“Your punishment must be more severe”

“But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned-every one-to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all” Isaiah 53:5-6

These words are probably not new to you. These words are famous. They come from one of the many prophecies that Jesus fulfilled in order to vanquish any uncertainty that he was the true Son of God. And this particular one is often rolled out because it is very transparent to see how Jesus has lived up to this prophesy: “he was pierced for our transgressions” is a blatant allusion to his crucifixion. However, this passage is a piece of scripture that should weigh heavily upon us, that should painfully contort our soul as we meditate upon it. For I promise you, to allow Isaiah’s Spirit-penned words to resonate within your inner being is to dive further into the depths of God’s love, which finds its fullness and validation on two wooden crossbeams at Golgotha.

In ‘The Dark Night Rises’, Christopher Nolan’s epic conclusion to the Dark Knight trilogy, Batman is engaged in a ferocious battle with the film’s antagonist, Bane. It quickly becomes apparent that Batman, having just come out of retirement, is no match for the strength, pace and skilfulness of Bane. And after toying with him for some time, Bane finally grabs Batman and breaks his back with a horrifying crack over his knee. Batman is imprisoned and, as he lies nearly paralysed, asks Bane with a deep sense of confusion,

“Why didn’t you just…kill me?”

In a chilling response, Bane outlines how he plans to destroy Gotham, drain every last dredge of hope from Batman, and then he will finally kill him. A horrified Bruce Wayne is left to marinate in Bane’s final words to him before leaving,

“Your punishment must be more severe”

Herein lies the true, sadistic torture of Batman, of Bruce Wayne. It is not merely the agonising physical affliction, but the internal terror. And we do not grasp the magnitude of Christ’s sacrifice if we focus solely on the inflicted wounds of the whips and the nails. For in comparison to the multitude of Christian martyrs, Jesus is not impressive or noble or regal. Ignatius, an early church father, was reported to have said, as he heard the ravenous lions roaring before they were set upon him, “I am the wheat of Christ: I am going to be ground with the teeth of wild beasts, that I may be found pure bread”. Conversely, Jesus in despair and destitution cries to the Father in Matthew 27, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”. Is Christ found to be faltering at the last hurdle, after performing admirably throughout his previous 33 years?

No. Christ faces the chastisement, the punishment, that God’s redeemed people should have been subjected to. If Hell is the logical trajectory of separation from God, then the Son is torn away from the Father and Spirit. The Trinity, a community of mutual love and worship, active from eternity past, is fractured, and Jesus endures eternal damnation a million times over in mere hours.  A man who’s entire ministry and rejection of temptation was predicated on his dependence on the Holy Spirit is reduced to a bloody, pulped shell wherein lies pain without comfort or reprieve. A man of sorrows.

And yet, if spoken aloud, this passage will yield a profound juxtaposition. After the intense howl of anguish comes the whispering that, with courage, dares to proclaim that this punishment has, “brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed”. To say that the gospel is primarily about God forgiving our sins is a great injustice to the character of God. For the same hollowed hands pinned to the cross are the ones that tightly embrace us as we are adopted into the family of God. For we are not just forgiven, but accepted. We are nurtured and cared for and transformed by the Righteous Judge who now instead adopts the role of our Heavenly Father. This grace operates on two levels, none of which are logical or rational, but motivated by an unrelenting, costly love that causes the glory of God to radiate throughout the entire universe.

The harrowing account of Jesus’ death is not to make us feel guilty. Rather, we are to be convicted of the terrible price our rebellion incurs, and incandescently overjoyed that Christ looked at us while we were still ugly and broken, and even then thought that it was all worth it. 

This love changes us, a concept beautifully landscaped by John Newton

“Our pleasure and our duty

Though opposite before

Since we have seen his beauty

Are joined to part no more”

Soli Deo Gloria

Jack