In Exodus 12, we find God’s people, the Israelites, trapped as slaves in Egypt for over 400 years. And God hears their cries and he shares his rescue plan with his people. He orders them to select a one-year old male lamb without defect. After four days, they are to slaughter it, eat it, and smear its blood above their doorposts. Picking it up in verse 12, God says, “On that same night I will pass through Egypt and strike down every firstborn of both people and animals, and I will bring judgment on all the gods of Egypt. I am the LORD. The blood will be a sign for you on the houses where you are, and when I see the blood, I will pass over you. No destructive plague will touch you when I strike Egypt.” He orders them to every year at a certain time, select a lamb, sacrifice it, and eat it in remembrance of God saving them. And you know the rest of the story—God passes over his people, sends a plague upon Egypt, and sets his people free.
Fast forward about 1500 years and we arrive in Jerusalem. We find Jesus and his disciples going to the temple to celebrate the anniversary of deliverance God had given to the Israelites from slavery in Egypt. To celebrate Passover.
Imagine with me Matthew 21:1-11 and the triumphal entry from a little different perspective…
15 year old Sam woke up with excitement. The day had finally come. Overflowing with anticipation, he set his feet on the ground and said a prayer, “God, thank you for rescuing us from Egypt. Thank you for setting us free from slavery. Thank you for sparing your people. Thank you for hearing our cries. Thank you for passing us over.” And like a good Jewish boy, he readied himself for his six mile walk to Bethlehem. “Are you ready?” he asked his father. “Son, I meant to tell you,” the father explained, “Since you are a young man now, I think you should go to Bethlehem by yourself this year. I have some things I need to take care of.” Sam replied, “But how will I know which one to choose?” His father cut him off, “You’ll know son. You’ll know.”
Strapping on his helmet and sword, the father hugged his son and headed out on a mission. Sam loved his Dad. He admired his passion for the Jewish people. He was zealous. In fact, his father and his friends were called zealots—because at certain times of the year, especially Passover, they would get extra zealous. They would revolt against Roman rule and try to overthrow their regime with force. Political freedom is what they longed for. In fact, many Jews would actually step up and claim to be Messiahs. Sam feared his Dad’s passion for his people was out of control.
And so Sam, on a beautiful, crisp sunny morning, set out by himself on a mission. To find a lamb. And not just any lamb. While he walked, Sam repeated to himself, “One-year old male. Unblemished. One year old male. Unblemished.” For this was the Lord’s requirement. The Passover feast was just four days away and he felt the weight of responsibility to select the perfect lamb for his family. And so he set off for Bethlehem—where all the lambs came from.
As he made his way out of Jerusalem, he walked briskly. The streets were crawling with Roman soldiers. They were preparing for the annual Jewish uprising. Sam worried he would never see his Dad alive again. As he stepped outside the walls of the city and began to walk towards Bethlehem, he heard something. Shouting. Yelling. Singing. A commotion like never before. “Oh no,” he thought, “The zealots are at it again.”
As he walked up the hill towards the Mount of Olives, someone handed him a palm branch and he took it—clueless about what was happening. He laid it on the road like everyone else. He looked up the hill and noticed the road was completely covered with palms and cloaks. He remembered his Dad telling him about this tradition. Covering the path of someone was a way to honor them. It signified triumph and victory. He took a coin out of his pocket and gazed at the engraved palm branch. The palm branches were not a symbol of peace and love, they were a symbol of Jewish nationalism, an expression of the people’s desire for political freedom. “My Dad must be nearby,” Sam thought.
He could barely hear himself think—people were yelling at the top of their lungs, “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the King of Israel.” “Who are they talking about?” Sam asked the man next to him. The man replied, “Well, it’s our king. The one to save us from the Romans. We have been waiting for him a long time!” He recognized the word “Hosanna” as a slogan his Dad used a lot, which meant, “Please save us! Give us freedom! We’re sick of these Romans!”
“Someone else claiming to be the Messiah,” Sam thought. “What if it was my Dad?” he thought.
And then he saw him. He saw the one people were yelling about. But it didn’t make sense. Warring kings rode horses, not donkeys. Warring kings adorned themselves with gold, not dirty garments. Even though this man was the center of attention, it didn’t seem like he wanted to be. As the man drew closer, Sam saw something on his cheek. There were tears. But kings didn’t cry. And if they did it was never in public. Sam looked at the donkey—hunched over just like the man riding it. Immediately, Sam realized something. He remembered that the donkey is the symbol of peace. And he tried to tell the man next to him, “He is coming to wage peace, not war!”
One man walking right next to Jesus yelled joyfully in a loud voice, “He raises the dead, makes the blind see, the deaf hear, the lame walk, and he even calms storms! Behold, the Lamb of God!”
Sam stopped in his tracks. His heart skipped a beat. What was that? “The lamb of God?” Suddenly he sensed he wasn’t supposed to go to Bethlehem. He would postpone his trip. Besides, it seemed like everyone else was. “Dad would understand,” he thought. He followed the man on the donkey. And the more he gazed at him, the more he reminded him of a lamb.
They walked through the Sheep’s gate and into Jerusalem. “What a coincidence?” Sam thought. “Someone claiming to be the lamb of God, on lamb selection day, passing through the Sheep’s Gate—the traditional entrance for all Jews to bring their selected lambs.” “What if he was from Bethlehem?” Sam thought out loud. “Actually, he was born there,” someone nearby explained. Sam felt something amazing was happening. There were too many incredible coincidences. He was too curious. He didn’t want to miss out. So he kept following. And he couldn’t take his eyes off that lamb…
Friends, we are all on the road. We have a responsibility. A mission. To select a lamb. Which one will we choose? Will we keep walking to Bethlehem—or will we realize Bethlehem has come to us? What kind of king are we looking for? Are we ready for a different kind of king? He is the king of kings and the lord of lords, but he is the prince of peace—gentle and riding on a donkey. Do we see him? Do we know him? The lamb of God?
So put yourself in Sam’s shoes. What does the lamb look like? The true Messiah?
He was the simple Lamb. A lamb is the simplest of God’s creatures. It has no schemes or plans for helping itself – it exists in helplessness and simplicity. Jesus made Himself as nothing for us, and became the simple Lamb. He had no strength of His own or wisdom of His own, no schemes to get Himself out of difficulties, just simple dependence on the Father all the time. Jesus says in John 5:19, “The Son can do nothing of Himself, but only what he sees the Father do.” We read in Isaiah 53:2 that “He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.” He emptied Himself and took the nature of a servant.
Are we simple? Like the lamb? How complicated we are! May we embrace simplicity and find freedom. May we be wholly dependent on the one who supplies all our needs. May we believe that less is more. That as we decrease, He will increase. May we beware of the slippery slope that is having more and more stuff. And may we be simple, like Jesus, the lamb of God…
He was also the shorn Lamb. Just as a lamb is shorn of its wool, Jesus was willing to be shorn of His rights, His reputation, and every human liberty due to Him. He never resisted. After all, a lamb never does. “He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; he was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth” (Isa. 53:7). When He was reviled for our sakes, He reviled not again. When He suffered, He threatened not. He never said, “You cannot treat Me like that. Don’t you know I am the Son of God?”
So may we, like Jesus, be shorn of our rights. And like a lamb, die to ourselves, and surrender…
Then further, He was the silent Lamb. “As a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so He did not open His mouth.” Facing the ridicule of men, we read, “He answered nothing.” He never defended Himself, nor explained Himself. Jesus came and totally flipped the definition of ‘strong’ upside down. What you think is strong, he said, isn’t actually strong. And what you think is weak, isn’t actually weak. Jesus introduced that ‘weak’ is the new ‘strong’. He modeled that turning the other cheek, putting away your sword, and keeping your mouth closed is actually strength. Resisting saying what is so easy to say is a sign of strength. Here’s a guy who was the most misunderstood, wrongly accused person in the history of mankind. A perfectly innocent man sentenced to execution. He had plenty of reasons to defend himself. But he remained silent. Because he loved them.
You know, when Jesus was being baptized, the Holy Spirit descended on the lamb of God like a dove. Because the lamb is the meekest and most gentle of animals, a dove feels comfortable resting on it. Are we a receptive vessel for the Holy Spirit? May we take the posture of a lamb, and may the Holy Spirit, like a dove, rest on us…
He was also the spotless Lamb. Not only did nothing escape His lips, but there was nothing in His heart but love for those who had sent Him to the Cross. There was no resentment towards them, no grudges, no bitterness. Jesus wept aloud, because he had nothing but love in his heart for them. And he knew the only way was the way of the cross. Our friend Sam was sent on a mission by his father to find a spotless lamb. Of course, there was no such thing. Jesus was sent by his father on a mission—to BE the spotless lamb. Without blemish. Blameless. Without default. Without sin.
Our spotfulness reminds us of his spotlessness. Our sinfulness reminds us of his sinlessness. Our greed reminds us of his grace. And our lust reminds us of his love. So may we not select the lambs of the world to cover our spots, but may we select the spotless lamb of God to cover our spots…with His blood…
For He is not only the simple, shorn, silent, and spotless Lamb, but above everything else He is the substitute Lamb. Jesus came to the people as the Lamb of God. Jesus, the sinless Messiah who would die on humankind’s behalf. ”He who knew no sin became sin for us” (2 Cor. 5:21).
It was 3:30pm on June 14, 2003. My cheeks were sore from smiling. My shoulders sore from standing up straight. And my heart was beating a mile minute—because the moment had finally come. Canon and D echoed beautifully in the Calvin chapel. And then I saw her. The one people were waiting for. The blond twin from Wisconsin, the softball player with a cannon for an arm, the girl with a smile that could stop a freight train. As she walked down the aisle, everything faded to the background. A bomb could have gone off and I wouldn’t have known. A thought crossed my mind, “She is perfect. And she is mine? I don’t deserve this. She chooses me? Out of all the guys out there—she picked me?” Tears rolled down my face and I cried like a baby in front of all my friends and family. “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” the Pastor asked. And, with tears streaming down his face, my future father in law said, “Her Mother and I.”
Friends, we’ve all been sent on a mission to find the one. And here we are at the altar. Messed up. Screwed up. Lost. Hurting. Confused. Guilt-ridden. But, like a father releases his bride, our Father in Heaven has released his lamb. His only lamb. For you and I. Our hearts go pitter patter as the lamb draws towards us. For he is simple, shorn, silent, and spotless. The perfect and permanent substitute. We are undeserving of such spotless love. But the lamb comes anyway—and the Father entrusts us with his one and only.
So may our eyes be fixed on the lamb. May we know his blood was poured out on the cross so we might receive the forgiveness of sins. So we might cry out, “Hosanna!” Not because He has saved us from the world, but from our sins. May we accept this beautiful, spotless bride as our own and say “I do.” May we, as underdogs, celebrate and jump for joy because we have been selected and chosen by God to be His beloved. May we know that the criteria was impossible for us to achieve—but that Christ has met it perfectly for us. May we celebrate the greatest victory of all time—Christ’s trampling over death by death—and washing away our sins forever. May we discover that the more we watch the lamb, the more we become like him.
Like Jesus.