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Jesus, the Lamb of God The Passover
Lamb Looking upon Jesus as he walked, he [John] saith, Behold the Lamb of God!—John 1:36 Richard Kindig Try to imagine the scene before our universe had been made, when the Father and son held a planning session for their creative designs. Perhaps the son asked, “What shall we do if someone rebels?” They may have reflected on the ways a moral being can learn: personal experience, observation, reflection. Learning generally takes place gradually, step by step. No doubt they talked over many ways of teaching lessons, and of imparting deep and lasting experiences with sin and death. Father and son may have discussed the heartlessness, selfishness, and dishonesty that could cloud a being’s soul. How would cruelty be handled? Would the power to take away life be granted to these beings, or the power to destroy themselves? Could their thoughts and actions damage their own moral state? If these creatures chose the wrong way, could they be recovered? What would become of victims? As the discussion continued, it became obvious to the son that some voluntary victims would be needed. In the poetry of Isaiah, we even catch a glimpse of the moment when he stepped forward to offer himself in ultimate sacrifice, ultimate suffering as the key benefactor of mankind (Isaiah 6:8; cf., 1 Peter 1:19, 20). Once the plan was in place, and the key role the son would play was established, there must have been many creative sessions in which the improbable, amazing grace of God and his first-begotten son might be tangibly revealed through natural phenomena that humans might see: stars might convey mental pictures of conflict and redemption; geologic formations might come into play as the drama unfolded; birds and insects might demonstrate sacrifice for their young.
In the animal realm there was one creature whose
qualities and interactions with mankind would become the key metaphor of
selfless love and ultimate sacrifice. Thus the idea of the lamb, the Passover
Lamb, might have materialized. The Lamb for Every Need A first glimpse of this primordial foresight occurs when we are told that God preferred his errant children wear what he provided through the sacrifice of an animal rather than fig leaves sewn together with fallen human ingenuity (Genesis 3:7,21). Some years later, a son of Adam and Eve was drawn to the tending and sacrificing of these creatures. Separation from God at that time was a pain deeply felt. Both Cain and Abel wished to approach God, but in the two ways they chose, only Abel’s was “respected” (Genesis 4:4). Somehow God communicated to Cain and Abel that an offering by fire of a lamb was greatly appreciated. Cain’s jealousy of Abel’s closeness to God as a result of that symbolic action is what led to Cain’s sin. From that day to this, an appreciation of the value of a lamb, of the importance of the sacrifice of the first lamb, the best lamb, has been the key to harmony with God. The lamb was the antidote to the poisonous thoughts Cain revealed when he sought to gain a relationship through his own labor. Whenever a sense of anger and alienation has darkened the human spirit, the revelation of God has been that “at the opening a sin-offering is crouching” (Genesis 4:7, Young’s Literal Translation). Like a lion, sin is crouching, ready to destroy the sinner. Yet like a lamb, a sacrifice is also waiting, if the sinner will but turn to God for help. The slain lamb, Jesus, has been the power of God with respect to salvation. And when received by faith, the dying love of the lamb brings God’s wisdom, God’s powerful healing of our heart, and God’s loving gift, a just payment for our sin. The great patriarchs from Seth to Shem to Abraham were shepherds who daily lived with the reality of God’s provision of lambs for the human race. Literal lambs constituted their money, their insurance, and their retirement plan. Sheep provided meat for their table, as well as milk, cream, and cheese. The animal’s fat could be burned to provide light at night, and could be made into soap for washing. These animals provided both hair for blankets and tents, and wool for fine clothing, undergarments, and robes to keep out the wind. The bones became the first flutes, and were burned to make charcoal, which became ink and fertilizer for the grain crops. A sheep’s skin could be used as a hearth rug that resisted sparks from the fire, and a tent covering to keep out the sun’s heat and the winter’s cold. The skin could be turned into the best parchment upon which scribes recorded the sacred Scriptures. Much of what mankind needed could be provided by sheep, an amazing gift of God.
Jesus, the Lamb of God, was also known as the Word of God. How fitting it is
that the Bible itself was created and preserved through the sacrifice of lambs,
which provided the parchment, the bone stylus used to write upon it, the ink (as
well as the horn that held it), and even the tallow used to light the candles
helping the scribes to do their work. Blood and Flesh Paleobiologists believe that sheep were the earliest domesticated source of food.{FOOTNOTE: “The first animals known to have been domesticated anywhere as a source of food are sheep in the Middle East. The proof is the high proportion of bones of one-year-old sheep discarded in a settlement at Shanidar, in what is now northern Iraq.”—http://www.historyworld.net/wrldhis} Seven pairs of lambs (along with the other “clean” animals, including cattle, goats, and turtle-doves) joined Noah in the ark, another symbol of the salvation of the human race. A lamb was among the animals Noah offered upon his deliverance from the flood, a lamb accompanied Abraham’s thank-offerings to God, and a ram was provided by God to show his acceptance of Abraham’s willingness to offer his son Isaac. After the flood God told Noah that animals, including lambs, were to be used as food along with herbs (Genesis 9:3,4). The instructions were crystal clear: you will eat the meat, but you are not to eat the blood because it is precious. And so another symbol of the lamb’s value becomes visible: the shedding of blood adds a new dimension to all the images of redemption (see Leviticus 17:11). Blood was not to be eaten; it was to be treated with profound respect. Whenever blood was handled in ceremonial observance, careful procedures were spelled out: at different times it was to be sprinkled on the priests and the people, applied to the horns of the altar, poured out at its base, or mixed with its ashes (Leviticus 4:18). Annually it was to be applied “upon the mercy seat eastward and before the mercy seat” (Leviticus 16:14). A back-and-forth and up-and-down sprinkling would produce the shape of a cross. Blood-red dyes solemnize the door decorations, the outer coverings, and the inner embroidery of the Tent of Meeting between God and man. Blood-red dyes were interwoven in the breastplate of judgment of the high priest.
It was the keeping of sheep that made the Jews
abominable in the eyes of the Egyptians (Genesis 46:34). This has an interesting
parallel throughout the Christian era: true Christians follow the peaceable
lamb. But unbelievers increasingly resist the message of true Christianity, not
so much because they are offended by the meek lamb, Jesus, but because of
the warlike counterfeit “lamb” of the institutional church which
conquered Europe with blood and military might. The Passover Lamb Is Special For generations in Egypt, God worked with one family of faith. Even in captivity the lamb was always a visible part of the Hebrews’ livelihood and worship. When the time came for God to forge them into a nation, he elevated the lamb into dramatic, special prominence: “Speak ye unto all the congregation of Israel, saying, In the tenth day of this month they shall take to them every man a lamb, according to the house of their fathers, a lamb for an house: and if the household be too little for the lamb, let him and his neighbour next unto his house take it according to the number of the souls; every man according to his eating shall make your count for the lamb. Your lamb shall be without blemish, a male of the first year: ye shall take it out from the sheep, or from the goats: and ye shall keep it up until the fourteenth day of the same month: and the whole assembly of the congregation of Israel shall kill it in the evening” (Exodus 12:3-6). As shepherds, each Jewish household was already familiar with the playfulness of young livestock. Hebrew children grew up watching lambs cavort in the fields. But these were meant to be eaten and provide useful products for the families. Four days before passover, however, God asked the father of each family to bring a nice lamb into the house. The inspired word implies what logic tells us must have happened: each family, living with a lamb for that week, experienced a shift in how that lamb was viewed. When selected, it is just “a” lamb without distinction. After a few days, it has become “the” lamb, the one they will be eating. When the fourteenth day of the month arrives, it has become a member of the family and is referred to as “your” lamb. It has by now been named, hugged and petted by the children, ridden by the toddlers, laughed at by the parents. Lambs are as affectionate as dogs. They will jump onto counters, climb into bed, play with the family pets, nuzzle a child’s ear. This is the creature the father must now kill while the family watches in horror. The blood of each lamb was to be sprinkled upon the doorposts and top lintel of the door. Any visitor, whether human or angel of death, will see that a lamb has not only been brought into the home, it has been slain, and the doorway of the home has been marked with its blood. The householder would never have done such a thing if he had not been commanded to do so, with the hope that obedience to that commandment would assure that the life of the firstborn would be spared. Yet obedience has made the door to the house unsightly, almost scandalous. Now, no one can enter the house without acknowledging the blood; turning one’s back on the blood is the only way to exit.
By the time Jesus came on the scene, this raw, shocking demonstration of
obedience to God had been softened and domesticated by centuries of Rabbinic
tradition. Passover, though still rich with meaning and the source of family
memories, was by the first century a pleasant custom. There was no angst, no
fear of a destroying angel. There was no need to stain the woodwork or plaster
of the home. The bloodletting was all handled by white-robed specialists at a
temple abattoir; everything to do with the timing and execution of the event was
handled by the priests. All the people had to do was pay for their lamb, keep
themselves and their houses ceremonially clean, and enjoy a fine meal with a few
more rituals and prayers than usual. Jesus, Architect of the Passover For Jesus, the lesson was deeply personal and quite real. And so, the night before he was to die, Jesus instructed his disciples to prepare the Passover. He did this with first-hand experience of the symbol and all it meant. He had participated in the earliest discussions about what sort of sacrifice would be necessary. Jesus had watched when Abraham’s child of promise was offered as a sacrificial lamb, and an acceptance ram was provided to show God’s satisfaction (John 8:58). Jesus had felt premonitions of his own coming sacrifice when he saw each lamb slain and consumed by the obedient households of Jews in a strange land, and he had savored the triumph of God and the destruction of Pharaoh when Israel was delivered through the Red Sea. Now it was the night before his own pivotal offering. It was with the docility of a lamb that Jesus, knowing the one who was to betray him, nevertheless dismissed Judas with equanimity, knowing this provided a convenient opportunity for Judas to do his work of betrayal. It was with the true meekness of a lamb that we find Jesus, earlier in the evening, girding himself and speaking directly into the hearts of his followers about the necessity of submission and service for true leadership (John 13). It was with the tenderness we associate with sheep that Jesus provided the encouraging promises of the vine, and the tender prayer for his followers, recorded in John chapters 14 through 17.
Although Jesus is pictured by a docile, sacrificial sheep, he was also the lion:
he could paralyze and conquer prey if he so chose. But not at that time. He went
as a sheep to the slaughter. Self-mastery is part of it, but not the most
important part. Reliance upon God is the supreme virtue Jesus exemplifies
(Hebrews 5:5-10). He does this by placing his life in God’s hand and, like
Isaac, letting his Father, the Great Shepherd, lead him to the cross. God heard
his strong cryings and tears, and comforted his son, helping him prepare
mentally for the final hours of pain, humiliation, and seeming defeat. Gethsemane and Calvary Gethsemane and Calvary stand as great moments of history. Together they symbolize two aspects that make up the death of the great Lamb of God. Gethsemane means “oil press.” Here was the mental dimension of Jesus’ sacrifice: the olive press, where the pressures of overwhelming responsibility almost crushed the life out of him. Yet out of that press flows the oil of God’s spirit, showing us how to gain lubrication and light from the crushing mental agonies of a life in Christ, lived alone and in the dark, and yet not alone, for God is there. Calvary represents the physical, outward difficulties of the Lamb of God and his followers: public humiliation, nakedness, mockery, pain of rejection by religious authority, pain of opposition by the world, and pain of desertion by the ones who were supposed to be most loyal and faithful to him.
Toward the end of that dark day, Jesus experienced something for which he was
not prepared: abandonment by God. Now he hung there, utterly rejected and
forsaken, without even the presence of God to sustain him in his hour of
greatest need (Matthew 27:46). This was ultimate suffering, and there was no
substitute for it. Unlike Isaac, the knife was not stayed. The Father lovingly,
but wisely, allowed the knife of alienation because of sin to be plunged into
Jesus’ heart, and that is what killed him. He who knew no sin—an innocent lamb
that we know, love, and respect, who certainly did not deserve to die—was
sacrificed for us. Christ our Passover is Sacrificed Today the Passover ritual has reduced this great sacrifice of the lamb to a dry chicken bone on an empty plate. A few words, a verse of a song, a prayer or two, is all that remains in each household of the one who died to secure freedom from bondage. But among the body of Christ, it would seem the loss of the lamb is even more keenly felt. Paul said that the Passover lamb was sacrificed for us. In other words, it is our sins, mainly, for whom his death is relevant. We do not want it to be that way. We want his death to be a grand, glorious treatment for the “sin of the world.” We want it to bring world peace, everlasting rejoicing in Jesus as Savior, a reign of righteousness in the earth. We want it to wipe away disease, to cure every problem. Ultimately, the sacrifice of Jesus will do all those things. But in every case, the deliverance is local, not global. The value of Jesus’ sacrifice only reaches those who kill it, roast it, and eat it—all of it. In other words, the destroying angel has no respect for any of the firstborn, the church, if such have not been participating in the entire process for which the sacrifice of that lamb was intended. Paul says that Jesus died for our sins (Galatians 1:4). Martin Luther wanted each of us to ask: “Are my sins overcome?” Have I somehow met the challenge of sin by answering Christ’s call? Have I eliminated the necessity of a constant consumption of the lamb every waking moment of my life because I have acknowledged my sin at some point, have been baptized, have dedicated my life to serve God? Looking at the environment in which we find ourselves, it seems the answer is often: “Yes, I’m struggling with a lack of patience, or a little jealousy here and there; I watch too much TV; but I take comfort that I know the truth, I am still married to my wife, my kids usually respect me, and I rarely yell at anyone.” We think we are overcoming because of the relative pureness of our beliefs, or the activities of our spare time, or the lack of offense we cause brethren. Luther’s answer was different. He said that if God chose the most precious substance in the world to pay for our sins, then we must not be even close to overcoming those sins. These sins must be huge. They must be insurmountable. If Martin Luther had seen the Grand Canyon, he would have said, “My soul’s need is like the Grand Canyon. It is so deep, so wide, so empty, that I could never gain the hope of life, if it were not for the blood of the lamb.” Luther would not take comfort in comparative goodness. He would not be satisfied that the standards of behavior we see in any gathering of the Lord’s people are a substitute for the virtues of partaking of the lamb of God continually. Christians dwell in the light of God at the same time that darkness envelops the world. They have no hope apart from God’s grace. If they trust in Christ for salvation and give evidence of spirit begettal, they should treat one another as members of the same house, a house that is sacrificing a lamb and eating its flesh. At this Memorial may each of us try to see the lamb as sufficient for everyone in the household, an offering that if acknowledged by word and action, is indeed sacrificed for us. |