He was despised and rejected by mankind, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain. Like one from whom people hide their faces he was despised, and we held him in low esteem.
Surely he took up our pain and bore our suffering, yet we considered him punished by God, stricken by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed. We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to our own way; and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.
He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; he was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth. (Isaiah 53:3-7 NIV)
On Good Friday, I want to tell you a story. I’ll warn you: It’s not a happy story. But it’s stuck in my mind ever since I read it. The story goes that there was a family who lived in the Appalachian Mountains. Their house was near a railroad bridge across a large river. That railroad bridge was normally kept open for river traffic. But when the train whistle blew, the owner of the house would flip a switch, and the bridge would slowly turn and connect the railroad tracks on opposite banks. On the side of the bridge was a large metal pry bar, which the man used to align the tracks if they didn’t quite meet the tracks on shore. This man took his responsibility seriously. The lives of every person on the train depended on that bridge being in place so they could cross the river.
One day, the man heard the whistle blow. He flipped the switch, but the bridge didn’t close all the way. So he grabbed his pry bar and ran across the bridge. He jammed the bar into its slot and pulled with all his might. The bridge moved the final inches as the passenger train approached.
But when the man looked up, he saw his little boy running to him on the tracks across the bridge. His little arms were open wide with a big smile on his face. But the man realized his little boy wouldn’t make it safely across the bridge before the train came. So the father let go of the bar to run to him, but then the bridge swung back and the tracks failed to line up. What would he do? He couldn’t get to his son and back before the train would rumble over the bridge. He had to make a terrible decision: Hold the track in place and save the hundreds of lives on the train while losing his little son, or run and rescue his little boy and let the train plunge into the river below.
What should he do?
On the train, people were having their coffee, reading the paper, playing with their children. But as the train crossed the bridge that day, if someone had looked outside, they would have seen a strong man straining with all his might to hold the train tracks in place, with tears streaming down his cheeks. No one would realize the sacrifice he had just made for their lives.
Now listen to this verse: “God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son” (John 3:16).
I don’t know if that train story is true. I hope no man had to face that heartache! But that verse about God and his Son most certainly is. Have we heard about Jesus’ death on the cross so much that it seems normal? That it doesn’t seem like that big of a deal? “Jesus died on the cross.” “Yeah, yeah, we all know that. God gave his only Son… It’s old news. What’s the big deal?”
But then you think of the pain of a father watching his son die violently. An unimaginable loss. You think of the shock of any person dying young—seemingly way before their time. You think of that agonizing choice between the son you love and the lives of a whole bunch of other people. You think of the eeriness of a world of people completely clueless to the great sacrifice our God has made for us. That train story hit home for me, especially as a father of four little kids. Ever since I heard that story of a father’s sacrificial love, it’s stuck in my mind.
But if that story was meant to tell the Good Friday story of God the Father’s love for us, it didn’t quite get the story right. As shocking as it is, that train story doesn’t go far enough. It actually gets three big details wrong. First, it makes it seem like the Father’s sacrifice was an accident. Like he wasn’t planning on losing his son. But in real life it wasn’t an accident. Not with God. When Jesus died on the cross, the Father wasn’t standing by helplessly. Actually, it was God the Father’s plan to save us. The prophet Isaiah shares the true story: “The LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all.” “It was the LORD’s will to crush him and cause him to suffer” (Isaiah 53:10).
This takes us even deeper into the unimaginable love of our Father. God knew. He knew that saving human beings would require the death of his only Son. God the Father knew the whole time. He knew before his hands ever formed Adam. He knew before he created Eve. He knew what we people would cost him. He knew exactly how much he’d have to give up for us. And he did it anyway. “God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son” (John 3:16). It was no accident. Our Father’s love is nothing short of amazing. He gave his only Son for the world. For you! God the Father had eternity to decide whether to save his Son or us, and he chose you.
That’s shocking, because here’s the second detail that story gets wrong. You and I aren’t innocent bystanders on a train. We’re not the unlucky victims of a faulty bridge. Instead, Isaiah describes us like this: “We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to our own way…” Isn’t that exactly what our lives look like? “Each of us has turned to our own way.” The real people on that train—you and me—weren’t just ignorant. We’re so much worse. We’re sinners. “Each of us has turned to our own way.” We set that train exactly on its deadly course.
There’s one little word in Isaiah’s writing that’s especially convicting. Know what it is? “We.” “We esteemed him not.” “We considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted.” “We all, like sheep, have gone astray…” Who’s responsible for Jesus’ death? We are. The blame doesn’t fall on other people. It falls on us. Isaiah later adds, “All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away” (Isaiah 64:6). We deserve to crash for our sins. We deserve to die. We deserve all God’s anger. Because our sin wasn’t an accident. Why would God save us?
But like the people cluelessly looking out that train window, we don’t even realize it. Actually, it’s worse. Listen to our treatment of Jesus: “He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not.” We don’t just look cluelessly at Jesus. We laugh at him. With every sin, we mock Jesus’ sacrifice. Were you there when they crucified my Lord? If we had been, we would have joined right in. “He saved others, but he can’t save himself!” (Matthew 27:42). Hah! My sins put Jesus on the cross, and I despised him even as he endured all of God’s wrath there for me. That’s the real story. Unimaginable love of a Father… Unimaginably sinful people…
What brings them together? The Son. Here’s the third thing that story gets wrong. In the story, the son is a little boy who unwittingly got stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not Jesus. He didn’t just wander innocently into the way. He put himself there. Jesus was a 33-year-old perfect God-Man who knew exactly what he was doing. He knew it was him or us, and he made sure it was him. He stepped in front of the train of God’s wrath fully aware of everything. Jesus responded to our sin and our laughs by taking sin upon himself. “We esteemed him not. Surely he took up our infirmities…” As we despised and hated him, he carried out the work of saving us.
Listen to all that Jesus endured for us. In just five verses, there are eleven passive verbs for Jesus—like a bell tolling: Despised, rejected, despised, punished, stricken, afflicted, pierced, crushed, oppressed, afflicted, led… All so that you don’t have to be! “He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; he was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth.” Jesus had every reason to complain. He had every reason to proclaim his innocence. But he didn’t. Because this was his purpose from the very beginning. He is “the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” (John 1:29).
Why? For you. At the heart of Good Friday is this verse: “He was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed.” Why? For you. Every action. Every suffering. Every pain. For you. So you can say, “Jesus was pierced for my transgressions, he was crushed for my iniquities; the punishment that brought me peace was upon him, and by his wounds I am healed.” We need to hear this over and over. God the Father isn’t angry with you. You have already been healed in the most wonderful way. Your sins have been forgiven. You have peace with God. For you!
You know who knows that? The devil. He knows full well that Jesus has taken away the sins of the world. So he fights as hard as he can to convince you that Jesus didn’t die for you. But there’s no way around it. It’s so clear! “We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all.” Who is guilty? All of us! Whose sin did Jesus take away? All of us! Are you part of “all”? Yes? Then it’s for you. For you! I know it’s so easy to doubt that Jesus really loves you. That Jesus really forgives you. But it’s really true. “The LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all.” If it’s for all, it’s for you.
Because you were on the train. Whether you knew it or not. Whether you think about it or not. You were on that train. On a train that was hurtling toward destruction. On a train destined for hell. But that’s not where you will end up. Because of today. Good Friday. Today you get to look out the window and watch your Father’s face as he gives his Son for you. A Father’s incredible sacrifice. For you! And you look a little farther, and you see the Son bear the weight of the train—of our sins and wickedness—for you. Jesus’ incredible love. For you! And you have tears in your eyes. Yet, you smile, because it’s for you. “He was pierce for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed.” I hope that’s a story that gets stuck in your mind forever. Amen.
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