Three Stories The Cross Tells

They change us now, they change us forever.

Maillefer’s Ecce Homo (1860s-1880s) Public Domain.

At the center of all history stands a Roman cross.

Together with the resurrection, it’s the culmination of the greatest story ever told.

But what story is it telling us? The Bible weaves multiple layers of meaning into Jesus’ death by crucifixion. Yet many Christians tend to focus on a single explanation of the cross, leaving others in the background. I probably still have this tendency myself.

Of course, it’s true that Scripture, from Genesis through Revelation, tells one unified story. Yet as every choir knows, harmonies don’t undermine a song’s cohesion. And when it comes to the music of biblical narrative, learning to hear each individual melodic line helps to increase our appreciation for the whole.

Drawing from a snippet of John Stott’s book, The Cross of Christ, we’ll consider three images that the Bible uses. Each, in a distinct way, illustrates how Jesus’ self-sacrifice transforms believers:

• Acquittal

• Redemption

• Adoption

Of course, even a “three-dimensional” view of the cross only scratches the surface of its meaning. None from this trio, for example, captures that God poured out his wrath against sin onto his blameless Son, thereby satisfying his righteous anger. Likewise, none clearly highlights Jesus’ role as the perfect sacrifice and his fulfillment of Israel’s complex system of atonement. One could go on.

The cross stands at a fork in the road. Its path of eternal life leads to a new heaven and a new earth. But the road of its rejection is the slippery slope to death and hell.

The cross also brings renewal, here and now, in our lives and our churches. How do these three stories—a courtroom acquittal, the purchase of a slave’s freedom, and the adoption of a child—serve that end? Could it be that untapped power for God-given change lies waiting to be discovered in them?

Let’s find out.

Acquittal

We’ll start by putting on a jumpsuit and sweating it out beneath the buzzing fluorescent lights. You’re in a courtroom, at the defendant’s table. And you know full well that you’re guilty of the crime you’ve been charged with. With a heavy conscience, you look up at the stone-faced judge. But his expression has changed. Somehow, it’s warmed. His wrinkle-lined face now shows compassion and mercy.

It doesn’t make sense—he’s heard the evidence of your guilt. The scene feels surreal as he says the words, “not guilty.”

And you, who were dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made alive together with him, having forgiven us all our trespasses by canceling the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands. This he set aside, nailing it to the cross. (Colossians 2:13-14)

By faith in Jesus Christ, the punishment for our crimes has been nailed to his cross. That’s why our debt before God has been canceled and a “not guilty” verdict can be returned. And yet as outlandish as that story is, it’s not all that Jesus has done for us:

For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God. (2 Corinthians 5:21)

Jesus not only paid the penalty for our sins on the cross. In a mind-bending statement, we’re told that he who knew no sin became sin as he hung there dying. In this lopsided exchange, we who are unrighteous become his perfect righteousness. Let that sink in.

So, as you walk out of the courtroom, you aren’t like a criminal who has been merely declared “not guilty.” Instead, you’re like someone who committed a crime and then—impossibly, it would seem—was declared righteous. When God looks upon his children in Christ, he chooses to see the righteousness of his sinless Son. It’s the best verdict we could ever receive.

Redemption

The Bible is filled with images of redemption—the act of purchasing a slave’s freedom. The most straightforward example is in Exodus, where the Lord sets the oppressed Hebrew people free.

“Therefore, say to the people of Israel, “I am the Lord, and I will bring you out from under the yoke of the Egyptians. I will free you from being slaves to them, and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with mighty acts of judgment.” (Exodus 6:6)

In the last of these mighty acts, God takes the life of every firstborn of Egypt. Not even Pharaoh’s own son is spared. But the Israelites are. Following God’s instruction, they smeared their doorposts with the blood of sacrificed lambs. As promised, God passed over them when judgment came. Devastated, Pharaoh finally relented, allowing the Hebrews to go free.

The New Testament builds on the theme of redemption, as shown here in one of its most famous passages:

All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Jesus Christ. (Romans 3:23-24)

The Israelites were spared by the blood of many lambs, but the church is redeemed by the blood of the sinless Lamb. Instead of the literal slavery of Exodus, the New Testament uses slavery to sin as a picture of moral corruption. On the cross, Jesus purchased our freedom from this slavery with his own blood.

Even after being freed from sin’s bondage, we still face temptation. But now we have the power to resist:

No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out. (1 Corinthians 10:13)

With the chains of sin broken, we are free to pursue lives of holiness. And as we’ll see next, our lives are now to be profoundly linked to God’s own.

Adoption

God wants us to be so aware of our connection to him that he calls us his own sons. This verse includes an echo of our past slavery to sin and ends with the joyful cry of a newly adopted child:

For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, “Abba! Father!” (Romans 8:14-15)

It’s nearly impossible for most of us to imagine what it would feel like to be an orphan, lonely and afraid, only to be suddenly adopted into a loving family. Yet this image stretches our hearts, helping us dimly grasp what that might be like.

We can recall, from earlier, the exchange of our sin for Christ’s righteousness. Something similar takes place with our adoption as sons. Consider Jesus’ cry near the end of his suffering:

About the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?” — which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46)

Once again, we see the pattern: Jesus’ loss is our gain. He bears the penalty for our sins, and we are declared righteous. He sheds his blood, which is used to purchase our freedom. Here, the true Son is forsaken by the Father so that we might be adopted.

Conclusion

Our status as sons of God carries more weight than modern ears may recognize. In the ancient world, the son was the heir, the one who received his father’s inheritance. That’s why “sonship” applies to women as well as men. All in Christ have the same right to the heavenly inheritance.

Yet receiving an inheritance requires patience. It’s true that here and now we are declared righteous, set free from sin’s bondage, and adopted as sons of God. It’s also true that we have to wait to experience the full meaning of those stories. These images God gives us on earth, powerful as they are, are only shadows of the ultimate reality that’s coming into being. They offer us fleeting glimpses of the eternal, as we wait for it to arrive in full.