In this morning’s New Testament reading
we heard the story of what may be one of Jesus’ best-known miracles. Mark gives
us the picture of Jesus in a house with people crowding around him on every
side, jam-packed right to the door. As Jesus is teaching, noises are heard from
above, then dust and little bits and pieces start falling from the ceiling, a
shaft of light opens up, and last but not least, slowly a man is lowered on a
mat into the middle of the room. I can only imagine that everyone was wondering
what was going to happen next. But I bet no one could have predicted that Jesus
would do what he did, as he turned to the man and said to him, “Son, your sins
are forgiven.”
Then the reaction began to set in. Not a word was uttered. It didn’t need to be.
The atmosphere of shocked condemnation could be felt throughout the room as
much as the dust still hanging in the air. “Why does this fellow talk like
that?” “He’s blaspheming!” “Who can forgive sins but God alone?”
So what did it mean for Jesus to forgive
that paralyzed man? What was he doing that seemed so radical, even heretical,
to some of those in the room that day? To look for an answer, I want us to turn
to the Old Testament passage we also read a few minutes ago, Psalm 51.
It is recognized as the greatest expression
of penitence in all of Scripture. One Bible Commentary goes so far as to say, “As
an expression of a heart overwhelmed by shame, humbled and broken by guiltiness,
and yet saved from despair through penitential faith in the mercy of God, this
poem is unsurpassed.”[1] No doubt that is why it forms the core of the Ash Wednesday service
in many churches, including our own.
Of the 150 psalms in the Old Testament,
half are attributed to King David. But of those seventy-five, only three
contain a precise reference to the circumstances that gave rise to them. And
curiously each of these arises out of a low point in David’s life. Two of them
were composed during the uprising fomented by his rebellious son Absalom, when
David was forced to flee for his life into the wilderness. The psalm we are
looking at this morning, however, is the expression of what was undoubtedly the
lowest point in David’s life—and unlike the others, it was a low point entirely
of his own making.
Many of us will be familiar with the story
of David’s infatuation with Bathsheba, the wife of his most loyal general,
Uriah the Hittite; of how that infatuation led to adultery; of Bathsheba’s resulting
pregnancy; and finally of how David cunningly engineered Uriah’s death in the
field of battle. Had it not been for the courage of one man, the prophet
Nathan, David’s treachery might never have been found out. Now we find David
with his face to the ground, crying out through his tears, “Have mercy on me, O
God…”
The psalm is a study in repentance. But
that repentance would have been meaningless, were it not for a far greater fact—the
fact of God’s forgiveness. The conviction that our God is a God who forgives is
one that runs from one end of the Bible to the other. Way back on Mount Sinai
God had revealed himself to Moses as
“the Lord, the Lord, the compassionate and gracious
God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness, maintaining love to
thousands, and forgiving wickedness, rebellion and sin”
(Exodus 34:6-7a). Centuries later
this same truth is echoed in Nehemiah’s prayer on behalf of his wayward people:
“But you are a forgiving God, gracious
and compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in love” (Nehemiah 9:17). And elsewhere in the Psalms we read, “But with you there is forgiveness…” (Psalm 130:4a).
But what does it mean
for God to forgive? That is what this morning’s psalm is all about. And it
comes to us in a series of verb clusters. If you have a
Bible open in front of you, we’ll take a look at each of them in turn.
Wipe, wash, cleanse
You can find the first cluster in verses 1,
2, 7 and 9. It involves words that all have to do with “wiping out”, “washing
away” or “cleansing”. The first of them, which our New International Version
Bibles translates “blot out”, has to do with making a correction in a book,
whether it was removing a stain or cancelling a debt. I am told that in the
ancient world the way you erased something on a leather scroll was not by
blotting, but by washing or sponging off the ink. So perhaps “wipe out” is a
better translation than “blot out”—especially when you consider that the word
is used elsewhere for wiping a dish clean.[2]
Later, in the writings of the prophet
Isaiah we read of the Lord,
“I, even I, am he who wipes out
your transgressions, for my own sake,
and remembers your sins no more.” (Isaiah 43:25)
your transgressions, for my own sake,
and remembers your sins no more.” (Isaiah 43:25)
So it is, when God wipes out our sins, not
a trace of them is left—and this is made clear in the two other words that
David uses in his prayer: in verses 2 and 7: “wash away” and “cleanse”.
When I was a boy there was a detergent
called Omo. I haven’t checked the grocery store to see if it’s still on the
market and I don’t think we ever used it in our household. But what I remember
about it is the ads: “Omo washes not only clean, not only white, but bright!
Omo adds bright, bright, brightness.”
Now in the ancient world there was no such
thing as Omo. For clothes to be washed they had to be beaten on rocks. When I
visited Haiti a few years ago I remember mothers doing this in a stream that
ran by a school sponsored by our church—and I’ve never seen school children in
such sparkling white clothes as I did there. So to quote one author the washing
we’re talking about here is “not a polite rinse but a thorough scrub”.[3] And when it comes to the stain of sin, even that is not enough. As
we read from the prophet Jeremiah,
“Although you wash yourself
with soap
and use an abundance of cleansing powder,
the stain of your guilt is still before me,”
declares the Sovereign Lord. (Jeremiah 2:22)
and use an abundance of cleansing powder,
the stain of your guilt is still before me,”
declares the Sovereign Lord. (Jeremiah 2:22)
Yet though we may not
have the power to cleanse ourselves from our sins, we have a God who does. The
Bible assures us,
If we
confess our sins, [God] is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and cleanse
us from all unrighteousness.
(1 John 1:9)
(1 John 1:9)
Though your sins are like scarlet,
they shall be as white as snow;
though they are red as crimson,
they shall be like wool. (Isaiah 1:18)
they shall be as white as snow;
though they are red as crimson,
they shall be like wool. (Isaiah 1:18)
Hide your face
The next expression that David uses—and
you’ll find it in verse 9—is a curious one: “Hide your face from my sins.” What does it mean for God to hide
his face from my sins? Way back at the beginning of creation Adam and Eve tried
to hide from God after they had sinned, and it didn’t work.
Last week our older son
celebrated a significant birthday, and Karen and I presented him with an album
of pictures we had taken of him over the years. Needless to say, we were
careful to omit any that might be embarrassing or less than complimentary! One
of the things I have said about myself more than once is that I have no desire
to have to sit through the complete video of my life. There are just too many
things that I have done, words that I have spoken, not to mention attitudes
that I have harboured, of which I am ashamed.
So was David asking
God to play pretend? I don’t believe so. In spite of the level of moral
degradation to which his sin had plummeted him, David nevertheless still had a
profound appreciation of the wonder of God’s forgiveness. That is, when God
forgives our sins, he forgives them utterly. As we read from the prophet Micah,
“You will tread our sins underfoot and hurl all our iniquities into the depths
of the sea” (Micah 7:19). Corrie ten
Boom shed vivid light on this truth in an experience she had following the
Second World War. Perhaps some of you have heard it before, but I’ll repeat it
again because it is so memorable.
The year was 1947, and I had come from
Holland to defeated Germany with the message that God forgives. This was the
truth they needed most to hear in that bitter, bombed‐out land, and I gave them my favourite mental picture. Maybe because
the sea is never far from a Hollander’s mind, I liked to think that that’s
where forgiven sins were thrown. “When we confess our sins,” I said, “God casts
them into the deepest ocean, gone forever. And even though I cannot find a
scripture for it, I believe God then places a sign out there that says, NO
FISHING ALLOWED.”[4]
“No fishing allowed.” When God forgives our
sins, he forgives them fully, finally and forever.
Restore, rescue
We come now to our third set of words, the
first of which is “restore”. If you check a concordance, you will find that the
verb for “restore” is found more than a thousand times in the Old Testament. At
its heart it means simply “turn around” or “return”. And so more often than not
it is speaking about our human part in the process of repentance. Back in the
dark ages when I was a teenager, our morning service at church would often
begin with these words:
Seek ye the Lord while he may be found,
call ye upon him while he is near:
Let the wicked forsake his way,
and the unrighteous man his thoughts:
and let him return unto the Lord,
and he will have mercy upon him;
and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon.
(Isaiah 55:6-7)
call ye upon him while he is near:
Let the wicked forsake his way,
and the unrighteous man his thoughts:
and let him return unto the Lord,
and he will have mercy upon him;
and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon.
(Isaiah 55:6-7)
Now you can see that these verses emphasize
what is required of us in dealing with the sin in our lives. But when David
uses this word it is the other way around. In verse 14, he uses exactly the
same word when he calls upon God to “restore to me the joy of your salvation”. Why? Because David
recognizes that without God’s sovereign intervention true restoration is not
possible. The author of Psalm 126 had the same thought in mind when he sang,
“Restore our fortunes, Lord, like streams in the desert” (Psalm 126:3).
Linked with that is another word David
uses, this time in verse 14: “deliver”. I prefer to translate it, “rescue”,
since when most people think about “deliver” these days, what they generally
have in mind is a package from Amazon arriving at their door. At its root the
word has the basic sense of pulling something out. As David cries out
elsewhere,
I sink in the miry
depths,
where there is no foothold …
Rescue me from the mire,
do not let me sink… (Psalm 69:2,14)
where there is no foothold …
Rescue me from the mire,
do not let me sink… (Psalm 69:2,14)
So it is that God
finds us up to our necks in a substance that I won’t mention from the pulpit,
and he reaches down and lifts us up and cleans us off and sets us on our feet
again: another picture of forgiveness.
Now shift back to the
little house in Capernaum and to Jesus’ words, “Son, your sins are forgiven.”
In those five short words are concentrated all that I have been at pains to say
for the last fifteen minutes. “Your sins have been wiped out.” “You are washed,
cleaner than any human effort could make you.” “Your sins have been hidden in a
place where even God himself chooses not to find them.” “You have been rescued,
lifted out of a pit from which you could never have escaped on your own.”
Lent is a season of
repentance. And today you and I have the freedom to repent because we have a
God who forgives—and because we have a Saviour who cried, “Father, forgive them…”
And those words were meant not only for those who stood beneath his cross, but
for you and me today.
