Our Sermons

Bible Passage:Isaiah 52:3–6
Pastor: Pastor Schlicht
Sermon Date:  April 7, 2023

A man once told me of the extraordinary night when he should have died. He was driving on a lonely highway across northern Wisconsin in the middle of the night. He had been working outside all day and had started a 6 hour drive at about 10:00 pm. He couldn’t keep his eyes open no matter what he tried, and when that caffeine wore off, he fell asleep at 60 miles an hour. He opened his eyes a few seconds later when his head bumped against his steering wheel. He awoke to find his car mowing down a low cornfield on the opposite side of the road. He had crossed over the oncoming lane completely asleep and had coasted safely down the ditch and had made it a couple hundred feet into the field completely unharmed. When he finally turned the wheel and made it back to the road, he was shaking so bad that he got out and threw up. And then did you know what he did? He simply sat down and gave thanks to God. He told me that he still sometimes thinks about what should have been found near that road—some horrific mixture of twisted steel and human flesh. He still often looks back at those tire tracks in the field and thanks God that he is still alive.

How to describe our perspective on Good Friday? Of a Tenebrae service of shadows, of seven words spoken by the man upon the center cross, and the guilt he bore though it wasn’t his. We are here to remember a death that should have been ours. And the gut-wrenching realization of our danger only grows now after it is past. Excruciating details grab us by the throat—Jesus gripping the whipping post, readying his heart; the spikes driven through flesh into wood, the ropes straining as the cross is raised into place. I look back and know that it should have been me. That is the somber conclusion we must reach in order to know the purpose—the goodness—of this Good Friday. We are here to look back at those tire tracks in the field and give thanks to God.

Isaiah saw his own tracks too, not behind him but in front of him. His prophetic vision of Jesus’ crucifixion was written some 700 years before Jesus would even set foot on the earth. And the sight he sees of our Savior, that suffering Servant, is not easy to look at. Isaiah writes: He was despised and rejected by men, a man who knew grief, who was well acquainted with suffering. Like someone whom people cannot bear to look at, he was despised, and we thought nothing of him.  The people closest to Christ didn’t understand his suffering. His disciples heard him talk about what was to come multiple times, and yet they despised the cross and hated to see Jesus raised on Calvary. Yes, it’s much easier to look back and see the glory of God in the Crucified. But that doesn’t mean that we are any better or more faithful. Notice that Isaiah doesn’t say “They thought nothing of him.” He includes you and me as well: “…he was despised and we thought nothing of him.”

We need the Holy Spirit to show us the beauty of the cross, because the truth is we’re more superficial than we realize. We look at the surface of things. We judge by appearances. Do not assume that if you had seen Jesus strung up on the cross that day, you would have admired him. If we’d been there, Isaiah says that every one of us would have despised him and turned to follow after more powerful or influential people like Caiaphas or Pilate, or Barabbas depending on our politics, or maybe even just our mood at the moment. The fact of the matter is that when the only true remedy for the guilt that tortures us and threatens us with eternal destruction appeared in the flesh, emotions were dead, faith was compromised, and minds were corrupted. And the same is sadly true today. How often are our hearts asleep in front of the cross? How often do we carelessly add sin upon sin to Christ’s back, unbothered by the load.How often do we remain unmoved by the seriousness of this sacrifice. Wouldn’t you rather look away? He was despised and we thought nothing of him. 

Christina Rossetti’s poem Good Friday asks a question and says a prayer that we need to hear tonight:  “Am I a stone, and not a sheep, That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy cross, To number drop by drop Thy blood’s slow loss, And yet not weep? Not so those women loved Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee; Not so fallen Peter, weeping bitterly; Not so the thief was moved; Not so the Sun and Moon Which hid their faces in a starless sky, A horror of great darkness at broad noon–I, only I. Yet give not o’er, But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock; Greater than Moses, turn and look once more And smite a rock.”  Her last sentence is a prayer, it plays off of the time Moses hit a rock with his staff to bring water in the desert and the look that Jesus gave Peter (whose name means rock) after his denial—the look which smited that rock caused him to weep. Is this not our prayer as well? That the Holy Spirit might strike us tonight through the Word, that we would see Jesus looking straight at us? That our hearts, like Peter’s, would soften as we might measure once again the danger past and value the grace of God which was so strong to save. And that we would always trust the promise that our God will never despise a contrite heart.

In Rembrandt’s famous painting, “The Raising of the Cross,” he painted himself into the picture as one of the men crucifying the Lord. Isaiah is doing that here. He’s not only describing the crucifixion of Christ, he’s telling our story too. Surely he was taking up our weaknesses, and he was carrying our sufferings. We thought it was because of God that he was stricken, smitten, and afflicted, 5 but it was because of our rebellion that he was pierced. He was crushed for the guilt our sins deserved. The punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. (Isaiah 53:4-6)  Do you see what he’s saying? Jesus was a man of sorrows, but they weren’t his own. He didn’t deserve them. They were our weaknesses, our sufferings, our rebellion, our guilt, our sin, our punishment. But in love, Jesus shouldered it all for our sake. He substituted himself for us at the cross. And God the Father did what we can hardly understand—he has shifted our blame to his perfect Son. He has laid on him the iniquity of us all.

But note the result. “By his wounds we are healed.” Jesus did this for a purpose. His death was not the result of ignorance but an exercise of deliberate control. He doesn’t want to be pitied. He was not overpowered. He laid his life down on his own authority. Don’t feel sorry for Jesus and miss the dignity of the Son of God, your Brother. He chose to do this. Why? Because by his wounds he knew that we would be healed. Think of it, Isaiah sees that by the very marks of death upon Christ we are made well. 

With each hammer blow that drove the nails, God was stamping the guarantee of your salvation. Each stream opened by the whip and every drop of blood which flowed from the crown, God used to wash away your sin. With every look of human condemnation, God was turning his own wrath upon Christ so that he could look on you with favor and give you peace. With every moment his weight hung upon that cross, God was unloading your burden of guilt onto his shoulders. The punishment that brought us peace was upon him and by his wounds we are healed. This is why we call it Good Friday. Because our Savior loved us so much. Because “for the joy set before him”—for the joy of seeing you in heaven—he “endured the cross and scorned its shame.”

Jesus knew what he was getting when he purchased you for himself. He counted the cost and paid the price out of love. As we look with Isaiah on the Suffering Servant—as we stare at those tire tracks in the field—we don’t need to wonder why we’re still alive. The love of God is so clearly shining in the darkness. Don’t miss the solemn joy of Good Friday—joy will even shine through an empty tomb on Easter morning. Let us simply bow our heads and give thanks to God.

We pray: Heavenly Father, When I survey the wondrous cross on which the Prince of glory died, my richest gain I count but loss, and pour contempt on all my pride. Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast, save in the death of Christ my God! All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to His blood. See from His head, His hands, His feet, sorrow and love flow mingled down! Did e’er such love and sorrow meet, or thorns compose so rich a crown? Were the whole realm of nature mine, that were an offering far too small. Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all. Amen.