A Good Friday?
Around the world this month, people will mark the anniversary of the execution of the history’s most famous death-row inmate – Jesus Christ.
It may seem a curious thing: People who claim to follow the teachings of Christ thankful for his death? Calling their remembrance of it, “Good” Friday? Nice church-going folks wearing the equivalent of electric chairs around their necks? (The Roman cross being one of the most brutal instruments of capital punishment known to man.)
For followers of Christ – and I am one – his death is all about redemption, “the purchase back of something that had been lost, by the payment of a ransom” (Web Bible Encyclopedia).
Christians believe that we are the something that’s lost and that Jesus Christ died to pay our ransom.
Perhaps a story will help explain.
Picture a courtroom. All around people are sitting and waiting. They turn to watch you enter. Their eyes shoot daggers of distrust and accusation every time you glance over. A few sneer and snicker as you make your way unsteadily to the front, where a long oak table and two chairs await your arrival. Sadly, the chair to your left is suspiciously empty with no legal representation in sight. The cost of legal counsel was far too high for you to pay, and the court appointed attorneys refused your case. Your chest constricts as you strain to keep breathing, well aware if you fall apart now, your punishment is assured. A side door blasts open, revealing a perfectly suited man, dressed solely in black, briefcase in hand. His tanned, chiseled features seem other-worldly, too perfect. With a malicious grin, this newcomer takes his seat at the table next to you. He eyes you hungrily, eager to orchestrate your demise.
All rise!” A voice from nowhere, yet everywhere commands.
Quickly, you rise to your feet with the other patrons, who have finally stopped their incessant murmuring, excited to finally catch a glimpse of the most famous judge in the entire universe – Elohay Mishpat – the God of Justice. He faces the audience. His majesty, sovereignty, and complete knowledge of truth, lead you to bow low in honor. With a nod of his head, The Judge directs the spectators to once again seat themselves.
“Your Honor, if I may?” Leaping to his feet, the accusing attorney faces the spectators. Waving a stack of documents he prances and preens, making his opening statement, which you hardly hear. Finally, he opens a large scroll. It rolls to the floor and continues down the aisle like a red carpet unrolling to welcome royalty. Unfortunately, this is no royal rug, but a list of every wrong deed you have ever done, every word you have uttered; even your darkest thoughts are printed boldly for all to read.
You listen in horror as the Accuser rattles off every offense from your birth, until this moment. His voice drones on and on. You bury your pounding head in the temporary safety of your own hands.
“Son?” the Judge calls to you, with a hint of kindness. “Would you like to defend yourself against these charges?”
“No. They’re all mine. I did every one of those things. I can’t lie anymore. What’s the use? The only good thing I ever did was to pray last week for Jesus to come into my heart and forgive my sins. I went into a coma immediately after that. I guess He didn’t hear me.”
“No! I don’t have record of that!” The Accuser sputters, tearing through his pile of paperwork.
“I heard him. I forgave him. He is mine, Father.” A man dressed in flowing white robes approaches the judge’s bench. Turning to face the crowd, he opens his arms wide, revealing a hole in each hand. His eyes meet yours. “My blood was enough. You are free, indeed. You, my son, are redeemed. I paid the price for you.”
“Because of Your blood, My Son, this man is innocent. Young man, enter your reward for the scroll is now empty. Nothing remains. The charges are gone.” The gavel drops with a thud.
In the distance, you hear applause and cries of jubilation, and at that moment, you realize the celebration is for you.
Redemption defined
This is redemption: that Jesus Christ, though wholly innocent of wrongdoing, would step up to a death-row prisoner and say, “I’ll take your sentence. I’ll die in your place.”
In a spiritual sense, we are all on death row. You, me, the person down the street, even Mother Theresa, and the Prophets of old, are guilty as charged. For none of us can escape the ultimate consequence of sin. The Bible says: All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. Yet it also states that God’s desire is that none should perish. None! He wants to redeem all of us, and His sacrificial death makes it possible for each and every man, woman, and child to find eternal life with God.
Hodge’s Systematic Theology explains the significance of Christ’s death this way:
Christ saves us neither by the mere exercise of power, not by his doctrine, nor by his example, nor by the moral influence which he exerted, nor by any subjective influence on his people, whether natural or mystical, but as a satisfaction to divine justice, as an expiation for sin, and as a ransom from the curse and authority of the law, thus reconciling us to God by making it consistent with his perfection to exercise mercy toward sinners.
The Bible says: For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Jesus Christ our Lord. Christ died to cancel all charges against us, to satisfy Justice. And three days after his death, he came back to life, demonstrating that he was no mere man, but the Son of God.
But what about those really bad sinners, you know, the ones on death row, the ones who really killed someone? Do they deserve the same grace? Absolutely not! We don’t either. Not one of us “deserves” God’s redemption. Thankfully, God’s mercy knows no bounds. He seeks broken people, with humble hearts. When He hears a cry, Christ doesn’t say, “Well, Joe is on death row, but Sally only stole money from the cash register. I better save Sally first.” Christ’s blood and plan of redemption is available to everyone. Unlike those pre-approved credit card letters, where only a chosen few qualify, all who call on him for new life meet the requirements.
Perhaps this Easter, for the first time, “Good Friday” is starting to make sense to you. You can receive God’s forgiveness and experience new life right now by faith through prayer. Praying is simply talking to God. God knows your heart and is not so concerned with your words as he is with the attitude of your heart. Here’s a suggested prayer:
Dear Lord Jesus,
Come into my heart today. I want to ask you to be Lord of my life. I believe you were sent to die for me and rose from the dead, and because of your sacrifice and love, I can be a new person from this day forth and have the promise of eternal life. Please forgive my sins and purify my heart, God. I want to follow you, to dedicate my life to you and your will. Take me Lord. I’m yours! In Jesus’ name I pray this, amen!
Image: 17th century painting by Diego Velázquez
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