He trusts in the LORD; let the LORD rescue him.
Let him deliver him, since he delights in him. Psalm 22:8
To hear this cruel mockery while suffering unspeakable pain
must have been as unbearable as the pain itself.
Of course he could have been rescued,
spared all that trauma,
simply have gotten down off the cross
and walked away.
But he didn’t.
He chose not to.
He chose to stay and see it through
in order that we be delivered,
because he delights in us.
Mocking the mockery.
All they that see Him laugh Him to scorn
they shoot out their lips and shake their heads.
Psalm 22:7
The mocking and head shaking have never stopped to this day. In the media, in school yards, in academic corridors and the public square: disbelief and scorn over the kingdom of God come to earth. Derision is part of our daily diet, so things have not changed.
He could have defended himself but didn’t need to. He knew what the others refused to see and acknowledge, so forgave their ridicule. Scorn, laughter, spouting off and dismissal is met with grace and mercy.
It’s enough to leave us shaking our heads over the wonder of it all.
We all, like sheep, have gone astray,
each of us has turned to his own way;
and the Lord has laid on him
the iniquity of us all.
Isaiah 53:6
If you’ve moved in Christian circles for any length of time, you are probably familiar with the many parallels between the Christian and the sheep: stubborn aversion to anything risky, desire to move with the group, easily lost, etc.
In reading this passage, I take the first two lines to heart, so much so that I demonstrate my own sheep-likeness yet again.
I read: “All we like sheep have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way.”
I think: Oh yes, I can understand that. I know I’ve sinned—oh, I am so sheeplike, so stupid! Self-beration feels natural, almost holy, so I continue to dwell on my shortcomings and wallow in guilt.
But we must urge each other to remember the most important part of this passage: “the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.”
Yes, we were once hopelessly lost, walking in darkness far worse than a sheep’s nearsightedness. Christ entered our darkness, promising the fullest life (John 10:10), assuring us that he would pay the cost of giving us that life (John 8:34-36, 3:15).
Our first iniquity was rebellion against our creator. But in Paul’s words, thanks be to God! We have been delivered; we have been found. We have been justified once—for all time—because the Lamb bore the sins of his flock.
…and by his wounds we are healed.
Isaiah 53:5
We all have scar stories.
I have a friend who proudly shows off a gash on his thumb, claiming it came from a boxing match with a bear. My pride and glory is a crescent shaped patch, ranging from bicep to forearm. While showing off the immense scar left over from a surgery to repair ligaments several years ago, I let students speculate what caused the giant wound. “Did you get stabbed?” “Did a shark attack you?”
Scars serve as outward proof and vindication of past pain and perseverance. They are indications and reminders of experiences and the lessons we, hopefully, take away from those
painful moments.
Christ’s wounds, however, carry deeper implications because he had no lesson to learn, no need to develop the perseverance or character we attribute to such wounds. Jesus received his
wounding on behalf of us, so that his marks would be a constant reminder of incarnated and resurrected grace. He told Thomas to place his hands in the holes that marred his hands, his side.
Paul claimed at the end of Galatians that one type of scar no longer mattered—circumcision—but now the marks of Christ born on his body are all the credentials needed. I am thankful for the fleshy scar on my arm that refuses to fade with time. It is a reminder of the deepest physical pain I ever felt. Moreover, it serves as a reminder of how the incarnated Christ took my stripes and bruises, and how his resurrected being did not hide those scars but used them as proof of his love and plan for us in resurrection.
The scars we endure now are not glossed over or hidden in resurrection; they are the indication of how much healing occurred.
~Ben Gibson
…the punishment that brought us peace was upon him… Isaiah 53:5
Most images of Christ over the past hundred years have given us a distorted vision of Jesus. Clad in flowing silk robes, sporting a finely trimmed beard, and gently tossing back and forth hair so thick and smooth it must be regularly conditioned with the best shampoo, Jesus has been sanitized for wide western consumption.
In the prophetic words of Isaiah 53 regarding God’s suffering servant, we are given an image of a very different Messiah, one resigned to ugliness and alienation. When he tossed his head, a flowing mane of hair did not follow but rather, a splatter of blood. Christ could never save us by winning a pageant or gaining enough popularity.
We tend now to shudder at the thought of God’s act of propitiation, the crucifixion of Christ by which we are brought peace with God. Incredibly, the crucifixion must have carried a depth of pain, punishment, and rejection beyond what we can imagine. The truth is ‘divine child abuse’ cannot even begin to describe what Christ experienced on our behalf. Are we meant to understand the depth of pain God the Father endured in placing this judgment on His Son? No, we cannot. To minimize or reject the New Testament account of the cross is to not take seriously our own sinful state. Rather, both Father and Son experienced despair and alienation beyond our comprehension that day.
Strangely enough, that pain brought reconciliation with God. Lent, in the faintest of lights, begins to point us toward the divine reality that our peace is gained through the most devastating of losses.
~Ben Gibson
“For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross.” Colossians 1:19-20
Surely, he has borne our griefs
and carried our sorrows. Isaiah 53:4
Weighed down by life, we sometimes cry for relief from the burden we carry. This is such a part of the human condition that the cry even came from Jesus Himself: “Take this cup from me”. Even He needed help to carry the cross to the hill; another was needed to bear His heavy load for Him.
So He knows there are times we cannot bear it alone because He has felt overwhelmed too. He knows what it means for someone to come alongside and share the burden. He knows what we need even before we need it. He has borne for us and carried for us.
Surely. We know this with utter confidence and certainty. It is so.
“I offered my back to those who beat me, my cheeks to those who pulled out my
beard; I did not hide my face from mocking and spitting.”
Isaiah 50:6
The vast majority of us enter this world making noise. If we don’t initially, we’re bound to start howling sooner or later. We are guided by an inherent desire to voice our complaint, to shield ourselves from trouble or to stand against some injustice. To do anything less is practically un-American.
Yet it would seem that the gospel is the fruit of a very different sort of behavior. The voice we hear in Isaiah 50:6 is that of a man who has relinquished his entitlement to comfort and even dignity. Some people involuntarily find themselves in a place of torture: he “offered his back.” Some are caught in deceit or framed: he allowed them to pull out his beard and shame him.
Most of us work our way out of the line of fire, hoping to be overlooked. He did not hide: in the confidence of purpose only a perfect God could exhibit, he surrendered to torture and false accusations, and denied himself the right to resist. He allowed us to remove his human dignity. He suffered at our hands, and by this he demonstrated that our only dignity is found in
him.
~ Breanna Siebring
“In the real world of pain, how could one worship a God who was immune to it?
He entered our world of flesh and blood, tears and death. He suffered for us.”
John Stott
“A man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.”
Isaiah 53:3
Heartache and trouble have a myopic effect on us. On our own, we quickly develop tunnel vision for our own pain. We stew over injustice that’s been dealt us, continually scrape at bitter wounds, or silently pine for bygone and better days. We are not at all fond of sorrow yet we cling to it as if it will keep us afloat. We resent our private darkness, but we lack the insight (and sometimes the inclination) to escape it.
If not for Christ, we would still be in the dark.
“Was there ever grief like his?” the old hymn asks. I cannot look at the cross for long without concluding, “No, there never was a grief like his.” I once bore the burden of my sin, but he took upon himself that burden; I will never fully face the consequences of my sin because he took my punishment. He was familiar with grief—more so than I can know.
He came to carry for us the greatest sorrow: estrangement from God. He came to remove completely and eternally “the bar across our shoulders” (Is. 9:4). He came to set us free from sin (Rom. 2:23-24), and he stayed with us so that we might understand that we are also free from guilt (Rom. 8:1). Surely the little deaths we suffer all our lives have been dissolved in his light.
We have reason to rejoice, don’t we?
~Breanna Siebring
“We cannot wait until the world is sand
To raise our songs with cheerful voice
For, to share our grief, to touch our pain
He came with Love: Rejoice! Rejoice!”
– Madeleine L’Engle
He was despised, rejected of men…
Isaiah 53:3
There is much in the news these days about bullying –horrific examples of man’s inhumanity to man, or children’s inhumanity to other children, as the case may be. Those who are the brunt of such treatment certainly know how it feels to be despised and rejected, isolated from others, victimized and humiliated. It can be so severe it can drive some individuals to take their own lives in their desperation to be free of the psychological and sometimes physical torture. Even death can seem a respite from such rejection.
So many years ago, and still today, God is despised and rejected both privately and in public. There were plenty of bullies in the story of the Passion. More disturbing than the public bullying by the high priests, Herod and the Romans, was the turning away of His friends, disciples and followers. This was worse than cruelty that comes from people in power who need someone to pick on to make them feel they are in control.
This was indifference to His severe emotional struggle in the Garden.
This was betrayal for a few silver coins.
This was His closest ally denying knowing Him not once but three times.
This was choosing a convicted insurgent murderer to be set free so He could take his place on the cross.
This was derision while He was hanging there suffering.
Even worse than the abuse from bullies wanting to look powerful and the turning away of friends when their support was most needed: rejection of God by God.
No human rejection can come close. Being hung on the cross by fellow humans cannot compare to the torture of being left there by God.
God is no bully and has no need to look more powerful to man. He came to earth in the most humble of circumstances.
It is our turning away, our rejection of Him that brought Him to come beside us,
live and walk among us,
eat with us,
love us with His human and divine heart and
despite His cries for relief,
die our death.
Our God is wholly God because He was willing to be broken like the most helpless and despicable among us, experiencing our struggles, identifying with us.
Death can be no respite for God.
Instead of remaining shattered,
He rose in victory,
undefeated,
with power over death itself.
We are invited to turn back,
walk alongside and believe,
our hearts burning within us
for this man who is God
living among us.
But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities
Isaiah 53: 5
Doctors look for wounds that need healing. Some are visible and obvious. Most are invisible. Sometimes the doctor is not even sure what wounds they are looking for as the patient won’t or can’t reveal where the hurt is. The doctor needs to probe the surface and then peel away the layers, deeper and deeper, until it is found.
Some wounds are never identified as the patient has no intention of letting them be discovered. The suffering, intense as it is, remains unrelieved and unknowable.
Not so the wounds described in Isaiah, revealed as our tender God unfurls layer by layer, willingly exposing His selfless bruised core.
Wiser Lake Chapel Advent and Lenten Reflections 