Isaiah 53:4-6 (MSG) -“He was looked down on and passed over,
a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand.
One look at him and people turned away.
We looked down on him, thought he was scum.
But the fact is, it was our pains he carried—
our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us.
We thought he brought it on himself,
that God was punishing him for his own failures.
But it was our sins that did that to him,
that ripped and tore and crushed him—our sins!
He took the punishment, and that made us whole.
Through his bruises we get healed.
We’re all like sheep who’ve wandered off and gotten lost.
We’ve all done our own thing, gone our own way.
And God has piled all our sins, everything we’ve done wrong,
on him, on him.”
They held a mock trial, unjustly convicted Him, spat on Him, mocked Him and nailed Him to a cross. They scorned Him and stared at his vulnerable nakedness while they played dice to see who would win his dignity, They reduced His death to a grisly spectator sport. And yet, He kept His focus on the true business at hand.
With gritted teeth, Jesus gathered all those last second sins to Himself, along with the sins of Adam and Eve and down the generations before Him. He gathered those last curses and slanders and injustices and placed them upon himself and there they hung, for all of heaven and hell to see. Like magnets are drawn to iron, the sins of those who gathered to watch an innocent man die flew to the cross. He reached into the future and drew our sins to Himself that day, then took a final breath and called out “It is finished.”
How can I not but fall hopelessly in love with such a Saviour? How can I not surrender my life to His care? How can I not live my life for this immortal God who became mortal, just so He could hang on a cross for my sins?
When I survey the Wondrous Cross (Isaac Watts)
When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God!
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.
See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.
Until next week,