But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities. The chastisement for our peace was upon Him, and by His stripes we are healed.
Isaiah 53:5
Do you get this? Really? If you’re a new Christian, the astounding fact of Jesus’ sacrifice—His brutal crucifixion to take the penalty we deserve—may be fresh in your mind and heart. But, maybe, if you’re older in the faith, you’ve let this Truth settle in under layers of (worthwhile) Bible study, years of Christian serving, and a certain “comfort” in your salvation. Hopefully, the spiritual preparation for this Easter—in particular during these last days as our Lord endured a mock trial, scourging, and torturous death—has brought to mind and heart the reality of what Jesus did to reconcile sinners to Himself.
Sometimes we forget, don’t we? There’s a whitewashing of sorts in the declaration, “Jesus died for me.” We know “it is finished”…but what about the act of “finishing”? What about the intensity of suffering Jesus endured as fully Man and fully God, the fear and confusion of His close friends, the horror and desperation of His mama? And what about God the Father, having to participate in the sacrifice of His Son—an act set forth from eternity past (Acts 2:22-24; Revelation 13:8). And what about the certain anguish as the relational perfection among the Trinity was temporarily broken because of sin…my sin and yours?
My salvation and resulting soul transformation came with the recognition that I could never work or earn my way into right relationship with God. I could not “do”—but with Jesus, it was “done.” And when I “got” this, it changed everything for me. My sanctification walk has been filled with the fires of refinement, and the Lord has constantly been teaching me through joys and trials. But about 10 years ago, the prophetic words of Isaiah about the suffering Servant (53:1-12) became palpable to me when my son was brutally attacked.
One day in math class, my son was talking and laughing with his friend about some shared experience earlier in the day. A girl seated across the room, who somehow felt like she was being mocked, perceived my son’s laughter to be directed at her—which it was not. She stood up, walked to his desk, picked up his half-full metallic water bottle…and proceeded to strike him in the head several times. As his blood streamed down his face onto his crisp ROTC uniform, she ran out.
When I got to the school minutes later, my only concern was for my son’s condition. My emotions were all over the place—shock, fear, anger. But once we got him home from the hospital (after multiple staples placed in his head), my husband and I met with the school’s police officer and learned the girl had just transferred to this high school from another city, where she’d been relentlessly bullied. She was deeply hurting and had lashed out in her frustration and pain. The next day, we met with her mom (and the officer) and shared that we (and our son) forgave her daughter and were not pressing assault charges. We were able to talk about the Lord and even prayed with her and the officer for her daughter’s emotional healing and salvation.
Days later, while I was walking the dog and talking with the Lord about the incident, He brought Isaiah 53 to my mind. And I literally fell to my knees on the street with the revelation: My son was wounded for someone else’s transgression, beaten so another person could have an opportunity to know salvation and be free. But my son, unlike God’s Son, was not maimed beyond recognition…and He was not hung on a tree by spikes and left to die. As I sat there on the pavement, tears streamed down my face in thanksgiving for the infinitesimal taste I’d been given of the Father’s sacrifice—how God silently watched His Son be mocked, shamed, suffer, and die for someone else. For me.
Father God, may I never get comfortable with what Jesus did on the cross for me. May I constantly stay in awe of His sacrifice—and Yours—for my healing.
encouraged by grace 