Vests
The Lord is compassionate and
gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love. He will not always accuse, nor will
he harbor his anger forever; he does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay
us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
so great is his love for those who fear him; as far as the east is from the
west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us. As a father has
compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who
fear him. (Psalm 100:8-13)
In 2006,
Tennessee enacted legislation that gave convicted drunk drivers a new wardrobe
– a blazing orange vest. Offenders were required to wear it in public on three
different days for eight hours at a time while picking up litter from the side
of the highway. Stenciled on the back in four-inch-tall letters were the words
"I AM A DRUNK DRIVER." No doubt they deserved to be punished. Given their
threat to public safety, they probably deserved three days of public
humiliation. So, I don't really question the strategy of the state. But I
wonder why we do the same to ourselves. Haven’t you noticed?
We dress
ourselves in our mistakes, and put on our robes of poor choices. We step into
our closets, sort through our regrets and rebellion and, for some odd reason,
vest up. “I disappointed my parents.” “I wasted my youth.” “I neglected my
kids.” Sometimes we cover the vest with a blouse or blazer of good behavior
thinking that we’ll feel better about ourselves if we do some work for God.
Welcome to the
vest system. It’s hard to hide it. It’s harder still to discard it. Overcome
bad deeds with good ones. Offset bad choices with godly ones, stupid moves with
righteous ones. But the vest-removal process is flawed, because no one knows
what work to do or how long to do it. Shouldn't the Bible, of all books, give us
that information? But it doesn't. Instead, the Bible tells us how God's story
redeems our story. Jesus' death on the cross is not a secondary theme in
Scripture; it’s the core. The crucial accomplishment of Christ occurred on the
cross.
And just so we wouldn’t
miss the message, God encased the climax of his story in high drama. The
garden: Jesus crying out, the disciples running out, the soldiers bursting in.
The trials: early morning mockery and deceit. Jews scoffing. Pilate washing.
The soldiers: weaving thorns, slashing whips, pounding nails. Jesus: bloodied,
beaten. More crimson than clean. Every sinew on fire with pain. And God: He
ebonized the sky and shook the earth. He split the rocks and ripped the temple
curtain. He un-tombed the entombed and unveiled the Holy of Holies. But first
he heard the cry of his Son. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken
me?" (Matthew 27:46)
Forsaken.
Visceral. Painful. The word connotes abandonment, desertion, helplessness, loneliness,
being cast out, completely forgotten. Jesus forsaken? But wait. Doesn’t Scripture
declare, "I have not seen the righteous forsaken," and assure us that
"the LORD. . . does not forsake His saints" (Psalm 37:25, 28)? Yes, it
does. But in that hour Jesus was anything but righteous. This was the moment in
which "God put the wrong on him who never did anything wrong." (2 Cor.
5:21) "GOD. . . piled all our sins, everything we've done wrong, on him,
on him. He was beaten, he was tortured, but he didn't say a word." (Isaiah
53:6-7)
In other words,
God dressed Christ in vests. Our vests. Each and every one. I cheated my
friends. I lied to my wife. I abused my children. I cursed God. As if Jesus
deserved them, he wore them. Our sins, our vests, were put on Christ. “The Lord
has laid on him the iniquity of us all.” (Isaiah 53:6) “He bore the sins of
many.” (Isaiah 53:12) Paul proclaimed that God made Christ “to be sin” (2 Cor.
5:21), and became “a curse for us.” (Gal. 3:13) Peter agreed: “(Jesus) himself
bore our sins in his body on the cross.” (1 Pet. 2:24) This is the monumental
offer of God. So what does God say to us who want to work and offset our guilt?
Simple: the work’s already been done. My son wore your sin on himself, and I
punished it there. “For Christ suffered once for sins, the just for the unjust,
that he might bring us to God.” (1 Pet. 3:18)
On August 16,
1987, Northwest Airlines flight 255 crashed after taking off from the Detroit
airport killing 155 people. The lone survivor was little four-year-old Cecelia
from Tempe, Arizona. Rescuers found her in such good condition that they
wondered if she’d actually been on the flight – perhaps she’d been riding in
one of the cars into which the airplane had eventually crashed. But, no, her
name was on the manifest. And although the exact nature of events may never be
known, Cecelia’s survival may have been due to her mother’s quick response.
Initial reports from the scene indicated that, as the plane was falling, Paula
Cichan, unbuckled her own seat belt, got down on her knees in front of her
daughter, and wrapped her arms and body around the girl. She separated her from
the force of the fall, and Cecelia survived. Paula, her husband, Michael, and
Cecelia’s brother, David, did not.
God did the same
for us. He wrapped himself around us and felt the full force of the fall. He
took the unrelaxed punishment of the guilty. He died, not like a sinner, but as
a sinner – in our place. Our sins became Christ’s, and his righteousness became
ours. His sacrifice is sufficient, alone. Our merits don't enhance it, and our
stumbles don't diminish it. The sacrifice of Christ is a total and unceasing
and accomplished work. "It is finished," Jesus announced. (John
19:30) His prayer of abandonment was followed by a cry of accomplishment. Not
"It’s just begun," or "It’s been initiated," or "It’s a
work in progress." No, "It’s finished." So, you can remove your
vest. Toss the thing in a trash barrel, and set it on fire if you want. Because
you don’t have to wear it again. Ever.
Does better news
exist? Actually, yes. There’s more. We not only remove our vest; we put on his.
He is "our righteousness." (1 Corinthians 1:30) God does not simply
remove our failures; he dresses us up in the goodness of Christ. "For all
of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ."
(Galatians 3:27) Think about that for a moment. When you make God's story
yours, he covers you in Christ. You wear him like a vest. Old labels no longer
apply – only labels that would be appropriately worn by Jesus Christ himself.
So, can you
think of a few phrases to put on the back of your new vest? How about “Royal Priest”
(1 Peter 2:9); “Complete” (Col. 2:10); “Free from Condemnation” (Rom. 8:1); “Secure”
(John 10:28); “Established and Anointed” (2 Cor. 1:21); “God's Co-worker” (2
Cor. 6:1); “God's Temple (1 Cor. 3:16-17); “God's Workmanship.” (Eph. 2:10) So
how do you like your outfit now? "Now you're dressed in a new wardrobe.
Every item of your new way of life is custom-made by the Creator, with his
label on it. All the old fashions are now obsolete." (Col. 3:10 MSG) Don't
mess with your old sin-clothes any longer, because "(a)s far as the east is
from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us." (Psalm
103:12) How far is the east from the west? It gets further and further by the
moment.
Travel west and
you can make laps around the globe and never go east. Journey east and, if you want
to, maintain an easterly course indefinitely. Not so with the other two
directions, however. If you go north or south, you'll eventually reach the
North or South Pole and change directions. But east and west have no turning
points. And neither does God. When he sends your sins to the east and you to
the west, you can be sure of this: he doesn't see you in your sins. His
forgiveness is irreversible. "He does not treat us as our sins deserve or
repay us according to our iniquities." (Psalm 103:10)
Headline this
truth: when God sees you, he sees his Son, not your sin. God "blots out
your transgressions" and "remembers your sins no more." (Isaiah
43:25) No probation. No exception. No reversals. He did his due diligence. He
saw your secret deeds and heard your unsaid thoughts. The lies, the lusts, the
longings – he knows them all. God assessed your life from first day to last,
from worst moment to best, and made his decision: "I want that child in my
kingdom." You cannot convince him otherwise. Don’t belive me? Well, look at
his city gates for the proof.
In the last
pages of the Bible, John describes the entrance to the New Jerusalem: “She had
a great and high wall with twelve gates . . . and names written on them, which
are the names of the twelve tribes of the children of Israel. . . . Now the
wall of the city had twelve foundations, and on them were the names of the
twelve apostles of the Lamb.” (Rev. 21:12, 14) God engraved the names of the
sons of Jacob on his gateposts. That’s interesting because they were more
ragamuffins than reverends. Their rap sheets include stories of mass murder
(Genesis 34), incest (38:13-18), and brotherly betrayal. (37:17-28) They
behaved more like the last call crowd than a Valhalla of faith. Yet God carved
their names on the New Jerusalem gates.
And the names on
the foundations? Peter, the apostle who saved his own skin instead of his
Savior's. James and John, who jockeyed for VIP posts in heaven. Thomas, the
dubious, who insisted on a personal audience with the resurrected Jesus before
he’d believe. These were the disciples who told the children to leave Jesus
alone (Luke 18:15), who told Jesus to leave the hungry on their own (Matthew
14:15), and chose to leave Jesus alone to face his crucifixion. (Matthew 26:36-45)
Yet all their names appear on the foundations. Matthew's does. Peter's does.
Bartholomew's does. And yours?
It's not
engraved in the gate, but it’s written in the Book of the Lamb. Not in pencil so
that it can be erased, but with blood that will not be removed. No need to keep
God happy; he’s satisfied. No need to pay the price; Jesus paid it. All of it. So
lose your vest. You look so much better wearing his.
Grace,
Randy
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