“That is only logical.”
“And how is sin forgiven? Do not the Scriptures teach that it is by blood, by a sacrifice?”
“That is so; the Book of Leviticus instructs that it is blood shed on the altar that makes atonement for our lives, as blood contains life. But I must confess, I have always found this to be most troubling. To accept that without the shedding of blood there can be no forgiveness of sin entails belief in an exacting, vengeful God whose own forgiveness, and therefore whose own love, is conditional. Yet we have been taught that God’s love is unconditional.”
“We have been taught correctly, Mark; but you confuse unconditional love with unconditional forgiveness. All forgiveness must be conditional on something; for if forgiveness were automatic, sin and absence of sin would be of like effect, would they not?”
“I suppose so. But why should forgiveness be conditioned on sacrifice, of all things?”
“Let us consider your question by noting two aspects of the animal sacrifice that is prescribed in Leviticus—the victim’s vicarious bearing of the sins of the offeror, and the offeror’s giving up something of value. What is the symbolic meaning of the first aspect? Is it not to reinforce the notion that death is the penalty for sin?”
“Surely.”
“And is this death penalty not simply God keeping His word, keeping the bargain He made with Adam, that if he disobeys God by eating of the forbidden tree—the metaphor for sin—death will result?”
“I suppose it is.”
“Insisting on fulfilling a bargain cannot be unjust, can it?”
“No.”
“And if God also affords us a means of sparing the true sinner’s life through the vicarious sacrificing of an animal, that justice is tempered with mercy and love as well, is it not?”
“I see your point. God, being just, is not releasing us from our bargain, but He is deeming it satisfied vicariously.”
“Well, temporarily at least; we will come back to that in a moment. But now let us turn to the second aspect of sacrifice, that is, the giving up of something of value. Tell me: when one has wronged his neighbor in some way, is it not justice to require of the wrongdoer some recompense to make his neighbor whole, simply as restitution, and wholly apart from any motive of vengeance or retribution?”
“I agree.”
“And will not that recompense, that restitution, require some giving up of value, some sacrifice on the part of the giver?”
“Certainly.”
“Then once again, to condition forgiveness of sin on sacrifice for that sin may as easily demonstrate God’s justice, and not His vengeance; do you see?”
“Yes; I see your point.”
Timothy reached anew for the parchments, and spread them before us. “Here,” he pointed and read aloud:
A leper came to him, and kneeling before him beseeched, ‘If you will to do so, you can make me clean.’ And Jesus touched him and said, ‘I will it; be clean.’ Immediately the leprosy left him, and he was cured. And Jesus said to him, ‘Go and show yourself to the priest, and offer for your cure what Moses has prescribed.’
Even here, Mark, our Lord’s miracle, although occasioned by the leper’s faith and belief, was nevertheless followed by the command that the sacrifice prescribed by the Law must still be offered.”
After all the times I had heard Paul insist that even Jewish believers were free of the strictures of the Law, this passage gave me pause. “But that is what I do not understand, Timothy. Why was the leper’s faith alone not enough to merit forgiveness and cure from an unconditionally loving God, without further offering of sacrifice?”
“Perhaps the answer is best found by considering your objection that God’s love must be unconditional, side-by-side with the notion of God’s justice in requiring the death penalty as a sacrifice in discharge of sin in fulfillment of the bargain made with Adam. Do you not see how the two notions can be harmonized?”
“Tell me.”
“If God Himself were to provide the sacrifice—just as Abraham said to Isaac on their way to Moriah—surely that would demonstrate His love, would it not?”
“No doubt it would.”
“And if that sacrifice were truly an ultimate one, akin to that which Abraham was preparing to make of Isaac, surely then it could be said that God’s love was truly unconditional, could it not?”
“Assuredly; I cannot think of a greater sacrifice than the life of one’s only son.”
“Then forgiveness through sacrifice is fully consistent not only with God’s righteous demand that the ancient bargain be fulfilled, but also with God’s unconditional love for the forgiven—provided that God furnishes the sacrifice and that the sacrifice is sufficiently great, such as, for example, with the gift of God’s son.”
“I am constrained to agree.”
“Do you recall what our Lord said about himself as a sacrifice?” Timothy spread the parchments before us again, and began perusing them. “Here,” he gestured:
‘I have come not to be served but to serve, and to give my life as a ransom for many.’
If, then, Jesus is truly the Son of God, his sacrifice would satisfy your concern regarding the harmonization of God’s unconditional love and His forgiveness, would it not?”
“It would; but how can it be just for God to impose punishment and sacrifice on one for the sins of another?”
“Your point is well taken, Mark, but not your premise; for if Jesus voluntarily submitted to the punishment and sacrifice, we can no longer say that it was imposed upon him by God, can we?”
“No.”
“And is that not the import of what we have just read?”
“I suppose it is.” I was suddenly struck anew with wonder over how great must have been Jesus’ love, to take on such an ultimate sacrifice voluntarily. I imagined him conflicted as the hour approached, yet bending to the will of his Father. I imagined him praying, Father, you have the power to do all things. Take this cup from me. But let it be as you will, not as I will.
Timothy continued on. “Are we agreed, then, that God’s justice and His love would be merged in the sacrifice of His only Son as atonement for man’s sins?”
“We are. But is that the true import of our Lord’s death, Timothy? Is he truly the Son of God, literally rather than metaphorically, begotten rather than adopted? How could he be God, yet human? And, must we believe this in order to be saved? We must talk more about this!”
“And tomorrow, Mark, we shall.” Timothy had that familiar calmness in his voice again, unhurried and at ease. “But let us stop for today.”
With that, Timothy yawned. How he could possible be tired, how he could fail to be stimulated by this discussion to the point of excitement, was beyond my ability to fathom—unless it be that with wisdom there comes a certain serenity. Timothy was far and away the most serene person I had ever encountered. And serenity cannot easily be shaken.
Chapter 6
Our next destination was Pylos on the western coast of the Pelopon-nese—and according to Homeric legend the city of King Nestor, the wise elder statesman of the Greeks who sailed against Troy, and who later hosted Telemachus