In his book The Cross of Christ, theologian John Stott poses the question: Who killed Jesus? Who was it that delivered Him to be crucified on the cross? Was it Judas, who handed Jesus over to the religious leaders? Was it Annas and Caiaphas, who handed Him over to Pilate? Was it Pilate and his cowardice that led to Jesus’s demise, or was it the Roman soldiers who nailed Jesus’s wrists and feet to the cross? Who killed Jesus? Who is ultimately responsible for His death?

Is it us?

Was it not my sin, your sin, and that of Pilate, Judas, the religious leaders, and every generation that came before us and will come after us that nailed Jesus to the cross? Well, yes, it was. But it was not our sin alone. For as Stott quotes Octavius Winslow saying, it was “not Judas, for money; not Pilate, for fear; not the Jews, for envy;—but the Father for love.”

In today’s reading, I see the Father’s love in every instance that the Apostle John takes a moment to remind us that the events surrounding Jesus’s death were to “fulfill the Scripture.”

To fulfill the Scriptures, Jesus garments were divided (John 19:24).
To fulfill the Scriptures, Jesus made His descent to death with the words, “I’m thirsty” (v.28).
To fulfill the Scriptures, none of Jesus’s bones were broken (v.36). 

Though it may seem that Jesus was being passively shuffled from the hands of Judas to Annas to Caiaphas to Pilate and the Roman soldiers, God was in control over it all.

We also see the heart of Jesus too. When every last word in the scriptures concerning Him was fulfilled, Jesus laid down His life. He drank the sour wine, definitively proclaimed His work finished, and decisively “gave up His Spirit” for love (v.30).

Beloved, at the cross, we not only see the magnitude of our sin. We also see the magnitude of God’s love. We encounter a God who uses His wisdom, power, and glory to ensure that everything works out in accordance with His will for our salvation.

Written by Yana Jenay Connor

The focus of Ezra’s ministry becomes apparent through his heart’s determination to study, obey, and teach Israel the law as well as the nature of the gifts he received from King Artaxerxes (Ezra 7:10). While King Cyrus’s gifts were designated for rebuilding the kingdom, King Artaxerxes’s gifts were designated for worshiping God through the sacrificial system. Together, the desired outcome of Ezra’s ministry and King Axtraxerxes’s gifts were to ensure that the temple didn’t sit dormant as some kind of Jewish monument to be admired but that it lived up to its God-desired potential.

This second phase of Israel’s reformation reminds us that, as Christians, we haven’t just been saved from something but that we’ve also been saved for something. Through His death, Christ saves us from our spiritual exile—we’re far from God due to our sinful nature and behaviors. By His resurrection, Christ saves us for a relationship with God marked by relational worship and devotion to His ways. 

Like the temple, we’ve been rebuilt for a purpose. Unfortunately, depending on the day of the week, I can make that purpose about so many other things than relational worship of God and devotion to His ways. Though I would never say this out loud, my attitude and behaviors often reveal that I believe: 

I’ve been saved for a comfortable life where all of my needs are met at all times… 

I’ve been saved for an influential life where I use my gifts and follow my dreams…

I’ve been saved for a peaceful life where I’m unbothered by the swirling world around me and can quietly drink my water and mind my business…

But God has saved me (and you) for a qualitatively different kind of life. A life where we welcome discomfort when pursuing comfort would deviate from relational worship of Him and His ways. A life where, yes, we use our gifts, but not for the self-centered purposes of filling our bank accounts or being known, but to, like Ezra, direct the hearts of others towards God. A life where we allow ourselves to be bothered by the swirling world, determining in our hearts to call others to the God who saved them for more than anything in this world alone could offer them. 

This sinful condition is very different from the one I heard about growing up. After giving honor to God, a seasoned saint would proclaim at the top of her lungs, “I once was lost, but now, I’m found!” Though I get the sentiment and even affirm its use, what Paul describes in these verses is not a person who is lost but a person who is dead.

This is you and I, apart from God’s divine intervention. Elsewhere, Paul describes the effects of sin as slavery, binding people to obey the demanding power of sin (Romans 6:16). Sin infects all of us and often keeps us from seeing the depth of our need for redemption. That’s why Paul says that without Christ, we are “dead in our trespasses and sins” (Ephesians 2:1). 

But God. 

BUT GOD.

God, being rich in mercy, abounding in never-fading, never-ending love, intervenes. He sends His Son to take our place. Instead of pouring His wrath out on us, God pours out His wrath onto His beloved Son so that those who were once children of wrath can become children of God. And, in this, we rejoice! We have been saved from God’s wrath. But, friend, this is not all. The good news doesn’t stop there.

In Christ, not only have we been saved from God’s wrath, but we have also been saved from our once-dead state. Salvation is the gift that keeps on giving. You see, through His death, Jesus saves us from God’s wrath (justification), and through His resurrection, Jesus makes us alive with Him (regeneration)! He moves us out of the morgue of our “can’t stop, won’t stop” relationship with sin and into a life-giving relationship with Him. Where we were once unable to respond to God and His Word, we can now respond to Him through the death and resurrection of our Savior. What a reversal!

However, can I be honest? I don’t always live as though this reversal is true. While I find it easy to cling to Christ’s death, which saves me from God’s wrath, I sometimes find it difficult to cling to Christ’s resurrection, which liberates me from sin’s power. But these two salvific realities are what make the gospel beautiful. Jesus saves us to the utmost, delivering us from sin’s penalty and power. And soon enough, He will deliver us from its presence. Until then, our refrain is no longer “we can’t stop, and won’t stop,” but “Yes, Lord, yes!'”

Then, there is Peter. Jesus knows, despite Peter’s current undying devotion to Him, that in a matter of moments, when Jesus’s defeat seems imminent, Peter will desert Him. I’m not sure whose betrayal was worse. How could he deny knowing Jesus after seeing Him raise Jarius’s daughter from the dead? After Jesus so graciously healed his mother-in-law of her fever? How, after witnessing Jesus’s transfiguration as He spoke privately with Moses and Elijah? Yet, Jesus extends to Peter the cup representing His blood and bids him to drink. The other ten who would moments later fight over which one of them should be the greatest in God’s kingdom. What a trainwreck!

Jesus’s body was broken for those who betray Him for lesser temporal goods and experiences. Jesus’s blood poured out for those whose devotion to Him will wane under unpleasant and frightening circumstances. His body exalted to a cross for those seeking to exalt themselves before the eyes of others. He was humiliated by those filled with vain and self-centered pursuits. These are the ones on His guest list. 

I know you’ve probably heard it before, but indulge me and let me say it to you again. No matter what you have done, Jesus extends you an invitation at His table. He bids you to bring your sins to Him and feast on the salvation He has brought about through His body and blood. There is more than enough bread and wine to cover it all. So, lift up your shameful head and take your seat at Christ’s table, rejoicing in the one whose body was broken and blood was poured out for you. 

If you struggle to believe Christ’s grace is sufficient for forgiveness and your salvation, turn your eyes to this guest list, allowing it to stand as a testimony that there is more than enough room for you at the table. Take a seat and eat.

Jesus called Simon and Andrew to follow Him, and immediately they left their livelihood and followed Him (Mark 1:16–18).

Immediately Jesus called James and John to follow Him, and they left their father and made Jesus their teacher (vv.19–20).

Immediately leprosy left the man who approached Jesus for healing (vv.40–42).

At Jesus’s command, immediately the paralytic whose sins Jesus had forgiven took up his mat and walked (Mark 2:1–12).

Here, in these phrases, we see Jesus immediately taking the initiative to bring His Father’s kingdom near and people immediately responding with surrender, awe, and even opposition. The narrative is in constant motion as Jesus teaches, heals, and forgives those who come to Him. However, it wasn’t Jesus’s activity in today’s reading that caused me to slow down and meditate on the word “immediately.”  It is Christ’s seeming inactivity in my own life that causes me to stop and ponder, asking: 

God, why does it seem like my life is in slow-mo? 

Why have I not yet healed from past pain? 

Why do I have to go to counseling to do the seemingly never ending work of change? 

Why haven’t You healed my friend from chronic pain, depression, and night terrors? Is she not worthy of Your immediate compassion and relief? I know You can do it. Is it that You’re not willing?

And I’m not just frustrated with God. I’m also frustrated with myself. Why don’t I respond to God and His Word when He calls me to follow? I long for the immediate activity I see here in these verses. 

Friends, I know I’m supposed to give you some encouragement or corrective truth that gets you through the day or the week. But, all I have to offer today is my confession of frustration with the seemingly slow pace of life and a hope in Jesus that, at times, is dimmed by the darkness that continues to loom on Earth. As I continue to meditate and talk to Jesus, I invite you to go back to today’s passage and do the same. Consider what in your life you wish would happen immediately. Draw near to Him with honesty, trusting He will comfort, correct, and respond to your longing in His good and perfect timing—even when the process of sanctification is slow. 

I think this song resonates with me because my initial view of God was Him as a judge keeping a ledger of all my sin. A stuffy old guy with glasses hanging from the end of His nose, judging my every move. However, with time (and a lot of discipleship), this caricature of God was replaced with a better one—Father. I sincerely never thought it was possible to know God this way.

I imagine the Israelites never thought this kind of relationship with God was possible. Their real-life picture of God was Him in a tent, among them but also set apart and only accessible to a select group of people, the Levites. Though God was committed to them, there were limits surrounding their access to Him because of His holiness. They could only come so close, and even then, they needed a mediator and atoning sacrifice. To them, and rightly so, God was primarily the Holy One to be feared and revered with great honor. 

But then Christ enters the story. He became the mediator and atoning sacrifice we all need to have direct relational access to God. Access that allows us to not only experience God as a holy judge, but also as a Father. 

In today’s reading, the author of Hebrews invites his brothers and sisters, tempted to abandon their new relationship with God through Christ, to reconsider. He’s like, “sure, reverting to Judaism would potentially make your life better, allowing you to get your old job back and freeing you from the constant fear of losing your home or, worse, your lives. But, consider what you would be giving up—knowing God as Father! How can you turn back to your old way of being with God after coming to know Him this way?”

Hardship is a funny thing. It can cause a person to lose all of their sensibilities and reach out for any means of comfort before counting up the cost, forgetting who they are and to whom they belong. It can even cause them to consider giving up the best thing that has ever happened to them. 

Been there? When we find ourselves in these moments, considering turning back to old ways for comfort and relief, we need to follow the author’s command and make Jesus the object of our consideration, not our circumstances. Only in considering what He has done for us will we find the strength to persevere. Only in remembering that He has brought us into God’s household as daughters will we not behave as orphans, seeking our own means of deliverance. Only in fixing our eyes on Jesus will we receive the rest that comes with being God’s children under His care.

Over the years, I’ve learned that it doesn’t have to make sense. See, God is not a force or an idea. He’s not binoculars in the sky or a mannequin we can clothe into our image, swapping out one cultural mantra for another. No. He is an infinite Being who possesses personhood. In the pages of Scripture, He reveals what grieves Him, causes Him to burn with anger, and brings Him joy. And in today’s reading, we learn He has boundaries.

Leviticus is the story of how sinful people can be in a relationship with a holy God. Though it was a profound blessing for them to have God dwell among them, it was also dangerous. To resolve this issue, God provided Israel with instructions on how to live in His presence safely. These instructions aren’t an arbitrary list of preferences and pet peeves. They are connected to His holiness. Because God is holy, He has boundaries and requires His people to be holy, for He is holy. 

Now, I can’t speak to why animals that chew their cud but don’t part the hoof were unclean. The same is true for the cleansing laws following touching a dead carcass or giving birth. Commentators have a handful of theories. And no, none provided satisfactory answers for me  for why having a daughter extends a woman’s period of uncleanness. Since God does not offer a rationale for these laws, all we can do is speculate. 

But as I sat before the Lord with these chapters and tussled through commentaries looking for answers, I sensed the Lord ask, “Why do you need to know? Why do I need to provide you with a rationale for my commands?” Yeah. Ouch. 

Obedience isn’t about the rationale. Obedience is about the relationship. And these laws we read today were given to teach sinful people how to be in relationship with a holy God. And though Jesus makes every believer positionally holy through the cross, God still invites us to be practically holy to experience a deeper relationship with Him.

Between God giving Moses the construction plans for His home, the tabernacle, in Exodus 25–31, and the execution of those plans in Exodus 37–40 was the golden calf of Exodus 32. Israel was on the verge of losing it all. God was so angry He contemplated killing them all and starting over with Moses, which would’ve been entirely just and righteous for Him to do. Thankfully, for their sake, Moses swayed God to spare them. However, there is still uncertainty in the air. God had chosen to forgive and even fulfill His promise by agreeing to still leading them to the land of milk and honey, but He was on the fence as to whether or not He would reconcile with them.

Though forgiveness and reconciliation are often treated as synonyms, they’re two different steps. It’s beautiful when these two work together, but imagine with me for a moment what would’ve happened if God had chosen only to forgive Israel and not go with them. 

The tabernacle and its furnishings were not just representative of God’s presence with Israel; it was of the place where God dwelled. With Bezalel and the guys measuring out acacia wood and setting gold on the mercy seat, it testified to the people of Israel that God was going with them. Their work, which took place in full view of all the people, revealed that God was indeed Yahweh—full of compassion, mercy, forgiveness, and reconciling love. 

Though this chapter is often skipped over to get to the so-called good stuff, it is an important link in the story of God. It also previews the work Christ would do with another kind of wood before the eyes of many so that we might be forgiven and reconciled to God. Let us rejoice and celebrate our God, who offers us forgiveness and extends the gift of reconciliation to us.

Me? I’m like Israel. My response to difficulty is usually anxiety, discouragement, and doubt. I look at the “Red Seas” of my life and cry out. For example, I recently became a homeowner. Yay! Right? Yes. But also, the journey to the closing was rough. I’m talking about five different closing dates, a two-week stay at a friend’s becoming a three-month stint, and a week where it looked like it would all fall through and I would lose all my money. After one gut-wrenching phone call with my realtor, I remember sitting in my friend’s kitchen, with my head in my hands, wondering if I had made it all up. 

I imagine Israel felt the same way, but ten thousand times over with the Egyptians behind them and a literal dead end in front of them. Even if they could swim, there was no way they could swim the length of the Red Sea. Though God had shown Himself to be all-powerful, this difficulty caused them to doubt God’s ability and character, asking, “Is it because there are no graves in Egypt that you have taken us away to die in the wilderness?” (Exodus 14:11).  

Growing up, I often heard the saints of my childhood church sing of a God who would never forsake His people. They would belt out in three-part harmony with conviction, “I don’t believe He brought me this far to leave me.” Today’s reading proves this lyric to be true. After miraculously executing the ten plagues, God didn’t lead Israel to the Red Sea to leave them. Instead, the Red Sea was purposed to be their deliverance and Egypt’s defeat. He asked them to abandon their fear and quietly watch Him fight for them. 

As I sat in my friend’s kitchen, God asked the same of me. I wish I could say I responded with a resounding yes, but I honestly had no choice. My chips were in. All I could do was trust Him. I’m happy to report He did, but I’m even more delighted to say God fought for my heart to find deeper levels of trust in Him. 

This uncertainty has gained traction as the virus of apostasy hits closer to home. I’ve gotten text messages from friends and had countless cups of coffee with brothers and sisters in Christ wrestling with their faith. In all of these conversations, the common denominator is their disillusionment with the Church. They’ve found it challenging to trust Christ when His Church often appears untrustworthy, lacking godliness, sincere faith, and love. And like God, they have become fed up with the lukewarm Christianity they have witnessed, online and in-person, and spat it out (Revelation 3:16).  

The letter Paul writes to Timothy could easily be written to any pastor today. In Paul’s context and ours, people are falling away, and false teaching is rampant. Knowing the difficulty of exhibiting godliness in this kind of environment, Paul calls for elders and deacons to exhibit godliness in their leadership and charges Timothy to pursue, teach, and value it above all earthly gain. 

The commitment to godliness Paul calls Timothy and church leaders to is not innate to humans. Instead, we are innately spiritually dead, committed to our comforts, desires, pocketbooks, and reputations. Only the spirit of God can resuscitate us, removing our stony self-centered hearts and replacing them with a God-centered heart of flesh. Ezekiel 36:26–27 makes it clear, the remedy for ungodliness does not reside within us but Christ. He is both our example of and means to a life of godliness.

However, this life of godliness isn’t just for ourselves. It’s also for others. Sure, you made a personal decision to follow Christ. But the moment you said yes, you were transplanted into the household of God with many brothers, sisters, and onlookers, making your relationship with God communal and missional. Because of this, how we live with others matters. 

Paul confirms the significance of our conduct by concluding his requirements of elder and deacon, adding that they must have a good reputation among unbelievers. Now, we know Paul is not calling for compromise. Instead, he calls for uncompromising godly conduct that doesn’t cause people to distrust Christ and His bride. 

Sound doctrine coupled with sound conduct is the key to our ability to proclaim Christ boldly. When the two are aligned, we partner with God to make the mystery of godliness—Christ—known.