, with a perfect, blemish-free "lamb", which we then sacrificed to him? The story of Abraham, Isaac, and the ram caught in the thicket comes to mind. God provided the sacrifice, but it was Abraham who offered it up.

Jesus words as they crucified him, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing" could be understood to include not just those hammering the nails into his hands, not just those who ordered his death, but the whole of humanity. He is our collective sacrifice, even for those who do not comprehend who he was.

Those who enacted the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross didn't understand what they were doing. Caiaphas, John tells us, prophetically declared that it was fitting that one man should die on behalf of the people, but he didn't understand the full import of what he said. The majority of human beings then and since have been unaware that a sacrifice has been made.

Yet if humanity, fearing the wrath of a holy God, was looking for a sacrifice to end all sacrifices, where would we look? We could try mass slaughter - maybe God would be satisfied with thousands or even millions of deaths. Human beings have commonly offered the slaughter of their enemies to their gods. Yet our enemies' deaths cost us nothing. To be a true sacrifice, we must offer up something precious that we'd rather hold on to.

Jesus stands as the most perfect human being who has ever lived, innocent of all blame. He appears in the gospels as one who was winsome as well as wise, tenderhearted as well as authoritative. Those who knew him and followed him had no desire to lose him or see him die.

Those who know him now surely feel a similar hesitancy, a reluctance, in reading about what was done to him and about his death, even though we understand why it was necessary. This is not the reluctance of those who deny him, but a reluctance born out of identifying him and loving him as the one true, perfect and precious human being. Faith, to some extent, involves recognising Jesus as the only one worthy of being sacrificed by us, for us.

I found myself thinking more about this idea of humanity collectively sacrificing Jesus whilst reading about St Patrick's mission to Ireland. His gospel work there was amazingly successful, due in part to the fact that the Irish of the time knew all about human sacrifice. They had no difficulty comprehending the idea that Jesus was the perfect human sacrifice. They were amazed and delighted to hear that God had himself provided all that was needed to appease his own wrath. The sacrifice had been made, and no further sacrifices were necessary.*

We find it more difficult to understand this, not just because we no longer practise human sacrifice, but also because we are not used to thinking collectively. Our attitude is commonly "I was not there, I was not involved and so I'm not responsible". (Just think of the controversy surrounding the Australian government saying "Sorry" for past injustices to Aboriginal people.)

Faith involves, amongst other things, recognising and claiming our own part in Jesus death. Not just our part in the sin of humanity which made his death necessary, but our part in offering him up to God as our sinless, priceless sacrifice. Would it not be true to say that each of us, at conversion, in effect says to God "I'm a sinner - but please, accept Jesus as my offering and so forgive me". We audaciously claim him as our own and then offer him back to God.

*I owe much to Thomas Cahill's book "How the Irish Saved Civilization", especially his chapter on Patrick's mission.