But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. (Isaiah 53:5)
The first principle of understanding Scripture is realizing they are you. All the baddies.
Judas of course, with his arrogant social justice posturing about the waste of tears and costly perfume in light of the world’s terrible poverty and inequality. Peter with his temper tantrum against the slave girl accusing him of being one of That Man’s disciples. The Twelve in the upper room at the last supper striving amongst themselves as to which of them was the greatest. All God’s people of course, crying out to Pilate “Crucify Him! Crucify Him!” Calling for the bloodguilt of the murder of the Spotless Lamb of God to rest upon us and our children.
Everyone in Christian publishing and marketing and fundraising (delicately called “development”) knows we were in the temple selling our wares when Jesus threw down our exhibits and took a whip to us. Every missionary winces and blushes and hides himself at Jesus’ words about going across heaven and earth to win converts, then turning them into twice the sons of hell we are ourselves. Pastors are sick unto death reading our Lord’s judgment that we lay burdens on men without lifting a finger to help them bear them.
Mothers know they’ve been the enemies of the souls of their husbands and sons and daughters. Brothers know they’ve betrayed their brothers, husbands their wives, seminary professors their students. We are the Jersualem who refused to be gathered under His wings as a hen gathers her chicks. We are the Wheaton that kills her prophets while laying garlands at the tombs of the prophets our fathers and grandfathers killed.
Instead of loving the children God has blessed us with, we resent them and leave their souls vulnerable to bitterness and lust. Rather than love our wives, we love naked flesh. Rather than worship and sacrifice to the Only True God Who gave His Only Begotten Son He loves up for us, we are up at our high places sacrificing to the gods of classical music, gymnastics, soccer, baseball, and the trivium.
We are the people who love bloodshed. We freeze our embryos. We use a host of technologies and chemicals to slaughter our children. Our men cultivate softness and our women dominate. We withhold food and water from our dying parents, then we burn and grind their bones into dust.
To cover it all up, we call men into our pulpits who know they’re to be silent about every last one of these sins.
Which is more precious to you—Easter or Good Friday?
Every Good Friday I say Good Friday.
Every Easter I say Easter.
But today is Good Friday and so this is the most precious day of the year—the day our Savior shed His Own blood for our many awful sins.
Who was the guilty? Who brought this upon thee?
Alas, my treason, Jesus, hath undone thee!
‘Twas I, Lord Jesus, I it was denied thee;
I crucified thee.
Therefore, kind Jesus, since I cannot pay thee,
I do adore thee, and will ever pray thee,
think on thy pity and thy love unswerving,
not my deserving.
Yes, dear brother and sister, you were there when they crucified our Lord.
As was I.