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NRS Leviticus 16:1 The LORD spoke
to Moses after the death of the two sons of Aaron, when they drew near before
the LORD and died. 2 The LORD said to Moses: Tell your brother Aaron
not to come just at any time into the sanctuary inside the curtain before the
mercy seat that is upon the ark, or he will die; for I appear in the cloud upon
the mercy seat……20 When he has finished atoning for the holy place
and the tent of meeting and the altar, he shall present the live goat. 21
Then Aaron shall lay both his hands on the head of the live goat, and confess
over it all the iniquities of the people of Israel, and all their
transgressions, all their sins, putting them on the head of the goat, and
sending it away into the wilderness by means of someone designated for the
task. 22 The goat shall bear on itself all their iniquities to a
barren region; and the goat shall be set free in the wilderness.
One day each year, the sons of Aaron would bring two goats into the Temple.
One of these goats would be killed and the blood sprinkled on the mercy seat of
the Ark of the Covenant. A blood offering was given to God for the disobedience
of creation. In order to bring atonement for the disobedience of the people,
something had to die and the blood was sprinkled in the Temple. Another
innocent goat was brought in the Temple and the high Priest would lay his hands
on it, symbolizing that the sins of the people were now placed on this
sacrificial goat and it is sent out into the wilderness where it most likely
would not survive. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could take all our screw ups, our
missteps, our failure to live up to how God wants us to live and transfer them
to someone or something else. Don’t we do that whenever we find someone or
something else to blame for our mistakes? We do it all the time don’t we? By the way, the goat that gets to go to the
wilderness carrying the sins of the people is called a scapegoat. That is
where that term comes from.
What God has done
is to provide a means that the people could see, to take away forever their
mistakes and disobedience. I can imagine the people surrounding the road out of
town as the poor little goat was led into the wilderness, there to be tormented
by the wild creatures and evil things that exist there. What the people could
not see was the other goat as it was killed and the blood of that goat
sprinkled as an offering to God for the iniquities of people. God required
sacrifice for atonement. That day by the
way, the Day of Atonement is called Yom Kippur and is still celebrated each
year as a day of repentance. It follows a ten day period of fasting and repentance
that also celebrates the creation of the world. So we celebrate the thing that
God did and we finish that celebration with the things that we did. Sounds a
bit like a circle of life deal doesn’t it?
So what does it mean for us? Well let’s regress a bit and look at the New
Testament story. Jesus comes into the
world fully human, open to all of our emotions and desires, suffering all the fragilities
of humanity because like us, He is human. He suffers grief at the tomb of
Lazarus, ridicule from his relatives and mistrust from those who knew him
young, what good can come out of Nazareth. At his Baptism He is identified as
God’s favored and we understand that in that baptism He is anointed for
something special. And yet, the first thing that is required of Him is to be
sent into the wilderness. There He faces the forces of evil and temptation
where His very life is threatened. It does seem kind of in reverse, but yet it tells
us that He is worthy of carrying the sins of the world. He alone is capable of being the scapegoat for all of creation because
of His victory in that wilderness.
But it doesn’t end there. God demands a sacrifice for the sins of the
world. God demands blood for atonement of our iniquities. God demands that the
blood of that sacrifice be sprinkled on the mercy seat of God. Hmmm, sounds
like an Easter story in the making to me. How about you? But let us for a
moment, do as the author of Romans does, and remember the story of Easter. Sin
came in the world from Adam, whose disobedience banned us from paradise during
this physical life that we live. But God wanted us to share in paradise, to
reside in the place that God resides, to share in the love of relationship with
God. So how does God overcome our own iniquities, our own inherent, that’s a
big word for something that is a part of us from birth, our own inherent desire
to sin and disobedient? How does God atone for the flaw in creation that began
when humans took the gift of choice and subverted it to the will of evil? God
can only atone for that by becoming the sacrifice that is called for in
atonement. God sent us God, in the form of His Son Jesus, to become the
scapegoat for the sins of the world, to be sent into the wilderness so that He
could resist temptation and the forces of evil. And then for Him to go to the
cross and have His blood shed for us. As He is taken off the cross, the veil in
the Holy of Holies is torn in two and now no longer do we need a Priest to
stand between us and God just as it was in the very beginning. What God does
with Jesus is to bring creation back to the place it was intended to be, not to
bring Eden back yet, we have atonement to make as well, but to give us the
opportunity to share in that paradise by making the choice to believe in God,
to imitate His Son in the world around us and to become Adam and Eve that was
designed to be in the world. One man sinned and condemned the world; one man
sacrificed and saved the world.
The scapegoat
is a picture of Christ. Our sins are carried away by Jesus, our Scapegoat and
sin Substitute. “As far as the east is from the west, so far has God removed
our transgressions from us” (Psalm 103:13). The blood of Christ seals and ratifies the New Covenant. In the
book of Hebrews we’re told how Jesus entered the Heavenly sanctuary before the
presence of God-the-Father, to intervene for us. He secured a lasting
deliverance, forever satisfying divine justice, fully removing our guilt, once-and-for-all.
Yom Kippur is an annual event because humans need to continually sacrifice for
atonement, but our Lord’s one-time, enduring sacrifice upon the Cross fully
frees us from the penalty of our sins. We replay this wonderful story
every time we have communion. One part body in the bread, a body given for us
and the other part in the juice representing the blood shed for us. Jesus
becomes humanities scapegoat carrying the sins with Him as he takes the blame
away.
I heard a
story written by Brian Moore, 17 for the Christian Athletes meeting he would
attend that day. Sadly he died later in an automobile accident. It is titled, THE
ROOM.
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings.
As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I have liked." I opened It and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.
And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match.
A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.
A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed at." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've yelled at my brothers". Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.
Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I have listened to," I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it shamed, not so much by the quality of music but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.
An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind, "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!"
In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it.
The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on it's handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.
No, please, not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could not bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me. Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. No Please! ; All I could find to say was, "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards.
I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door.
There were still cards to be written.
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings.
As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I have liked." I opened It and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.
And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match.
A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.
A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed at." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've yelled at my brothers". Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.
Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I have listened to," I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it shamed, not so much by the quality of music but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.
An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind, "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!"
In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it.
The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on it's handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.
No, please, not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could not bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me. Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. No Please! ; All I could find to say was, "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards.
I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door.
There were still cards to be written.
Are you ready
for redemption?
Are you ready
to be forgiven?
The
sacrificial goat of God is waiting to lead you to paradise. Are you ready to
follow?
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