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psalm 51.7-12, 16-17 meditation #30 for lent
thursday, april 3, 2025
7Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean:
wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
8Make me to hear joy and gladness;
that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice.
9Hide thy face from my sins,
and blot out all mine iniquities.
10Create in me a clean heart, O God;
and renew a right spirit within me.
11Cast me not away from thy presence;
and take not thy holy spirit from me.
12Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation;
and uphold me with thy free spirit.
16For thou desirest not sacrifice; else would I give it:
thou delightest not in burnt offering.
17The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit:
a broken and a contrite heart,
O God, thou wilt not despise.
We are all probably familiar with a great number of the Law of Moses’ stipulations concerning sacrifice. Among them was the stipulation that for a sacrifice to be acceptable to God and accomplish whatever ends was being sought through the sacrificial act, then the sacrifice had to be perfect. It must needs be, according to the priestly language, “without spot” or “blemish” of any kind. Thus, any animal under consideration for sacrifice required a meticulous and expert examination by a priest. If any flaw was found, it was rejected as unsuitable for sacrifice. This priestly mediation not only increased the chances that the sacrifice would be successful in its intent, it also saved the one offering sacrifice the humiliation and perhaps even angry retribution of an offended God presented with an inappropriate sacrifice.
I have wondered if an awareness of God’s rigid expectations for a perfect sacrifice is part of the reason for the misunderstanding that I believe exists about the meaning of a “broken heart,” “broken spirit,” and “contrite heart.” Because we sure do work hard to formulate these into something good and wholesome. Something unblemished and thus, we hope, acceptable to God.
Let’s think about the “broken heart,” the “broken spirit,” and the “contrite heart” in relation to the Psalmist’s needs and hopes in Psalm 51. In this Psalm the Psalmist pleads for forgiveness. His need is great—and not because or just because he is David. In this very brief psalm, he confesses of an “evil” in him. He mentions his “transgressions” twice and his “iniquity” or “iniquities” four times. He speaks of sin five times. Because of the extensive evil, transgressions, iniquities and sins, the Psalmist fears the very real possibility of being “cast away” from the presence of God (not only in a future life but in this one) and of losing God’s “holy spirit.”
Clearly, the Psalmist is not unblemished or whole. He is blemished and broken. He is shattered to pieces, pulverized—this is the nuance of Hebrew word translated as, “contrite.” The Psalmist is willing to make any sacrifice to be forgiven, to be released from his blemished and broken and shattered self. But he has come to the conclusion that animal sacrifice will not do the trick. Another sacrifice is needed. It is a startling sacrifice. A daring sacrifice. He must place his brokenness, his own broken heart, upon God’s holy altar. If he will muster the courage to do so, he has somehow been assured, God will not, notwithstanding the Law’s demand for things unblemished and whole, “despise” his offering.
Now, we know from his language that his heart is blemished and broken—excessively so. So, there can be no thought of his putting anything unblemished and whole upon the altar. The offering is not “humility,” or, at least, not our domesticated version of humility, for then there would be no concern about God despising it. Even if one wished to turn the Psalmist’s acknowledgement of sin into some kind of “humility,” it is (and yes, this is somewhat awkward) humiliating humility. To put my brokenness out there like that? To have everyone see it? To put it on display for GOD to see, undisguised? That’s no tame version of humility. It is wild. Undomesticated. Humiliating.
Yes, it takes a good bit of trust in God to offer something as blemished and broken as a heart that has been enmeshed in sin. It is most difficult to believe that God wants and accepts such a sacrifice. Hence, I think, our disguising the very real brokenness symbolized by a “broken heart” as some kind of cute and cuddly humility. Our faith is sufficient to put a cute and cuddly humility on display for God to see. But this interpretation of a “broken hearts is just camouflage. An attempt to “cover,” like Adam and Eve’s fig leaves, “our sins,” “gratify our pride, our vain ambitions.” To save ourselves the humiliation of our evil and transgression and iniquity and sin.
Lent provides the opportunity to be real and to put off the camouflage, step into sackcloth, and cover ourselves in ashes—signs, all, that we are uncomfortable with our current state, but that we are willing to trustingly present our uncleanness, our brokenness, our shattered selves to God in the belief that He is not only mightier than our sins, but gentler than our sins deserve. Indeed, as the Psalmist says elsewhere,
“He hath not dealt with us after our sins;
nor rewarded us according to our iniquities.”
Even so, come, Lord Jesus!
wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
8Make me to hear joy and gladness;
that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice.
9Hide thy face from my sins,
and blot out all mine iniquities.
10Create in me a clean heart, O God;
and renew a right spirit within me.
11Cast me not away from thy presence;
and take not thy holy spirit from me.
12Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation;
and uphold me with thy free spirit.
16For thou desirest not sacrifice; else would I give it:
thou delightest not in burnt offering.
17The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit:
a broken and a contrite heart,
O God, thou wilt not despise.
We are all probably familiar with a great number of the Law of Moses’ stipulations concerning sacrifice. Among them was the stipulation that for a sacrifice to be acceptable to God and accomplish whatever ends was being sought through the sacrificial act, then the sacrifice had to be perfect. It must needs be, according to the priestly language, “without spot” or “blemish” of any kind. Thus, any animal under consideration for sacrifice required a meticulous and expert examination by a priest. If any flaw was found, it was rejected as unsuitable for sacrifice. This priestly mediation not only increased the chances that the sacrifice would be successful in its intent, it also saved the one offering sacrifice the humiliation and perhaps even angry retribution of an offended God presented with an inappropriate sacrifice.
I have wondered if an awareness of God’s rigid expectations for a perfect sacrifice is part of the reason for the misunderstanding that I believe exists about the meaning of a “broken heart,” “broken spirit,” and “contrite heart.” Because we sure do work hard to formulate these into something good and wholesome. Something unblemished and thus, we hope, acceptable to God.
Let’s think about the “broken heart,” the “broken spirit,” and the “contrite heart” in relation to the Psalmist’s needs and hopes in Psalm 51. In this Psalm the Psalmist pleads for forgiveness. His need is great—and not because or just because he is David. In this very brief psalm, he confesses of an “evil” in him. He mentions his “transgressions” twice and his “iniquity” or “iniquities” four times. He speaks of sin five times. Because of the extensive evil, transgressions, iniquities and sins, the Psalmist fears the very real possibility of being “cast away” from the presence of God (not only in a future life but in this one) and of losing God’s “holy spirit.”
Clearly, the Psalmist is not unblemished or whole. He is blemished and broken. He is shattered to pieces, pulverized—this is the nuance of Hebrew word translated as, “contrite.” The Psalmist is willing to make any sacrifice to be forgiven, to be released from his blemished and broken and shattered self. But he has come to the conclusion that animal sacrifice will not do the trick. Another sacrifice is needed. It is a startling sacrifice. A daring sacrifice. He must place his brokenness, his own broken heart, upon God’s holy altar. If he will muster the courage to do so, he has somehow been assured, God will not, notwithstanding the Law’s demand for things unblemished and whole, “despise” his offering.
Now, we know from his language that his heart is blemished and broken—excessively so. So, there can be no thought of his putting anything unblemished and whole upon the altar. The offering is not “humility,” or, at least, not our domesticated version of humility, for then there would be no concern about God despising it. Even if one wished to turn the Psalmist’s acknowledgement of sin into some kind of “humility,” it is (and yes, this is somewhat awkward) humiliating humility. To put my brokenness out there like that? To have everyone see it? To put it on display for GOD to see, undisguised? That’s no tame version of humility. It is wild. Undomesticated. Humiliating.
Yes, it takes a good bit of trust in God to offer something as blemished and broken as a heart that has been enmeshed in sin. It is most difficult to believe that God wants and accepts such a sacrifice. Hence, I think, our disguising the very real brokenness symbolized by a “broken heart” as some kind of cute and cuddly humility. Our faith is sufficient to put a cute and cuddly humility on display for God to see. But this interpretation of a “broken hearts is just camouflage. An attempt to “cover,” like Adam and Eve’s fig leaves, “our sins,” “gratify our pride, our vain ambitions.” To save ourselves the humiliation of our evil and transgression and iniquity and sin.
Lent provides the opportunity to be real and to put off the camouflage, step into sackcloth, and cover ourselves in ashes—signs, all, that we are uncomfortable with our current state, but that we are willing to trustingly present our uncleanness, our brokenness, our shattered selves to God in the belief that He is not only mightier than our sins, but gentler than our sins deserve. Indeed, as the Psalmist says elsewhere,
“He hath not dealt with us after our sins;
nor rewarded us according to our iniquities.”
Even so, come, Lord Jesus!
luke 15.1-7 meditation #29 for lent
wednesday, april 2, 2025
1Then drew near unto him all the publicans and sinners for to hear him. 2And the Pharisees and scribes murmured, saying, “This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them.”
3And he spake this parable unto them, saying, 4What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it? 5And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. 6And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost. 7I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance.
This reading has many times left me wondering. Wondering about several things. So, I’ll title this meditation, “Have you ever wondered?”
Have you ever wondered at how often the Gospel’s report that sinners came openly and confidently to Jesus?
Have you ever wondered what it was about Jesus that permitted so many to approach him so trustingly?
Have you ever wondered why so many that think of themselves—likely accurately—as “sinners” avoid Jesus or think that Jesus avoids them?
I can’t help but think of Adam and Eve, who, whether you call what they did sin or transgression, far from being drawn to God and confident in His response to their having eaten the forbidden fruit, went into hiding, avoiding Him like the plague. And isn’t that what many of us do when we sin and feel guilty? We hide from God, fearful of his… what… sternness, contempt?
So, I wonder, again, what was it about Jesus that drew and comforted the sinner rather than repelling them? What kind of compassion, acceptance, agreeableness, openness, understanding, etc., did he exude that drew rather than repelled the sinner? And, is he still the same today? Based on the admittedly little amount of time that I have spent with him, I have to say, “yes,” he is the same today. He is compassionate, accepting, agreeable, open, and understanding of us.
Here’s another thing I’ve wonder about. Maybe you have too. What’s up with all the Gospel narratives about dinner parties?
Well, sure, I guess you could conclude that they were simply part of Jesus’ history. He had to eat, didn’t he? And he, like most people, often ate with others. But I am quite certain the Gospel writers left out many events that were simply part of Jesus’ history. So, why do they report so often on Jesus’ sitting and eating… with anyone, let alone with sinners?
I guess you’ve attended dinner parties. Had someone over to your place, maybe. Gone to someone else’s home for dinner. Enjoyed a meal with friends at a restaurant. If you think about it, it is pretty intimate. Maybe the only other part of our day-to-day life that is more intimate is sex. I mean there is all that mouth opening and closing. There’s that tongue moving about. There’s all that crunching and munching—even with the very best of etiquette. There’s all that wiping.
Then, too, there are all the little revelations that come with conversation. There’s someone else seeing our home, our possessions, our tastes, our habits, our cleanliness and orderliness—or the lack thereof. Yip, there is a great deal of opening up that takes place around a plate of food.
I wonder. Wonder if this is part of the Gospel writers’ message. “Open up. Let Jesus draw you in with his attractive personality. Don’t worry, you won’t be sorry. He won’t make you sorry you came. You won’t walk away empty. You’ll leave filled. Filled with love and hope and gladness. And the feeling will last… and last… and last.
And how about those Pharisees and scribes? I’ve wondered. Perhaps you have too. I’ve wondered how anyone could be so confident in their righteousness. It’s pure delusion, of course. But they are so sure in their delusion. It seems that they thought of themselves as “just persons, which need no repentance.” How could anyone in their right mind think that? It is a wonder.
That’s another wonder. How could Jesus speak of “ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance “? Such “persons” do not exist! Not only are there not ninety-nine of them, there isn’t even one of them. I wonder at Jesus’ graciousness in this instance. He was prepared to let it go; to let the scribes and pharisees hang on to their delusions of righteousness although, eventually, he had to come out swinging.
Well, I could go on wondering. But we have time for only one more. Have you ever wondered why the shepherd lifted the sheep and “layeth it on his shoulders”? Why did he carry the sheep back to the fold? Why not lead it? I mean, the sheep got itself into its predicament. Shouldn’t it show a little personal initiative? Contribute a little something in its return trip home?
It’s made me wonder what kind of shape the sheep was in. It’s made me wonder about its state of mind. Could it see straight? Could it think straight? Was it even capable of walking? Was it shivering with cold? It makes me wonder, alright. Why do we repenting and repentant sinners so often think so much of ourselves and our pitifully small contribution to our rescue? Why are we so often “proud” of our having the sense to repent? Why do we act as if we were not carried on someone else’s shoulders? What makes us think that we are any different than any other sinner?
Well, I am guessing that Lent can be used for wondering. To let the wonder of scripture fill us. Let the wonder of God and His compassion, acceptance, agreeableness, openness, understanding, etc., fill us. Let the wonder of so many’s attraction to Jesus fill us. Let the wonder why anyone in their right mind would turn away from him, not trust him, think that they would go it on their own. Why? Why? Why, I wonder?
Even so, come, Lord Jesus!
3And he spake this parable unto them, saying, 4What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it? 5And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. 6And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost. 7I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance.
This reading has many times left me wondering. Wondering about several things. So, I’ll title this meditation, “Have you ever wondered?”
Have you ever wondered at how often the Gospel’s report that sinners came openly and confidently to Jesus?
Have you ever wondered what it was about Jesus that permitted so many to approach him so trustingly?
Have you ever wondered why so many that think of themselves—likely accurately—as “sinners” avoid Jesus or think that Jesus avoids them?
I can’t help but think of Adam and Eve, who, whether you call what they did sin or transgression, far from being drawn to God and confident in His response to their having eaten the forbidden fruit, went into hiding, avoiding Him like the plague. And isn’t that what many of us do when we sin and feel guilty? We hide from God, fearful of his… what… sternness, contempt?
So, I wonder, again, what was it about Jesus that drew and comforted the sinner rather than repelling them? What kind of compassion, acceptance, agreeableness, openness, understanding, etc., did he exude that drew rather than repelled the sinner? And, is he still the same today? Based on the admittedly little amount of time that I have spent with him, I have to say, “yes,” he is the same today. He is compassionate, accepting, agreeable, open, and understanding of us.
Here’s another thing I’ve wonder about. Maybe you have too. What’s up with all the Gospel narratives about dinner parties?
Well, sure, I guess you could conclude that they were simply part of Jesus’ history. He had to eat, didn’t he? And he, like most people, often ate with others. But I am quite certain the Gospel writers left out many events that were simply part of Jesus’ history. So, why do they report so often on Jesus’ sitting and eating… with anyone, let alone with sinners?
I guess you’ve attended dinner parties. Had someone over to your place, maybe. Gone to someone else’s home for dinner. Enjoyed a meal with friends at a restaurant. If you think about it, it is pretty intimate. Maybe the only other part of our day-to-day life that is more intimate is sex. I mean there is all that mouth opening and closing. There’s that tongue moving about. There’s all that crunching and munching—even with the very best of etiquette. There’s all that wiping.
Then, too, there are all the little revelations that come with conversation. There’s someone else seeing our home, our possessions, our tastes, our habits, our cleanliness and orderliness—or the lack thereof. Yip, there is a great deal of opening up that takes place around a plate of food.
I wonder. Wonder if this is part of the Gospel writers’ message. “Open up. Let Jesus draw you in with his attractive personality. Don’t worry, you won’t be sorry. He won’t make you sorry you came. You won’t walk away empty. You’ll leave filled. Filled with love and hope and gladness. And the feeling will last… and last… and last.
And how about those Pharisees and scribes? I’ve wondered. Perhaps you have too. I’ve wondered how anyone could be so confident in their righteousness. It’s pure delusion, of course. But they are so sure in their delusion. It seems that they thought of themselves as “just persons, which need no repentance.” How could anyone in their right mind think that? It is a wonder.
That’s another wonder. How could Jesus speak of “ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance “? Such “persons” do not exist! Not only are there not ninety-nine of them, there isn’t even one of them. I wonder at Jesus’ graciousness in this instance. He was prepared to let it go; to let the scribes and pharisees hang on to their delusions of righteousness although, eventually, he had to come out swinging.
Well, I could go on wondering. But we have time for only one more. Have you ever wondered why the shepherd lifted the sheep and “layeth it on his shoulders”? Why did he carry the sheep back to the fold? Why not lead it? I mean, the sheep got itself into its predicament. Shouldn’t it show a little personal initiative? Contribute a little something in its return trip home?
It’s made me wonder what kind of shape the sheep was in. It’s made me wonder about its state of mind. Could it see straight? Could it think straight? Was it even capable of walking? Was it shivering with cold? It makes me wonder, alright. Why do we repenting and repentant sinners so often think so much of ourselves and our pitifully small contribution to our rescue? Why are we so often “proud” of our having the sense to repent? Why do we act as if we were not carried on someone else’s shoulders? What makes us think that we are any different than any other sinner?
Well, I am guessing that Lent can be used for wondering. To let the wonder of scripture fill us. Let the wonder of God and His compassion, acceptance, agreeableness, openness, understanding, etc., fill us. Let the wonder of so many’s attraction to Jesus fill us. Let the wonder why anyone in their right mind would turn away from him, not trust him, think that they would go it on their own. Why? Why? Why, I wonder?
Even so, come, Lord Jesus!
luke 23.13-25 meditation #28 for lent
tuesday, april 1, 2025
13And Pilate, when he had called together the chief priests and the rulers and the people, 14said unto them, “Ye have brought this man unto me, as one that perverteth the people: and, behold, I, having examined him before you, have found no fault in this man touching those things whereof ye accuse him: 15no, nor yet Herod: for I sent you to him; and, lo, nothing worthy of death is done unto him. 16I will therefore chastise him, and release him.” 17(For of necessity he must release one unto them at the feast.)
18And they cried out all at once, saying, “Away with this man, and release unto us Barabbas:” 19(Who for a certain sedition made in the city, and for murder, was cast into prison.)
20Pilate therefore, willing to release Jesus, spake again to them. 21But they cried, saying, “Crucify him, crucify him.”
22And he said unto them the third time, “Why, what evil hath he done? I have found no cause of death in him: I will therefore chastise him, and let him go.”
23And they were instant with loud voices, requiring that he might be crucified. And the voices of them and of the chief priests prevailed. 24And Pilate gave sentence that it should be as they required. 25And he released unto them him that for sedition and murder was cast into prison, whom they had desired; but he delivered Jesus to their will.
In examining this passage, I often asked students, “If you were asked to identify one or two things that you think Luke most wants to stress with this passage, what would they be?”
How would you answer?
I do not know if it came to your mind, but one of my students’ not uncommon response was something as follows: “We, like Barabbas, are guilty of crimes. In our case, our guilt is sin against God and His law. We deserve to be punished and suffer spiritual death. But just as Barabbas was freed and Jesus took his place, so too does Jesus suffer our punishments in our stead. By this means, he ‘satisfies justice’ and makes it possible for us to avoid suffering for sin while allowing God to remain just.”
This substitutionary view of Jesus’ Atonement is very common. It has a long history. It is closely related to the idea of a scapegoat. In this socio-judicial mechanism, a goat (and sometimes a human, a Greek Pharmakos) has the guilt of individuals or society pronounced upon its head and then is either driven out or outright killed. Jesus is, in this scenario, the scapegoat.
I have often made known my reservations about this substitutionary “theory of Atonement.” Wherever one comes down on this question, it seems to me that this story of Barabbas is a weak and, indeed, flawed analogy concerning the substitutionary role Jesus is supposed to play in our judgement and our escape from the “grasp of justice.” Consider, for example, that in the substitutionary theory of Atonement, Jesus’ suffering in our place is presented as wholly “just.” Jesus’ substitution “satisfies” and “fulfils” justice’s requirements. Indeed, in accepting and participating in this substitution, God Himself is portrayed as just.
But in Luke’s narrative, there is nowhere the slightest, teeny-tiniest bit of suggestion that Barabbas’ release and Jesus’ arrest and death was “just.” Pilate is not portrayed as having acted justly. The Jewish religious leaders are not portrayed as having acted justly. Rather, Barabbas’ unwarranted release and Jesus’ unwarranted arrest and death are both portrayed as acts of utter and gross injustice. If one wants an analogy for Jesus’ supposed substitutionary role, it seems to me this is not the place to look for it. Best to look elsewhere (One can’t help but wonder if this substitutionary reading of this particular passage isn’t simply camouflage, allowing us to ignore injustice, avoid its uncomfortableness, and shirk the risks associated with resisting it in our own society—in other words, avoid following Jesus).
So, what is a better “main point” that Luke might be making? First, clearly, Jesus was innocent of any capitol crime. He was a victim of the system. This system was administered by one, Pilate, who by his own admission thought Jesus innocent and saw in him no threat to the system (as we have said before, the assumption that Jesus was no threat to the system was erroneous, for Jesus most certainly did represent a threat, just not in the way that the system could conceive of as a threat—through the violent exercise of power). Secondly, the system that perceived him to pose no threat and found him innocent, nonetheless had him executed.
Those who administer this world’s systems of “justice” all too often seem corrupt and unjust. All too often, those who administer these systems seem to care little about matters of guilt or innocence. They do not seem to lose sleep over victims of injustice. They seem mostly interested in maintaining their power in a power structure that has the possession of power as its sole goal. Hence, Pilate’s yielding to the Jewish leaders’ obvious unjust charges against Jesus and their demand for capital punishment over the need for justice. Keep the people happy. Keep one’s power.
Luke, then, along with the other Gospel writers, increasingly presents Jesus as a victim of this world’s evil rather than a victim of God’s thirst for “satisfaction.” Jesus becomes the archetypal victim. He becomes a uniquely qualified advocate and source of hope for them.
Lent gives us the opportunity to review the injustice perpetrated against Jesus, consider the injustices all too common in our society, and examine the sort of citizens of the world we are. It is a good time to consider Jesus’ voluntary victimization and what it means for our world and its victims. It is a good time for us to commit ourselves to join Jesus in one of his principal missions: to advocate for and bring justice and hope to victims of humiliation, disfranchisement, cruelty, and injustice.
Even so, come, Lord Jesus!
18And they cried out all at once, saying, “Away with this man, and release unto us Barabbas:” 19(Who for a certain sedition made in the city, and for murder, was cast into prison.)
20Pilate therefore, willing to release Jesus, spake again to them. 21But they cried, saying, “Crucify him, crucify him.”
22And he said unto them the third time, “Why, what evil hath he done? I have found no cause of death in him: I will therefore chastise him, and let him go.”
23And they were instant with loud voices, requiring that he might be crucified. And the voices of them and of the chief priests prevailed. 24And Pilate gave sentence that it should be as they required. 25And he released unto them him that for sedition and murder was cast into prison, whom they had desired; but he delivered Jesus to their will.
In examining this passage, I often asked students, “If you were asked to identify one or two things that you think Luke most wants to stress with this passage, what would they be?”
How would you answer?
I do not know if it came to your mind, but one of my students’ not uncommon response was something as follows: “We, like Barabbas, are guilty of crimes. In our case, our guilt is sin against God and His law. We deserve to be punished and suffer spiritual death. But just as Barabbas was freed and Jesus took his place, so too does Jesus suffer our punishments in our stead. By this means, he ‘satisfies justice’ and makes it possible for us to avoid suffering for sin while allowing God to remain just.”
This substitutionary view of Jesus’ Atonement is very common. It has a long history. It is closely related to the idea of a scapegoat. In this socio-judicial mechanism, a goat (and sometimes a human, a Greek Pharmakos) has the guilt of individuals or society pronounced upon its head and then is either driven out or outright killed. Jesus is, in this scenario, the scapegoat.
I have often made known my reservations about this substitutionary “theory of Atonement.” Wherever one comes down on this question, it seems to me that this story of Barabbas is a weak and, indeed, flawed analogy concerning the substitutionary role Jesus is supposed to play in our judgement and our escape from the “grasp of justice.” Consider, for example, that in the substitutionary theory of Atonement, Jesus’ suffering in our place is presented as wholly “just.” Jesus’ substitution “satisfies” and “fulfils” justice’s requirements. Indeed, in accepting and participating in this substitution, God Himself is portrayed as just.
But in Luke’s narrative, there is nowhere the slightest, teeny-tiniest bit of suggestion that Barabbas’ release and Jesus’ arrest and death was “just.” Pilate is not portrayed as having acted justly. The Jewish religious leaders are not portrayed as having acted justly. Rather, Barabbas’ unwarranted release and Jesus’ unwarranted arrest and death are both portrayed as acts of utter and gross injustice. If one wants an analogy for Jesus’ supposed substitutionary role, it seems to me this is not the place to look for it. Best to look elsewhere (One can’t help but wonder if this substitutionary reading of this particular passage isn’t simply camouflage, allowing us to ignore injustice, avoid its uncomfortableness, and shirk the risks associated with resisting it in our own society—in other words, avoid following Jesus).
So, what is a better “main point” that Luke might be making? First, clearly, Jesus was innocent of any capitol crime. He was a victim of the system. This system was administered by one, Pilate, who by his own admission thought Jesus innocent and saw in him no threat to the system (as we have said before, the assumption that Jesus was no threat to the system was erroneous, for Jesus most certainly did represent a threat, just not in the way that the system could conceive of as a threat—through the violent exercise of power). Secondly, the system that perceived him to pose no threat and found him innocent, nonetheless had him executed.
Those who administer this world’s systems of “justice” all too often seem corrupt and unjust. All too often, those who administer these systems seem to care little about matters of guilt or innocence. They do not seem to lose sleep over victims of injustice. They seem mostly interested in maintaining their power in a power structure that has the possession of power as its sole goal. Hence, Pilate’s yielding to the Jewish leaders’ obvious unjust charges against Jesus and their demand for capital punishment over the need for justice. Keep the people happy. Keep one’s power.
Luke, then, along with the other Gospel writers, increasingly presents Jesus as a victim of this world’s evil rather than a victim of God’s thirst for “satisfaction.” Jesus becomes the archetypal victim. He becomes a uniquely qualified advocate and source of hope for them.
Lent gives us the opportunity to review the injustice perpetrated against Jesus, consider the injustices all too common in our society, and examine the sort of citizens of the world we are. It is a good time to consider Jesus’ voluntary victimization and what it means for our world and its victims. It is a good time for us to commit ourselves to join Jesus in one of his principal missions: to advocate for and bring justice and hope to victims of humiliation, disfranchisement, cruelty, and injustice.
Even so, come, Lord Jesus!
psalm 143.1-2, 4, 6-9 meditation #27 for lent
monday, march 31, 2025
1Hear my prayer, O LORD,
give ear to my supplications: in thy faithfulness
answer me, and in thy righteousness.
2And enter not into judgment with thy servant:
for in thy sight shall no man living be justified.
4Therefore is my spirit overwhelmed within me;
my heart within me is desolate.
6I stretch forth my hands unto thee:
my soul thirsteth after thee, as a thirsty land.
7Hear me speedily, O LORD:
my spirit faileth:
hide not thy face from me,
lest I be like unto them that go down into the pit.
8Cause me to hear thy lovingkindness in the morning;
for in thee do I trust:
cause me to know the way wherein I should walk;
for I lift up my soul unto thee…
9 I flee unto thee to hide me.
I personally find any thoughts or feelings that the Psalms are not pertinent, even vital to be utterly mystifying. But, my experiences with students and congregations suggest that passages such as found in this reading leaves many LDS readers feeling confused and ambivalent about the Psalms. The confusion and ambivalence about this reading is at least two-fold. First, the idea that “no man living” “shall be justified” in the eyes of God challenges their view of man’s divine heritage and potential—a view more in line with enlightenment philosophy than scripture. Second, they conclude, as they do elsewhere in the Psalms, that because David is the author and because David is guilty of a far worse sin (murder) than they, the Psalms, including this one, have little to offer them. David deserves to suffer the pains of hell—“the pit” in this reading—while they, apparently, do not.
Such misunderstandings are most unfortunate and wrong on numerous fronts. We cannot address them all. But can share a thought or two. Leaving aside David’s final eternal state, which is a matter of complete conjecture, we can mention the fact that many, considering the possibility that they might not achieve the highest degree of glory—a consideration which, itself, causes chills to run up and down many a spine—never consider hell as a realistic alternative for or threat to their eternal being. With this dubious conclusion in mind, I have always been intrigued by Lehi’s and then Nephi’s thoughts about hell in relation to themselves.
First, we should understand what they meant by “hell.” Nephi speaks of “death and hell, which I call the death of the body, and also the death of the spirit.” So, in Nephi’s mind, “hell” entails more than physical death. It entails “the death of the spirit.” Moreover, Nephi speaks of “that awful monster the devil, and death, and hell, and that lake of fire and brimstone, which is endless torment.” Thus, “hell” entails “endless torment” and lakes of “fire and brimstone”—metaphorical or not. Given, then, the nature of the place and the “righteous” nature of Lehi and Nephi, we might expect that they would have no fear of the place or feel any need for redemption from hell. But we would be wrong. In praising God for his saving influence in his life, Lehi exclaims,
“But behold, the Lord hath redeemed my soul from hell; I have beheld his glory, and I am encircled about eternally in the arms of his love.”
It seems clear that Lehi would not need to be “redeemed” from something that posed no actual threat. Thus, it seems that Lehi did see hell as a possible threat to his eternal well-being and was extraordinarily grateful for the Lord’s labors in “redeeming” him from that terror and torment. In his much beloved “psalm,” Nephi pleads,
“May the gates of hell be shut continually before me, because that my heart is broken and my spirit is contrite!”
Apparently, Nephi continued to worry that the “gates of hell” still stood wide open, awaiting his arrival and hoping to monstrously engulf and consume his eternal soul. The point is, “hell” is not open for business to murderers such as David only. Even individuals, “good and obedient” individuals such as Nephi and Lehi have felt its awful draw. Without becoming obsessed by the very real threat, we too can and perhaps should feel its awful draw. The danger is as real for us as it was for David or Lehi or Nephi. As we follow the Psalmist’s example and find a hiding place in God, our appreciation of God grows ever stronger. Lent is a good time to “let the solemnities of eternity rest upon [our] minds.” This admonition comes immediately after this warning,
“And the wicked shall go away into unquenchable fire, and their end no man knoweth on earth, nor ever shall know, until they come before me in judgement.”
Lent is a good time for us to confess and repent so that as we “let the solemnities of eternity rest upon [our] minds” as David and Lehi and Nephi did, our expectations might be far more pleasant.
“And I soon go to the place of my rest, which is with my Redeemer; for I know that in him I shall rest. And I rejoice in the day when my mortal shall put on immortality, and shall stand before him; then shall I see his face with pleasure, and he will say unto me: ‘Come unto me, ye blessed, there is a place prepared for you in the mansions of my Father.’ Amen.”
Even so, come, Lord Jesus!
give ear to my supplications: in thy faithfulness
answer me, and in thy righteousness.
2And enter not into judgment with thy servant:
for in thy sight shall no man living be justified.
4Therefore is my spirit overwhelmed within me;
my heart within me is desolate.
6I stretch forth my hands unto thee:
my soul thirsteth after thee, as a thirsty land.
7Hear me speedily, O LORD:
my spirit faileth:
hide not thy face from me,
lest I be like unto them that go down into the pit.
8Cause me to hear thy lovingkindness in the morning;
for in thee do I trust:
cause me to know the way wherein I should walk;
for I lift up my soul unto thee…
9 I flee unto thee to hide me.
I personally find any thoughts or feelings that the Psalms are not pertinent, even vital to be utterly mystifying. But, my experiences with students and congregations suggest that passages such as found in this reading leaves many LDS readers feeling confused and ambivalent about the Psalms. The confusion and ambivalence about this reading is at least two-fold. First, the idea that “no man living” “shall be justified” in the eyes of God challenges their view of man’s divine heritage and potential—a view more in line with enlightenment philosophy than scripture. Second, they conclude, as they do elsewhere in the Psalms, that because David is the author and because David is guilty of a far worse sin (murder) than they, the Psalms, including this one, have little to offer them. David deserves to suffer the pains of hell—“the pit” in this reading—while they, apparently, do not.
Such misunderstandings are most unfortunate and wrong on numerous fronts. We cannot address them all. But can share a thought or two. Leaving aside David’s final eternal state, which is a matter of complete conjecture, we can mention the fact that many, considering the possibility that they might not achieve the highest degree of glory—a consideration which, itself, causes chills to run up and down many a spine—never consider hell as a realistic alternative for or threat to their eternal being. With this dubious conclusion in mind, I have always been intrigued by Lehi’s and then Nephi’s thoughts about hell in relation to themselves.
First, we should understand what they meant by “hell.” Nephi speaks of “death and hell, which I call the death of the body, and also the death of the spirit.” So, in Nephi’s mind, “hell” entails more than physical death. It entails “the death of the spirit.” Moreover, Nephi speaks of “that awful monster the devil, and death, and hell, and that lake of fire and brimstone, which is endless torment.” Thus, “hell” entails “endless torment” and lakes of “fire and brimstone”—metaphorical or not. Given, then, the nature of the place and the “righteous” nature of Lehi and Nephi, we might expect that they would have no fear of the place or feel any need for redemption from hell. But we would be wrong. In praising God for his saving influence in his life, Lehi exclaims,
“But behold, the Lord hath redeemed my soul from hell; I have beheld his glory, and I am encircled about eternally in the arms of his love.”
It seems clear that Lehi would not need to be “redeemed” from something that posed no actual threat. Thus, it seems that Lehi did see hell as a possible threat to his eternal well-being and was extraordinarily grateful for the Lord’s labors in “redeeming” him from that terror and torment. In his much beloved “psalm,” Nephi pleads,
“May the gates of hell be shut continually before me, because that my heart is broken and my spirit is contrite!”
Apparently, Nephi continued to worry that the “gates of hell” still stood wide open, awaiting his arrival and hoping to monstrously engulf and consume his eternal soul. The point is, “hell” is not open for business to murderers such as David only. Even individuals, “good and obedient” individuals such as Nephi and Lehi have felt its awful draw. Without becoming obsessed by the very real threat, we too can and perhaps should feel its awful draw. The danger is as real for us as it was for David or Lehi or Nephi. As we follow the Psalmist’s example and find a hiding place in God, our appreciation of God grows ever stronger. Lent is a good time to “let the solemnities of eternity rest upon [our] minds.” This admonition comes immediately after this warning,
“And the wicked shall go away into unquenchable fire, and their end no man knoweth on earth, nor ever shall know, until they come before me in judgement.”
Lent is a good time for us to confess and repent so that as we “let the solemnities of eternity rest upon [our] minds” as David and Lehi and Nephi did, our expectations might be far more pleasant.
“And I soon go to the place of my rest, which is with my Redeemer; for I know that in him I shall rest. And I rejoice in the day when my mortal shall put on immortality, and shall stand before him; then shall I see his face with pleasure, and he will say unto me: ‘Come unto me, ye blessed, there is a place prepared for you in the mansions of my Father.’ Amen.”
Even so, come, Lord Jesus!
matthew 6.9-13 meditation #26 for lent
sunday, march 30, 2025
9After this manner therefore pray ye:
Our Father which art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy name.
10Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.
11Give us this day our daily bread.
12And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.
13And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil:
For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen.
There is no end of lessons to be learned from Jesus’ instructional prayer, known as “The Lord’s Prayer.” We can, here, only examine two or three. First, we are impressed that Jesus’ instructional prayer does far more than provide a “formula” or “pattern” for prayer—address Heavenly Father, thank him, ask him, and sign off with a resounding and heart felt “amen.” If this prayer served as a pattern, it would be a simple matter to master the formula and move on to bigger and better things. But if we see the prayer for what it is—more a master class in effective prayer than tired and lifeless formula—then we will return to the prayer over and over again knowing that we can improve our prayer life with each sincere and searching inquiry.
As something far more than formula, we think of Jesus’ start to prayer: “Our Father…” How unwise to imagine that Jesus’ principal point is, “This is how you begin a prayer.” Or, “These are a prayer’s first words.” Prayers established upon such shallow formalism are more likely to drop to the floor after leaving our lips than ascending to the ears of “Our Father which art in heaven.” So what is the point of Jesus’ “Our Father”?
Every time we read these words and every time we use them in prayer, we explore anew what it means to have a God who is “Father.” “Papa.” “Daddy.” We are invited to believe that God, the greatest of all, really does possess sincere and deep feelings of intimacy with us, however flawed we may be. He really does wish to hear from us; to know what we are thinking and feeling. He really does wish to commune with us. He really is a Dad who wishes to engage in meaningful and honest conversation with his children.
We are also struck by the person and number of Jesus’ pronouns.
“Give us this day our daily bread.”
“Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.”
“Lead us not into temptation.”
“Deliver us from evil.”
“Us,” not “me.” “Our,” not “my.” “We,” not “I.”
Prayer is personal, of course, and private. Yes, God wants to hear about our individual lives: our appreciations, concerns, needs, and hopes. But, as Jesus’ language demonstrates, prayer is not selfish and self-centered. Jesus wants our prayers to focus on others as well as ourselves: their concerns, their needs, and their hopes. He expects that we will use our prayers to pray for and in behalf of others. He wants to know that we are striving to make a better world and a more fertile environment for others to grow. Prayer is as much about getting outside our own heads as it is about revealing our minds to God.
We also see God’s interest in having our prayers get outside our heads with the second element of Jesus’ prayer: “Hallowed be thy name.” It is an understatement of epic proportions to say that God is a unique Being (God’s “holiness” signifies His uniqueness and superiority), or that His character (the meaning of his “name”) is unmatched. Prayer is a time to not only pray about ourselves, those around us, and the lives we live; it is also a time to talk to God about God. Tell Him what and how we think of Him. What we appreciate about Him. It is a time to ask Him questions about Himself, His hopes, His plans, His life. And then, to listen to His response.
Though Jesus does not mention it, listening is one of the most important aspects of prayer. We all do far too much talking during prayer and far too little listening. It is probably not too far off the mark to suggest that we spend 100% of our prayer time talking, when it probably should be more 50-50: 50% of the time we do the talking, 50% of the time we stop talking and listen. Listening, yes, for direction in our life and direction on how to be of greater service to others. But also, listening to God tell us about Himself.
Oh, how glorious it is to hear Him talk about Himself!
These are just a few of the many things we learn from the Lord’s Prayer.
Yes, we can use prayer to get an answer or two to this life’s complexities. But we can use prayer for the higher and more eternal things of God. During Lent, we can more consistently use prayer to help us focus on the hope of God’s kingdom, both on earth and in heaven. We can more diligently take stock of our prayer life and improve our prayers by examining and reexamining Jesus’ instructional prayer. We can more thoughtfully use our prayers in the service of others and to seek blessings for others. We can use our prayers to come to know God more intimately, and to let God be the Dad that He so ardently desires to be.
Even so, come, Lord Jesus!
Our Father which art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy name.
10Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.
11Give us this day our daily bread.
12And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.
13And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil:
For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen.
There is no end of lessons to be learned from Jesus’ instructional prayer, known as “The Lord’s Prayer.” We can, here, only examine two or three. First, we are impressed that Jesus’ instructional prayer does far more than provide a “formula” or “pattern” for prayer—address Heavenly Father, thank him, ask him, and sign off with a resounding and heart felt “amen.” If this prayer served as a pattern, it would be a simple matter to master the formula and move on to bigger and better things. But if we see the prayer for what it is—more a master class in effective prayer than tired and lifeless formula—then we will return to the prayer over and over again knowing that we can improve our prayer life with each sincere and searching inquiry.
As something far more than formula, we think of Jesus’ start to prayer: “Our Father…” How unwise to imagine that Jesus’ principal point is, “This is how you begin a prayer.” Or, “These are a prayer’s first words.” Prayers established upon such shallow formalism are more likely to drop to the floor after leaving our lips than ascending to the ears of “Our Father which art in heaven.” So what is the point of Jesus’ “Our Father”?
Every time we read these words and every time we use them in prayer, we explore anew what it means to have a God who is “Father.” “Papa.” “Daddy.” We are invited to believe that God, the greatest of all, really does possess sincere and deep feelings of intimacy with us, however flawed we may be. He really does wish to hear from us; to know what we are thinking and feeling. He really does wish to commune with us. He really is a Dad who wishes to engage in meaningful and honest conversation with his children.
We are also struck by the person and number of Jesus’ pronouns.
“Give us this day our daily bread.”
“Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.”
“Lead us not into temptation.”
“Deliver us from evil.”
“Us,” not “me.” “Our,” not “my.” “We,” not “I.”
Prayer is personal, of course, and private. Yes, God wants to hear about our individual lives: our appreciations, concerns, needs, and hopes. But, as Jesus’ language demonstrates, prayer is not selfish and self-centered. Jesus wants our prayers to focus on others as well as ourselves: their concerns, their needs, and their hopes. He expects that we will use our prayers to pray for and in behalf of others. He wants to know that we are striving to make a better world and a more fertile environment for others to grow. Prayer is as much about getting outside our own heads as it is about revealing our minds to God.
We also see God’s interest in having our prayers get outside our heads with the second element of Jesus’ prayer: “Hallowed be thy name.” It is an understatement of epic proportions to say that God is a unique Being (God’s “holiness” signifies His uniqueness and superiority), or that His character (the meaning of his “name”) is unmatched. Prayer is a time to not only pray about ourselves, those around us, and the lives we live; it is also a time to talk to God about God. Tell Him what and how we think of Him. What we appreciate about Him. It is a time to ask Him questions about Himself, His hopes, His plans, His life. And then, to listen to His response.
Though Jesus does not mention it, listening is one of the most important aspects of prayer. We all do far too much talking during prayer and far too little listening. It is probably not too far off the mark to suggest that we spend 100% of our prayer time talking, when it probably should be more 50-50: 50% of the time we do the talking, 50% of the time we stop talking and listen. Listening, yes, for direction in our life and direction on how to be of greater service to others. But also, listening to God tell us about Himself.
Oh, how glorious it is to hear Him talk about Himself!
These are just a few of the many things we learn from the Lord’s Prayer.
Yes, we can use prayer to get an answer or two to this life’s complexities. But we can use prayer for the higher and more eternal things of God. During Lent, we can more consistently use prayer to help us focus on the hope of God’s kingdom, both on earth and in heaven. We can more diligently take stock of our prayer life and improve our prayers by examining and reexamining Jesus’ instructional prayer. We can more thoughtfully use our prayers in the service of others and to seek blessings for others. We can use our prayers to come to know God more intimately, and to let God be the Dad that He so ardently desires to be.
Even so, come, Lord Jesus!
luke 23.8-12 meditation #25 for lent
saturday, march 29, 2025
8And when Herod saw Jesus, he was exceeding glad: for he was desirous to see him of a long season, because he had heard many things of him; and he hoped to have seen some miracle done by him. 9Then he questioned with him in many words; but he answered him nothing. 10And the chief priests and scribes stood and vehemently accused him. 11And Herod with his men of war set him at nought, and mocked him, and arrayed him in a gorgeous robe, and sent him again to Pilate.
12And the same day Pilate and Herod were made friends together: for before they were at enmity between themselves.
We have all heard the proverb, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” The proverb goes back at least 2500 years. We see its twisted logic at the national level as far back in history as we can see. We see it today at both the individual and societal level. It is, today, operative the world over as individuals and nations jostle for dominance. America has played the game as well as any nation in history. The evil insight has produced millions upon millions of victims. But, most pertinent to this passage from Luke and its accompanying meditation, the attitude expressed in the parable was as important a contributor to Jesus’ murder as any other.
The truth spoken by the proverb is intimately connected to the phenomena of the scapegoat. To oversimplify a bit, a scapegoat is an individual or group that two or more other individuals or groups select and victimize—emotionally, rhetorically, spiritually, and/or physically—in hopes of establishing peace, unity, and security between the victimizing individuals or groups. Often, the attackers are at odds previous to their coalescing around the victim. Their united effort against the victim often does bring reconciliation and unity, though it is normally highly volatile and temporary. Its magic soon loses its power and must be renewed as new suspicions and hostilities erupt. Scapegoating is a despicable, arbitrary, unpredictable, and uncertain means of achieving peace, security and unity. It is evil and Satanic.
Jesus was a scapegoat, but not in the way we often think of it. God did not scapegoat Jesus to create peace with a humanity at odds with Him. To think He did so is, in my view, the basest form of theology. It does violence to God. As Luke makes clear, it was Herod and Pilate and the Jewish leaders that created and used Jesus as a scapegoat. Like America’s modern GOP, Caiaphas could baldly, and without fear of blow back advocate grotesque attitudes, behavior, and public policy against a perceived threat and common enemy. Killing Jesus, Caiaphas proposed, would prove a boon to the nation. It would insure peace and security.
“Ye know nothing at all, nor consider that it is expedient for us, that one man should die for the people, and that the whole nation perish not.”
This insight is insidious, not inspired. In fact, I would make the argument, as I have elsewhere, that peace and security and righteousness and harmony would have multiplied immensely had Jesus been permitted a normal life span, another fifty years, say, to teach and act out his revelation of God and his life of love and peace and respect. The decision to kill Jesus united utterly desperate groups and had them working in concert for the first and last time in their long and tortured relationship. A mob, infected by the poisonous idea, joined the feeding frenzy, and Jesus died an innocent victim’s death. The “peace” did not last long. It would not be long before Herodian, Roman, and Jew were once more at each other’s throats. Soon, Masada would become an apt symbol of the unsteady love affair that scapegoating produces.
Relationships are difficult. We all get out of sorts with each other. If the break is serious enough and our interest in renewing the strained relationship is strong enough, we often utilize a scapegoat. A husband and wife, for example, can find unity by identifying a common foe or foil. Two friends can repair a wound between them by identifying a third party against which they can unite. All is well for a while. But it never lasts. It does not address the real, underlying issues. It is certain that a scapegoat and the uniting around a common enemy cannot create lasting relationships. It is not the foundation upon which an eternal marriage can be built. Eternity, the world of God and all glorious and glorified beings, do not and cannot endure upon any such twisted ideal or the actions it produces.
To the degree to which we condone or engage in this vile ideology and, thereby create innocent victims, we become implicated in Herod’s and Pilate’s and the Jewish leaders’ deicide. We crucify Jesus anew for “inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”
During Lent we should examine our relationships—with man, with woman, with child, and with God. We should repent, forsake, and seek forgiveness for the vile and ungodly practice, endemic in 2025 America, of finding peace and wellness through the wounding of another. We can use the Season to influence in whatever humble way we can the society around us so that it, too, forsakes the vile and ungodly attempt to form unity through hatred rather than through love.
Even so, come, Lord Jesus!
12And the same day Pilate and Herod were made friends together: for before they were at enmity between themselves.
We have all heard the proverb, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” The proverb goes back at least 2500 years. We see its twisted logic at the national level as far back in history as we can see. We see it today at both the individual and societal level. It is, today, operative the world over as individuals and nations jostle for dominance. America has played the game as well as any nation in history. The evil insight has produced millions upon millions of victims. But, most pertinent to this passage from Luke and its accompanying meditation, the attitude expressed in the parable was as important a contributor to Jesus’ murder as any other.
The truth spoken by the proverb is intimately connected to the phenomena of the scapegoat. To oversimplify a bit, a scapegoat is an individual or group that two or more other individuals or groups select and victimize—emotionally, rhetorically, spiritually, and/or physically—in hopes of establishing peace, unity, and security between the victimizing individuals or groups. Often, the attackers are at odds previous to their coalescing around the victim. Their united effort against the victim often does bring reconciliation and unity, though it is normally highly volatile and temporary. Its magic soon loses its power and must be renewed as new suspicions and hostilities erupt. Scapegoating is a despicable, arbitrary, unpredictable, and uncertain means of achieving peace, security and unity. It is evil and Satanic.
Jesus was a scapegoat, but not in the way we often think of it. God did not scapegoat Jesus to create peace with a humanity at odds with Him. To think He did so is, in my view, the basest form of theology. It does violence to God. As Luke makes clear, it was Herod and Pilate and the Jewish leaders that created and used Jesus as a scapegoat. Like America’s modern GOP, Caiaphas could baldly, and without fear of blow back advocate grotesque attitudes, behavior, and public policy against a perceived threat and common enemy. Killing Jesus, Caiaphas proposed, would prove a boon to the nation. It would insure peace and security.
“Ye know nothing at all, nor consider that it is expedient for us, that one man should die for the people, and that the whole nation perish not.”
This insight is insidious, not inspired. In fact, I would make the argument, as I have elsewhere, that peace and security and righteousness and harmony would have multiplied immensely had Jesus been permitted a normal life span, another fifty years, say, to teach and act out his revelation of God and his life of love and peace and respect. The decision to kill Jesus united utterly desperate groups and had them working in concert for the first and last time in their long and tortured relationship. A mob, infected by the poisonous idea, joined the feeding frenzy, and Jesus died an innocent victim’s death. The “peace” did not last long. It would not be long before Herodian, Roman, and Jew were once more at each other’s throats. Soon, Masada would become an apt symbol of the unsteady love affair that scapegoating produces.
Relationships are difficult. We all get out of sorts with each other. If the break is serious enough and our interest in renewing the strained relationship is strong enough, we often utilize a scapegoat. A husband and wife, for example, can find unity by identifying a common foe or foil. Two friends can repair a wound between them by identifying a third party against which they can unite. All is well for a while. But it never lasts. It does not address the real, underlying issues. It is certain that a scapegoat and the uniting around a common enemy cannot create lasting relationships. It is not the foundation upon which an eternal marriage can be built. Eternity, the world of God and all glorious and glorified beings, do not and cannot endure upon any such twisted ideal or the actions it produces.
To the degree to which we condone or engage in this vile ideology and, thereby create innocent victims, we become implicated in Herod’s and Pilate’s and the Jewish leaders’ deicide. We crucify Jesus anew for “inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”
During Lent we should examine our relationships—with man, with woman, with child, and with God. We should repent, forsake, and seek forgiveness for the vile and ungodly practice, endemic in 2025 America, of finding peace and wellness through the wounding of another. We can use the Season to influence in whatever humble way we can the society around us so that it, too, forsakes the vile and ungodly attempt to form unity through hatred rather than through love.
Even so, come, Lord Jesus!
psalm 103.8-12 meditation #24 for lent
friday, march 28, 2025
The LORD is merciful and gracious,
slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy.
He will not always chide:
neither will he keep his anger for ever.
He hath not dealt with us after our sins;
nor rewarded us according to our iniquities.
For as the heaven is high above the earth,
so great is his mercy toward them that fear him.
As far as the east is from the west,
so far hath he removed our transgressions from us.
Sometimes poetry can almost take on an aura of the visual arts. Poetry’s use of symbolism, imagery, metaphor, likeness, etc. grant us the freedom to form pictures in our minds. A picture, they say, is worth a thousand words.
The King James Bible’s 79-word translation of this passage contains unimaginably broad horizons and an expansive universe that boggles the mind. We would need a book of meditations to capture the grandeur found in this one Psalm. We would need more books than the world can hold to capture the grandeur of the God whom the Psalmist discovered and seeks to reveal. What follows is the smallest nibble from the sumptuous feast that is Psalm 103.8-12.
“As far as the east is from the west.”
How far is that? However far it is—and it is very, very, very far—that’s how far God can and does “remove our transgressions from us.” I can think of a half dozen ways to imagine this. I can, for example, see myself standing on a broad flat limitless plain. I look to the eastern horizon, its features tiny, unfocused, and indistinguishable. I then look to the western horizon, its features equally incomprehensible. Then, I physically move myself eastward until I come to that first eastern horizon that I made out earlier. Then I look to the west. I look for that western horizon that I saw before. But I can’t see it. It has disappeared from view.
That, the Psalmist testifies, is what God does to and with our sins. He moves them. Moves them very far away. So far that we can no longer make them out. So far that we cannot see them. So far that they have no power to impact and impress themselves upon our senses. This is a way of saying that the impact of our sins upon us is reduced to nothingness. But this unimaginable feat is just the tip of the iceberg. For, God removes sin so far away that even He—He of perfect sight and knowledge and memory—even He can no longer see them.
As they disappear over the far horizon of eternity, we find Him negligent in dealing “with us after or sins” or rewarding (punishing) “us according to our iniquities.” Even if He looked for cause to chide and upbraid and accuse—which He does not—He would come up empty. Sin has fallen off the edge of the universe. It has been disappeared. Annihilated. But this has nothing to do with the size of the universe or the breath of our horizons. Rather, it is about the immensity that is in God. The divine attribute of “mercy” is as high and wide and long and deep and expansive—infinite—as the universe is huge. “Were it possible,” the prophet Enoch declared,
“that man could number the particles of the earth, yea, millions of earths like this, it would not be a beginning to the number of thy creations; and thy curtains are stretched out still; and yet thou art there, and thy bosom is there; and also thou art just; thou art merciful and kind forever; and naught but peace, justice, and truth is the habitation of thy throne; and mercy shall go before thy face and have no end.”
Yes, the curtains of His mercy are “stretched out” as expansively as His creations. We have not yet discovered the beginning nor the end of the universe. Neither have we discovered the expansiveness of His mercy. We probably never will. Probably the expansiveness of His mercy would shock our senses. Possibly offend our sensibilities. I believe that it was this, or at least that portion of it that is comprehensible to the human mind, that came rushing in “with great force into every feeling of [Joseph Smith’s] heart” when he read James. God was not an upbraider. He did not find cause to accuse. Not because there was no cause, but because God was more righteous and powerful that puny human sin. He obliterated human sin, sending it to the furthest reaches of the unknown universe.
It is all hard to believe. And there’s the rub. But lent is a good time to scan the universe, scour its every nook and cranny in search of a place where sin can survive God’s hostility toward it. It’s a good time to experience the muscular arms of God seize hold of our sins and hurl them into the further most abyss of nothingness. Lent is a good time to come under the commanding influence of the Holy Spirit and “shout praises unto the Holy One of Israel.” such that all may hear and join in the grand Hallelujahs of Easter.
Even so, come, Lord Jesus!
slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy.
He will not always chide:
neither will he keep his anger for ever.
He hath not dealt with us after our sins;
nor rewarded us according to our iniquities.
For as the heaven is high above the earth,
so great is his mercy toward them that fear him.
As far as the east is from the west,
so far hath he removed our transgressions from us.
Sometimes poetry can almost take on an aura of the visual arts. Poetry’s use of symbolism, imagery, metaphor, likeness, etc. grant us the freedom to form pictures in our minds. A picture, they say, is worth a thousand words.
The King James Bible’s 79-word translation of this passage contains unimaginably broad horizons and an expansive universe that boggles the mind. We would need a book of meditations to capture the grandeur found in this one Psalm. We would need more books than the world can hold to capture the grandeur of the God whom the Psalmist discovered and seeks to reveal. What follows is the smallest nibble from the sumptuous feast that is Psalm 103.8-12.
“As far as the east is from the west.”
How far is that? However far it is—and it is very, very, very far—that’s how far God can and does “remove our transgressions from us.” I can think of a half dozen ways to imagine this. I can, for example, see myself standing on a broad flat limitless plain. I look to the eastern horizon, its features tiny, unfocused, and indistinguishable. I then look to the western horizon, its features equally incomprehensible. Then, I physically move myself eastward until I come to that first eastern horizon that I made out earlier. Then I look to the west. I look for that western horizon that I saw before. But I can’t see it. It has disappeared from view.
That, the Psalmist testifies, is what God does to and with our sins. He moves them. Moves them very far away. So far that we can no longer make them out. So far that we cannot see them. So far that they have no power to impact and impress themselves upon our senses. This is a way of saying that the impact of our sins upon us is reduced to nothingness. But this unimaginable feat is just the tip of the iceberg. For, God removes sin so far away that even He—He of perfect sight and knowledge and memory—even He can no longer see them.
As they disappear over the far horizon of eternity, we find Him negligent in dealing “with us after or sins” or rewarding (punishing) “us according to our iniquities.” Even if He looked for cause to chide and upbraid and accuse—which He does not—He would come up empty. Sin has fallen off the edge of the universe. It has been disappeared. Annihilated. But this has nothing to do with the size of the universe or the breath of our horizons. Rather, it is about the immensity that is in God. The divine attribute of “mercy” is as high and wide and long and deep and expansive—infinite—as the universe is huge. “Were it possible,” the prophet Enoch declared,
“that man could number the particles of the earth, yea, millions of earths like this, it would not be a beginning to the number of thy creations; and thy curtains are stretched out still; and yet thou art there, and thy bosom is there; and also thou art just; thou art merciful and kind forever; and naught but peace, justice, and truth is the habitation of thy throne; and mercy shall go before thy face and have no end.”
Yes, the curtains of His mercy are “stretched out” as expansively as His creations. We have not yet discovered the beginning nor the end of the universe. Neither have we discovered the expansiveness of His mercy. We probably never will. Probably the expansiveness of His mercy would shock our senses. Possibly offend our sensibilities. I believe that it was this, or at least that portion of it that is comprehensible to the human mind, that came rushing in “with great force into every feeling of [Joseph Smith’s] heart” when he read James. God was not an upbraider. He did not find cause to accuse. Not because there was no cause, but because God was more righteous and powerful that puny human sin. He obliterated human sin, sending it to the furthest reaches of the unknown universe.
It is all hard to believe. And there’s the rub. But lent is a good time to scan the universe, scour its every nook and cranny in search of a place where sin can survive God’s hostility toward it. It’s a good time to experience the muscular arms of God seize hold of our sins and hurl them into the further most abyss of nothingness. Lent is a good time to come under the commanding influence of the Holy Spirit and “shout praises unto the Holy One of Israel.” such that all may hear and join in the grand Hallelujahs of Easter.
Even so, come, Lord Jesus!
meditation archives
OLD TESTAMENT
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| ot_genesis3_1-5_meditation.pdf |
genesis 4.9
| ot_genesis4_9_meditation.pdf |
genesis 6.5-6, 11-13
| ot_genesis6_5-6_11-13_meditation.pdf |
genesis 13.1, 5-12
| ot_genesis13_1_5-12_meditation.pdf |
genesis 29.15-30
| ot_genesis29_15-30_meditation.pdf |
genesis 31.43-55
| ot_genesis31_43-55_meditation.pdf |
exodus 13.3-10
| ot_exodus13_3-10_meditation.pdf |
leviticus 19.33-34
| ot_leviticus19_33-34_meditation.pdf |
2 samuel 21.1-14
| ot_2samuel21_1-14_meditation.pdf |
psalms introductory meditations
| ot_psalm0_introduction_meditation.pdf |
psalm 1 (16 meditations)
| ot_psalm1_meditations.pdf |
psalm 2 (9 meditations)
| ot_psalm2_meditations.pdf |
psalm 3 (6 meditations)
| ot_psalm3_meditations.pdf |
psalm 4 (5 meditations)
| ot_psalm4_meditations.pdf |
psalm 5 (11 meditations)
| ot_psalm5_meditations.pdf |
psalm 6 (4 meditations)
| ot_psalm6_meditations.pdf |
psalm 7 (5 meditations)
| ot_psalm7_meditation.pdf |
psalm 8 meditation
| ot_psalm8_meditation.pdf |
psalms 9 & 10 (15 meditations)
| ot_psalm9-10_meditations.pdf |
psalm 11 (3 meditations)
| ot_psalm11_meditations.pdf |
psalm 12 (3 meditations)
| ot_psalm12_meditations.pdf |
psalm 13 (3 meditations)
| ot_psalm13_meditations.pdf |
psalm 14 meditations (6 meditations)
| ot_psalm14_meditations.pdf |
psalm 15 meditations (6 meditations)
| ot_psalm15_meditations.pdf |
psalm 16 (11 meditations)
| ot_psalm16_meditations.pdf |
psalm 17 (7 meditations)
| ot_psalm17_meditation.pdf |
psalm 22 meditations (11 meditations)
| ot_psalm22_meditations.pdf |
psalm 46 (5 meditations)
| ot_psalm46_meditations.pdf |
psalm 51
| ot_psalm51_meditations.pdf |
psalm 103.8-12
| psalm103_8-12_meditation.pdf |
psalm 115
| ot_psalm115_4-8-meditation.pdf |
psalm 119
| ot_psalm119_meditations.pdf |
psalm 130
| psalm130_1-8_meditation.pdf |
psalm 143
| psalm143_1-2_4_6-9_meditation.pdf |
all other psalm meditations
| 02_ot_meditations_psalms_24_05_15.pdf |
isaiah 1.21-23
| ot_isaiah1_21-23_meditation.pdf |
isaiah 3.4-8
| ot_isaiah3_4-8_meditation.pdf |
isaiah 3.9-11
| ot_isaiah3_9-11_meditation.pdf |
isaiah 9.3-7
| ot_isaiah9_3-7_meditation.pdf |
isaiah 40.1-2
| ot_isaiah40_1-2_meditation.pdf |
isaiah 60.1-2
| ot_isaiah60_1-2_meditation.pdf |
isaiah 61.1-3
| ot_isaiah61_1-3_meditation.pdf |
jeremiah 5 (7 meditations)
| ot_jeremiah5_meditation.pdf |
jeremiah 6.1-6
| ot_jeremiah6_1-5_meditation.pdf |
joel 2.12-14
| ot_joel2_12-14_meditation.pdf |
amos 5.10-13
| ot_amos5_10-13_meditation.pdf |
amos 6.3-6
| ot_amos6_3-6_meditation.pdf |
micah 7.18-20
| ot_micah7_18-20_meditation.pdf |
NEW TESTAMENT
matthew 2.1-3, 7-11
| nt_matthew2_1-3_7-11_meditation.pdf |
matthew 3.15 ("jesus' first words series)
| nt_matthew3_15_meditation.pdf |
matthew 5.23-28
| nt_matthew5_23-28_meditation.pdf |
matthew 6.9-13
| matthew6_9-13_meditation.pdf |
matthew 6.24
| nt_matthew6_24_meditation.pdf |
matthew 11.28-30
| nt_matthew11_28-30_meditation.pdf |
matthew 20.25-28
| nt_matthew20_25-28_meditation.pdf |
matthew 21.1-11
| nt_matthew21_1-11_meditation.pdf |
matthew 21.12-16
| nt_matthew21_12-16_meditation.pdf |
matthew 22.34-40
| nt_matthew22_34-40_meditation.pdf |
matthew 24.42, 44, 46
| nt_matthew24_42_44_46_meditation.pdf |
matthew 26.26-46
| nt_matthew26_26-46_meditation.pdf |
mark 5.1-5
| nt_mark5_1-5_meditation.pdf |
mark 5.14-20
| nt_mark5_14-20_meditation.pdf |
mark 5.24-34
| nt_mark5_24-34_meditation.pdf |
mark 14.22-38
| nt_mark14.22-38_meditation.pdf |
luke 1
| nt_luke1_meditations.pdf |
luke 2
| nt_luke2_meditations.pdf |
luke 4.40-44
| nt_luke4_40-44_meditation.pdf |
luke 6
| nt_luke6_meditation.pdf |
luke 8.26-39
| nt_luke8_26-39_meditation.pdf |
luke 10.38-42
| luke10_38-42_meditation.pdf |
luke 15.1-7
| luke15_1-7_meditation.pdf |
luke 17.3-6
| luke17_3-6_meditation.pdf |
luke 18.9-14
| luke18_9-14_meditation.pdf |
luke 22
| luke22_meditations.pdf |
luke 23
| nt_luke23_meditation.pdf |
luke 24
| nt_luke24_meditation.pdf |
john 1
| nt_john1_meditations.pdf |
john 4
| nt_john4_meditations.pdf |
john 10
| nt_john10_meditations.pdf |
john 13.36-38
| nt_john13_36-38_meditations.pdf |
john 14.16-21, 23
| nt_john14_16-21_23_meditations.pdf |
john 15.4-5
| nt_john15_4-5_meditations.pdf |
john 18
| nt_john18_meditations.pdf |
acts 2.14-21
| nt_acts2_14-21_meditations.pdf |
acts 3.12-18
| nt_acts3_12-18_meditations.pdf |
acts 5.29-32
| nt_acts5_29-32_meditations.pdf |
acts 7.2-8
| nt_acts7_2-8_meditations.pdf |
romans 1.18-23
| nt_romans1_18-23_meditation.pdf |
romans 5.6-11
| nt_romans5_6-11_meditation.pdf |
romans 8.31-34
| nt_romans8_31-34_meditation.pdf |
romans 8.35-39
| nt_romans8_35-39_meditation.pdf |
1 corinthians 1.1-3
| nt_1corinthians1_1-3_meditation.pdf |
corinthians1.4-9
| nt_1corinthians1_4-9_meditation.pdf |
1 corinthians 12.14-27
| nt_1corinthians12_14-27_meditation.pdf |
galatians 3.24
| nt_galatians3_24_meditations.pdf |
philippians 2.5-11
| nt_philippians2_5-11_meditation.pdf |
colossians 1.12-20
| nt_colossians1_12-20_meditation.pdf |
colossians 2.1-5
| nt_colossians2_1-5_meditation.pdf |
colossians 2.13-19
| nt_colossians2_13-19_meditation.pdf |
colossians 3.1-4
| colossians3_1-4_meditation.pdf |
hebrews 13.1-2
| nt_hebrews13_1-2_meditations.pdf |
1 john 1.1-5
| nt_1john1_1-5_meditations.pdf |
1 john 1.8-10
| nt_1john1_8-10_meditations.pdf |
1 john 3.16-19
| nt_1john3_16-19_meditations.pdf |
1 john 5.9-13
| nt_1john5_9-13_meditations.pdf |
revelation 21.3-7
| nt_revelation21_3-7_meditations.pdf |
"jesus' first words (new testament series)
| nt_jesus_first_words_meditation_series.pdf |
BOOK OF MORMON
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| bm_1nepi11-14_meditation.pdf |
1 nephi 19.23
| bm_1nephi19_23_meditation.pdf |
1 nephi 25.23, 26-27
| bm_2nephi25_23_26-27_meditation.pdf |
jacob 1.8
| bm_jacob1_8_meditation.pdf |
jacob 2.17
| bm_jacob2_17_meditation.pdf |
mosiah 4.26-27
| bm_mosiah4_26-27.pdf |
mosiah 15
| bm_mosiah15_meditation.pdf |
mosiah 16.3-7
| bm_mosiah16_3-7_meditation.pdf |
mosiah 29.17, 21-23
| bm_mosiah29_17_21-23_meditation.pdf |
alma 7.7
| bm__alma7_7_meditation.pdf |
alma 26.16
| bm__alma26.16_meditation.pdf |
alma 31.24-28
| bm__alma31_24-28_meditation.pdf |
alma 31.27-29
| bm__alma31_27-29_meditation.pdf |
alma 33
| bm__alma33_meditation.pdf |
alma 34.15-18
| alma34_15-18_meditation.pdf |
alms 37.9
| bm_alma37.9_meditation.pdf |
alma 39.8-9
| bm_alma39_8-9_meditation.pdf |
3 nephi 1.13-14
| bm_3nephi1_13-14_meditation.pdf |
3 nephi 6.10-12, 14
| bm_3nephi6_10-12_14.pdf |
3 nephi 11.9-11
| bm_3nephi11_9-11_meditation.pdf |
3 nephi 17.11-18
| bm_3nephi17_11-18_meditation.pdf |
3 nephi 27.30-32
| bm_3nephi27_30-32_meditation.pdf |
ether 3.2
| bm_ether3_2_meditation.pdf |
ether 12.32-34, 41
| bm_ether12_32-24_41_meditation.pdf |
DOCTRINE AND COVENANTS / PEARL OF GREAT PRICE
dc 3
| dc3_meditation.pdf |
dc 10
| dc10_meditation.pdf |
dc 20
| dc20_meditation.pdf |
dc 37
| dc37_meditation.pdf |
dc 38.23-27
| dc38_23-27_meditation.pdf |
dc 49.5-7
| dc49_5-7_meditation.pdf |
dc 49.20
| dc49_20_meditation.pdf |
dc 76.1-4
| dc76_1-4_meditation.pdf |
dc 76.5-10
| dc76_5-10_meditation.pdf |
dc 84.112
| dc84_112_meditation.pdf |
dc 88.123
| dc88_123_meditation.pdf |
dc 101.37-38
| dc101_37-38_meditation.pdf |
dc 101.46-51
| dc101_46-51_meditation.pdf |
dc 128.22-23
| dc128_22-23_meditation.pdf |
dc 138.11-12, 15-16, 18-19
| dc138_11-12_15-16_18-19_meditation.pdf |
moses 7.18
| pgp_moses7_18_meditation.pdf |
Hymn #72
| hymn_72_meditation.pdf |
MEDITATION SERIES
Jjesus' first words
| nt_jesus_first_words_meditation_series.pdf |