Giving Blood – 2 Diaries, 2 Entries

Dear diary 1

Dear Diary,

I gave blood today for little Jack T. Lots of people from the church were there serving, giving blood, chatting, laughing. First I filled out a questionnaire about the purity of my blood. Had I taken this drug or that drug, been exposed to AIDS, etc. One question was “Have you ever been born in: Mexico, South America or Central America?” I don’t think I ever was, but I might have been.

After filling out the form, a pleasant lady reviewed my questionnaire then led me to a comfortable reclining chair with an arm rest. A professional young woman swabbed my arm with a brown liquid to sterilize the area where they would insert the needle. Then she removed a new syringe from a package. I was slightly nervous, but saw an elderly lady giving blood a few feet from me and she seemed fine, so I figured if she could do it I could too. I just didn’t want to start screaming like a woman or pass out in front of everybody.

“Little pinch” said the girl and stuck a needle in my arm. It was definitely more than a pinch, but only lasted about 2 seconds. I lay there comfortably. Mary B. took a photo of me and others came along and poked fun at me, asking if I was going to make it. After 15 minutes, a young man carefully removed the needle, applied a bandage, sealed up the bag of my blood, and instructed me not to have any coffee for the rest of the day. Right. I planned on heading to Starbucks as soon as I left.

Then Gary D. escorted me to the snack room, ready to catch me if I fainted. I capped off my ordeal with a couple glasses of orange juice, a sloppy joe and some kettle-cooked potato chips. Becky, Jack’s mom, thanked me, as did numerous others, and I congratulated myself for my incredible act of heroism.

….

Dear Diary,

I gave my blood today for all those the Father has given me. First, Judas turned me over to an angry mob who had come with swords and spears. The disciples all ran away. The soldiers dragged me into a kangaroo court, where false witnesses lied about me and twisted things I’ve said. They hauled me before Pilate and Herod, then Pilate handed me over to Roman soldiers who tied me to a post and whipped me repeatedly with a cat o’ nine tails, with its leather thongs embedded with pieces of bone and metal. My back was completely shredded and my sides, arms, and the backs of my legs were torn to pieces. My face was black and blue and puffy from the soldiers’ fists.

They made a crown from a thorn bush and pressed it into my head. They draped a purple cape over my shoulders, they paid me mock homage, bowing before me, spitting on me and smacking the crown with reeds, driving it in deeper. Tiring of their fun, they led me staggering out into the streets carrying a cross.

There were noisy crowds, pushing and yelling. I was so weak I fell beneath the crushing weight of the cross. After a couple falls, I couldn’t get up. The soldiers forced a bystander to carry my cross as they pushed me through the crowds.

On a hill outside the city, the soldiers tore off my bloody robe, ripping open the wounds on my back again. Then they stretched me out on the cross and pounded spikes into my hands and feet. I thought I might pass out from the pain, but I didn’t cry out. They hoisted up the cross and it dropped into its hole with a terrific jolt – pain shot through my arms like lightning. I hung there for 6 hours, convulsing in racking pain. My lips were cracked and my throat burned with thirst. I was suffocating. I would push up on the nails in my feet for a few seconds to catch a breath of air, until the pain became unbearable in my feet, then I’d slump down and hang by the nails in my hands and begin suffocating again. People all around were cursing me, laughing at me, shaking their heads.

Worse than all the physical pain – I hung there under my Father’s curse – his infinite wrath descended upon me. Desolate, alone and in infinite misery, grief, and sorrow, I plunged into total darkness of soul, the darkness of utter abandonment. I hung between heaven and earth, all alone, for what seemed like an eternity, until I had no more blood left. A spear pierced my side and a trickle of blood and water drained out.

It is finished. I’ve purchased my beloved ones.

When Jesus Was Absolutely Despicable

God made him to be sin

The most beautiful one in the universe was made vile in the sight of God and man for you and me.

“If there is a dispute between men and they come into court and the judges decide between them, acquitting the innocent and condemning the guilty, then if the guilty man deserves to be beaten, the judge shall cause him to lie down and be beaten in his presence with a number of stripes in proportion to his offense. Forty stripes may be given him, but not more, lest, if one should go on to beat him with more stripes than these, your brother be degraded in your sight. (Deuteronomy 25:1-3 ESV)

Forty stripes he may give him, and not exceed: lest, if he should exceed, and beat him above these with many stripes, then thy brother should seem vile unto thee. (KJV)

Jewish law limited a whipping to 40 stripes that the guilty would not “be degraded” or “seem vile” in the sight of his brothers. But the Romans who scourged Jesus would not have cared about Jewish law or sparing a Jew from being degraded or vile in anyone’s sight. Roman scourging was so horrific that Roman citizens were exempt from it. The one scourged was usually stripped and bent over or tied to a post, then beaten by one or more “lictors” who used “flagellums” or “flagrums” – whips with 2 or 3 leather strands about 3 feet long with pieces of bone or lead balls attached every few inches, which would shred the skin, exposing bones and organs. The lictors determined the number of lashes.  They weren’t generally supposed to kill the ones whipped, but often they died on the post or shortly afterwards. The loss of blood by Jesus was probably what left him so weak he was unable to carry his cross.

Jewish law limited the stripes so the guilty one would not be “degraded in your sight” or “seem vile unto thee.” Jesus was degraded and made vile in the sight of men.  But more significant, he was made despicable in the sight of God:

2 CO 5:21 says that God “made him to be sin,” the most abhorrent, disgusting, despicable thing in God’s sight.  In his perfect righteousness God will not even “look at” sin, or tolerate it in his presence, as he says in Habakkuk 1:3 “You who are of purer eyes than to see evil and cannot look at wrong…”

When Jesus took our sin and our scourging, he was degraded both in the sight of God and men. Here’s why he endured such suffering:

But he was pierced for our transgressions;
he was crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,
and with his wounds we are healed. Isaiah 53:5

Jesus was made vile in the sight of God and man, so we could be made beautiful in God’s sight. He rejoices and exults over us with “gladness” and “loud singing” (Zephaniah 3:17) and he looks on us who believe in Jesus as the apple of his eye, as David prays in Psalm 17:8 “Keep me as the apple of your eye”

Jesus was made vile in the sight of God and man, so we could be made beautiful in God’s sight.

God sees us who believe in Christ, clothed with the righteousness of Christ, and he is pleased with us and rejoices over us. All because Jesus was willing to be made despicable in God’s sight when he was scourged and crucified. What a glorious Savior we have!

Why Do We Sing About Wrath?

Sometimes I think if a stranger came into our church he might wonder why in the world are we singing songs about a Roman instrument of death, spikes, whips, and a crown made out of a thorn bush.  Why are we singing about some poor guy hanging alone in darkness, bleeding, and thirsting while crowds mock him and spit on him?

And it might really seem strange that so many of our songs mention wrath.  This stranger might wonder if we’re fixated on death.  He might say, “I thought I would come here and sing about God’s love.”  We do.  We definitely do.  But God’s love for us involves….wrath.  We can’t sing songs about God’s love without mentioning his wrath, and a cross, and a bloody sacrifice.

The common contemporary view of this is that we are estranged from God, but He is not estranged from us. The enmity is all one sided. The picture we get is that God goes on loving us with an unconditional love while we remain hateful toward Him. The cross belies this picture. Yes, the cross occurred because God loves us. His love stands behind His plan of salvation. However, Christ was not sacrificed on the cross to placate us or to serve as a propitiation to us. His sacrifice was not designed to satisfy our unjust enmity toward God but to satisfy God’s just wrath toward us. The Father was the object of the Son’s act of propitiation. The effect of the cross was to remove the divine estrangement from us, not our estrangement from Him. If we deny God’s estrangement from us, the cross is reduced to a pathetic and anemic moral influence with no substitutionary satisfaction of God. — RC Sproul

God’s wrath makes his love that much more amazing and sweet.

If there were no wrath, if God somehow just loved us and didn’t deal with our sins – if he somehow just put up with them – “Oh boys will be boys.  You just have to love them anyway” – we wouldn’t appreciate his love and mercy.  Most likely we wouldn’t love him, but go on loving our sins.  But God’s wrath that once hung over our heads like a very real sword, waiting to overwhelm us with unspeakable and unending horror and unimaginable, infinite agony is gone!  Gone forever!  And where did it go?  It fell on the one human being who didn’t deserve any wrath.  It fell on the innocent, spotless Lamb.  It fell on Jesus.  

And why?  Because of God’s love for us. Because of God’s tender mercy and compassion.  Oh yes, we will sing of wrath. Wrath well deserved.  Wrath stored up from day one.  Heaps and mounds and oceans of wrath barrelling down on us like a juggernaut, then suddenly diverted.  Suddenly turned aside.  And heaped on Jesus.  Jesus, like some kind of heavenly lightning rod, absorbing billions of volts of retribution that was due us.  Jesus, on the cross, going to hell.

Yes we will sing about wrath.  And meditate on it.  And marvel at what we deserved but didn’t receive.  We will celebrate and sing our strange songs about wounds and blood and darkness of soul and a cry of abandonment.  Because God’s wrath makes his love for us so much sweeter.

O Father, thank you for your deep, deep love.  Jesus thank you for the height, width, breadth and depth of your love.  Thank you Father for sparing us the terrifying wrath we so well deserved and pouring it out on your Son.  Jesus, thank you for taking our place on the cross and drinking this unimaginable cup to the dregs for us.  Holy Spirit, thank you for showing us the wrath of God and the love of God.

A Salvation Bought With Blood, Sweat, and Tears

Have you ever had one of those moments when one little bit of Scripture leaps from the pages and punches you in the mouth (in a good, wonderful way)? It happened to me this morning. I was reading the account of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness, which I’ve read, like, infinity times (hat tip to Napoleon Dynamite). And I’ve made all the “right” applications of the passage to my life. Jesus was suceeding in overcoming temptation where Israel had failed. Jesus was overcoming and conquering Satan, living a sinless life in my place. Jesus was fighting against Satan with the word of God, which provides a model for us. And on and on.

But then this little sentence jumped out:

Then the devil left him, and behold, angels came and were ministering to him. (Matthew 4:11)

The angels were ministering to Jesus. That’s interesting, I thought. Why did Jesus need the angels to minister to him?

Because, you idiot, he just endured the full, intense, exhausting, carefully calculated, carefully planned, forcefully executed onslaught of Satan himself! He went head to head in an all-out battle against King of Darkness! He hadn’t eaten for forty days, and was probably physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausted. After Jesus won the battle against Satan, the angels ministered to him, strengthening him, comforting him, lifting him.

Sometimes I think of Jesus as walking through life without ever really struggling. I mean, come on, he was the Son of God. Surely that made things easier for him, right?

Wrong! What scripture makes clear is that Jesus experienced the utter fullness of our humanity, and was tempted in every deep, full, multi-faceted sense of the word. Just because Jesus didn’t have a sinful nature doesn’t mean that it was easy to resist sin. Remember, Adam and Eve didn’t have a sinful nature either.

Jesus endured the constant, relentless onslaught of Satan’s choicest temptations. Jesus wrestled with Satan himself, not a middle level management demon. I don’t think Satan himself needs to bother with me. He can simply send one of his demons to tempt me. But not so with with Jesus. The Prince of Darkness harnessed all his powers of temptation and deceit in an effort to derail our Savior. In Hebrews 5:7 it says:

In the days of his flesh, Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to him who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverence.

Jesus fought for our salvation with loud cries and tears. Cries of desperation, discouragement, exhaustion, and numbness. Tears of grief, betrayal, and heartache. He was sinless, but he was also a Man of Sorrows, intimately acquainted with grief, betrayed by friends, assaulted by enemies, sweating drops of blood in Gethsemane.

For thirty-three years Jesus was pressed, stretched, and assaulted on every side. The relief didn’t come until he uttered the words, “It is finished.” Why did Jesus endure this? To win our salvation! To do what Adam, and Noah, and Israel, and David, and Solomon, and me, and you all failed to do. Jesus spent all of his might, strength, and emotion to conquer sin and Satan, and to make our forgiveness possible.

I’m so grateful for Jesus, the King of Kings who desperately needed the angels to minister to him. I’m grateful that we have a Savior who was tempted in every way, and who now ministers himself on our behalf. That’s the kind of Savior that I need.

Down Into the Abyss of Sorrow

photo by jam343


Matthew 26:38: “Then he said to them, ‘My soul is very sorrowful, even to death.’”

“With the exception of our Lord’s actual crucifixion, [Gethsemane] is perhaps the most awful and solemnizing scene which the Scriptures contain,” writes Hugh Martin, a 19th century Scottish pastor in his excellent book The Shadow of Calvary. Anyone who reads through the gospel accounts of Jesus’ life cannot help but be amazed at how time and time, whether in dealing with the Pharisees, his disciples, or the needy crowds, Jesus is so obviously in control of the situation. He knows the right words to say to pierce the heart of a sinful woman at the well (John 4) and to disarm and turn the tables on the traps of his opponents (Mark 12).

And yet here in the Garden of Gethsemane Jesus seems utterly undone. He asks for his disciples’ support in prayer with the terrifying words, “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death.” Then he falls to the ground, wrestling with God in prayer and even sweating drops of blood. What could cause the very Son of God such agony, such grief, such fear?  Only one thing: his pending death as sin-bearer. In Martin’s words, “The sorrows of the garden arose from the prospect and foresight of the sorrows of the cross.”

Is it possible for us to begin to fathom the grief and agony Jesus endured for us? How can we begin to measure the sufferings that would cause our Lord sorrows unto death? What did it cost him to become our sacrifice? In his chapter on the agonies of Gethsemane, Hugh Martin gives us one answer: we can begin to grasp the sorrows Jesus endured when he took our sins by looking at the joy we experience in receiving his righteousness.

“For our sake [God] made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God,” Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 5:21. This is imputation: God places our sins on Jesus so that he might place Jesus’ righteousness on us. To be the recipient of such a glorious exchange is the greatest source of joy sinners can know. “How happy is the man against whom the Lord will not count his sin!” (Romans 4:8) But if to receive imputed righteousness brings us such joy, what depth of sorrows must it have cost our sinless Savior to become sin for us? “Sin imputed to a holy one must produce effects directly the reverse of righteousness imputed to a sinner.”

We must go a step further. The gospel has brought joy not just to one person, but to millions. Jesus as our Head suffered not just for one of us, but for all of us. “Who shall measure the sum of the joy wherewith these millions of once apostate but justified transgressors, saved and sanctified for ever, shall joy in the God of their salvation?…It was that mighty aggregate of joy to which Jesus gave being by his sorrow. It is with that mighty aggregate of joy…that the sorrow of Jesus must be contrasted!”

Let us remember today what it cost our Savior, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief, to bear our sins in his body on the tree. There is no high peak of joy we experience for which Jesus did not sink to the corresponding abyss of sorrow – for us.

But Good Friday gives way to Easter. The cross leads to the crown, and the Son of God did not suffer in vain. If Jesus has born our griefs and drained the cup of sorrow in full, what mountain tops of joy must await us when we gather around our risen Lord and Savior with people from every tribe, tongue, and nation!

“After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, ‘Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!’” (Revelation 7:9-10).