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.

Was Darwin ever a Christian?

The bicentenary of Darwin's birth (February 12, 1809) has prompted a shower of articles, documentaries and books on various aspects of his life and work. Atheists have lauded him as a patriarch of their cause, a role which some Christians would also like to assign him, although with less delight.

Other Christians have attempted to rehabilitate Darwin. Their arguments range from resurrecting the old "Darwin recanted on his death bed" story to more thoughtful reassessments of his evolutionary theory. Even the Vatican has contributed to the discussion. The death bed story seems to have little credibility, since his wife and members of his family, who were Christians, did not believe it to be true. But for me the real question is "Was Darwin ever a Christian?"

After reading long extracts from Darwin's Beagle journal and his autobiography I'm not at all convinced that Darwin ever had what might be described as a personal faith in Jesus Christ as Saviour and Lord. Before his Beagle journey he certainly had a belief in God as creator and an unexamined assumption that the Bible was literally true. Prior to joining the Beagle expedition he had been at Cambridge studying to be an Anglican minister. But it seems this was due more to the convenience of being able to continue his scientific studies as the incumbent of some quiet parish rectory, rather than from any deeply held desire to be a minister of the word and sacraments.

Darwin continued to uphold the conventions of being a Christian until he was in his forties, long after his Beagle days. Even in old age he described himself as an agnostic, or even a theist, rather than an atheist. But he no longer attended church or believed that the Bible could be trusted as the word of God.

The Beagle journal reveals a young man (he was still in his early twenties) who could see the benefits of Christianity in raising the moral, social and cultural standards of those who practised it. He was impressed with the work of the missionaries in Tahiti, comparing the natives of Tahiti most favourably with the 'wild' human beings he'd seen elsewhere. Being a Christian and being civilised seemed to be almost synonymous in his mind. But he had no missionary inclinations himself.

In his biography we see that it was not just the difficulty of assimilating a literal view of Genesis 1 with his scientific discoveries that drove him away from Christianity. He had a great sensitivity to the suffering of others, human and animal, and could not reconcile the suffering he saw around him with the God of the Bible. Why would a good God deliberately create a world in which animals and humans thrived at others' expense?

Early in his travels he had been awed by the grandeur of creation, but after more than 5 years at sea, he had seen and studied much that gave him doubts. The death of one of his daughters at the age of 10 weighed on his mind. He found intolerable the idea that since his father, his brother and many of his friends were not believers, they would go to hell. He became an ardent supporter of the anti-slavery movement, which many Christians opposed.

Sometimes Darwin is portrayed as a devout Christian who allowed himself to drift away from his faith through his interest in the demon science. In his autobiography he wrote that his loss of faith was gradual and had caused him no distress. Yet he also describes how he struggled for many years to hold on to faith because of the "beautiful morality" of the New Testament.

Part of the difficulty in assessing Darwin's faith comes from his reticence to write or say anything that would encourage rampant atheism, since he saw that this would be detrimental to society. He was also unwilling to cause hurt to those friends and family members (including his wife Emma) who were devout Christians. His autobiography, in which he gave a frank account of his view of religion, was written for his family rather than for publication.

My impression is that Darwin began life with a conventional understanding of Christianity. He thought deeply and honestly about the challenges to his beliefs, and expressed his doubts graciously, without vehemence. However, he lacked both the theological skills and the personal conviction that might have helped him to hold on to faith. He came from a family with a background of scepticism. Many of his peers shared a perception that Christianity was good for the morals of the masses, but was not to be taken too seriously at a personal level. Although he experienced feelings of awe and wonder, he had no sense of Christ's presence in his life. In the end, unsupported dogma met hard facts and lost the battle for a great mind.

If you had been here

"Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died" (John 11:21)

These are intriguing words. If you are familiar with the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead, you will recognise them as spoken by Lazarus' sister Martha, and later echoed by Mary (verse 32). Several days earlier, when Martha and Mary saw how seriously ill their brother was, they had sent for Jesus, asking him to come quickly. But he didn't come, even though he was only a few kilometres away. Lazarus steadily grew worse, and died. They held a funeral for him. Still Jesus didn't show up. And then, four days after Lazarus' death, Jesus arrived, with no explanation and no apology.

As readers of the story we're told why Jesus didn't respond immediately to Martha's message. But Martha knew nothing of this. Surely there's more than a hint of disappointment, resentment, even anger in her words when she says to Jesus "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." And there's an unspoken question too: " I thought you loved Lazarus. I thought you cared for Mary and me. Why didn't you come?"

Anger towards God is not, in itself, a good thing. Yet anger towards God can only arise in someone who, like Martha, has some level of faith. Atheists, if they are honest with themselves, have no-one to be angry with when life is disappointing. Those with only nominal faith will simply shrug their shoulders when their prayers aren't answered - they weren't really expecting God to show up anyway. It's only the person who knows God, who knows God's character and understands what he can do, who feels disappointed and angry when they believe that he has failed them in some way.

Martha's initial request to Jesus to come quickly was based on her faith in his ability to heal Lazarus and her trust that he loved Lazarus, Mary and herself. She doesn't lose her faith that he could do something (verse 22). Note that Jesus' response to Martha's bitter words contains no rebuke. Instead he leads her to a deeper level of faith and understanding. Eventually she comes to see why Jesus didn't respond immediately to her request to heal Lazarus.

It seems to me that when we find ourselves angry with God, Martha's example is a good one to follow. She didn't reject Jesus, or rant at him, or tell everyone she met that he was a big disappointment to her. She expressed her feelings directly to him. She expressed her continuing faith in him. This is honest prayer from a faithful heart, and God listens graciously to such prayers.

Should we be more grateful?

In my most recent post I wrote about the difficulties we create for ourselves when we mentally divide up our lives into "Christian" and "other" activities. The result is a constant struggle to find time amongst the "other" activities to do the "Christian" things we think we ought to be doing, leading to frustration, weariness and resentment.

What I didn't touch on was the whole idea that we somehow 'owe' God something in return for his goodness to us. This might seem quite obvious at first glance, but it runs counter to the whole concept of grace. We did nothing to deserve God's love, and we can do nothing to repay it. We can only gratefully accept it.

If there's any sense of 'ought' or 'should' about our response to God's goodness, then it's not gratitude that we're experiencing but anxiety. We're anxious to show God how grateful we are in case...what? In case he takes his gifts away again? In case he doesn't give us anything more? In case he punishes us for our ingratitude? If we think this way, even subconsciously, then we've not understood grace.

Please don't misunderstand what I'm saying. I'm not suggesting we grab everything God gives us and never give him a thought. True gratitude inevitably wells up into acts of love and service towards the giver as well as those around us. But there's no 'ought' or 'should' about it. It's spontaneous, heartfelt, nothing can stop it.

Telling someone that they ought to demonstrate their gratitude to God is like telling a child that they ought to write a nice thankyou letter to Aunt Mavis for the Christmas present she sent. It might produce a polite child, or it might produce stubborn resistance, but it won't produce any love between the child and Aunt Mavis.

Berating ourselves or each other for our lack of gratitude towards God is pointless, even counter-productive. If our response to God's grace isn't overwhelming gratitude expressed in love towards him and other people, then let's remind ourselves of what he has done for us. Let's strive towards a deeper understanding of what it means to be a child of God. Let's focus on the gifts and the Giver rather than the quality of our response.