This morning we have meeting with us one who has done a lot for us. You won’t see him by looking around, for he is with us not in body but in Spirit. That is a familiar enough expression, isn’t it — though in its spoken form we are not sure whether Spirit is spelt with a capital “S”. It is used not only in the Christian community but in the world at large. I wonder how the saying became part of our language. I have not made a profound study of its origin, but I suspect it originated in the very instance we have mentioned — the invisible presence of the Lord Jesus in the company of believers. This is a New Testament usage of the word Spirit; it is a genuine example of the present and continuing activity of the Holy Spirit; and because the form of words is so familiar we do not stop to query it.
I would like today to look at a less obvious way in which the work of Jesus and the work of the Spirit are interwoven — are in fact interchangeable ways of speaking. But I would like first to elaborate on my opening remark that Jesus has done a lot for us. It has become a matter of controversy — and how terribly sad it is that such an act of grace should be so treated — how much he did for us in his death, and how much he did for himself.
I will make no secret of my own allegiance in this matter. I believe that the whole emphasis of Scripture falls on what was accomplished for us. However, I believe it is wrong to establish one side of the argument or the other by regarding the death of Jesus as an isolated incident, and taking passages about his death as “proving” one case or the other. Even though we meet this morning to consider Jesus especially in his death, I believe the occasion is appropriate to view that death in its broad setting in the purpose of God. I believe this will do much to avoid the legalistic attitude that has characterized a great deal of discussion on the “atonement”, not only in our own community but down through the centuries.
We can start our consideration at Jesus’ birth — and some would think even that unduly restrictive. We tend to quote often the few words “born of woman, born under the law” — and of course he was. But let us make sure we are reading those words within their context in Gal. 4:
“But when the time had fully come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons”. What is implied here? The fulness of time did not refer to something needful for Jesus. To one who exists only as a pre-ordained certainty in the mind and purpose of the Eternal, time has not meaning. No, the time was measured in relation to those whom Christ came to redeem, and in particular that special group designated Abraham’s offspring, pictured in verse 2 as “under guardians and trustees until the date set by the father”.
Jesus, then, came into the world for us. If we had not existed, he would not have existed. If we had not been sinners, he would not have existed. Not that we should get our priorities mixed. It might seem true to say that before man set foot on the earth sinners existed in the mind of God, and for this reason there existed also a saviour of men. But Jesus himself did not list things in that order. He said, “Before Abraham was, I am”. Abraham was one of the long line of sinners who saw their need, and saw that only in God’s provision was the answer to that need. From the divine viewpoint, the Son came first, and sinners later.
The whole existence of Jesus, then — birth, ministry, death, resurrection — must be seen as a single drama devised by God on our account. I believe we must go further than this and see the physical earth as the stage on which the drama is played, with the sun and moon as necessary stage props. The work of God in his Son can be said to ante-date even the physical universe. Of what use to God would be an uninhabited universe? Of what use —on any continuing basis — would be an earth peopled with sinners? So then Jesus becomes the hub around which revolve not only the sinners saved by his blood but the earth, the sun, the moon and planets. This lends real significance to those otherwise puzzling words in Col. 1:17, “He is before all things, and in him all things hold together”. (R.S.V. used almost throughout).
We look, then, at the mortal life of Jesus —a life which, despite the limitations of the flesh, was one of perfect service to his Father, shown in loving service for his fellow men. The apostle Paul surely referred to a lifetime of obedience, and not merely to a crowning act of obedience, when he wrote to the Romans (5:18f):
“Then as one man’s trespass led to condemnation for all men, so one man’s act of righteousness leads to acquittal and life for all men. For as by one man’s disobedience many were made sinners, so by one man’s obedience many will be made righteous”.
From that lifetime of service we may select just one aspect — the ministry of healing. Not that we need to worry about details such as the frequency of healing, or the diversity of diseases that came within the scope of Jesus’ healing. But let us ask ourselves: why did he engage in this work? It was not merely to demonstrate the extent to which God’s Spirit was with him, although we have John’s testimony (3:34f): “For he whom God has sent utters the words of God, for it is not by measure that he gives the Spirit; the Father loves the Son, and has given all things into his hand.” It was not merely to validate the message he spoke, though to the unbelieving Jews he used the argument (John 10:37f): “If I am not doing the works of my Father, then do not believe me; but if I do them, even though you do not believe me, believe the works, that you may understand that the Father is in me and I am in the Father”. Nor was it to bring final conviction to the almost-disciples, though he instructed some (Matt. 11:4f): “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight and the lame walk, lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear, and the dead are raised up …”
But notice how this sentence continued, “… and the poor have good news preached to them”. The various acts of healing were inseparable from the good news that the Kingdom of God had burst upon men in the person of its King. This close connection was evident from the start: “And he went about all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and preaching the gospel of the kingdom and healing every disease and every infirmity among the people”.
What Jesus was doing, in fact, was showing forth that closeness, that real identity with those he came to save. He did not merely share with his fellow men a body of limited strength, and an environment of inevitable toil and sorrow; he made sure that his burden was real by taking their burdens upon himself. The prophet Isaiah had said, “Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows”; and while we are right to apply this also to the healing of spiritual sickness, Matthew is careful to use words that apply specifically to physical healing: “He took our infirmities and bore our diseases” (8:17).
When we come to the death of Jesus, there is a wealth of passages that emphasize his death for us. To preserve our purpose of seeing the broader sweep of his mission, we might try to pass over these to his resurrection. But we would be unsuccessful, for the two aspects are so closely linked as to be inseparable. The resurrection of Jesus was a vital part of the drama; not merely as a testimony to the perfection of his mortal life; not only as the ushering in of immortality for him as the only conceivable sequel to that life of righteousness that a righteous God could permit; not only as testifying to the justice of God himself; but as an integral part of our salvation: “If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins” (1 Cor. 15:17).
The unity of purpose is clearly stated in Romans (4:25): “. . . who was put to death for our trespasses and raised for our justification”. And it is brought out beautifully in the symbolism of the Revelation. In chap. 5, we find one of the elders saying, “Weep not; lo, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered. so that he can open the scroll and its seven seals.” So John watched as one went and took the scroll. One lion? No: “a Lamb standing, as though it had been slain”. And in chap. 22 we have still the vision of “the throne of God and of the Lamb”. Could language convey more vividly the singleness of plan, and of execution, than this delightful symbol of a slain lamb?
And then what? Having suffered the agonies of the cross, having triumphed over the grave, he ascended to the right hand of the Majesty on high. Why? To enjoy a well-earned spell after the tribulations of mortality? To sit down in splendid inactivity, awaiting the time for his return to reign visibly over the earth? Is this the end of his for-us-ness? The writer to the Hebrews does not leave any room for such an idea. Even the ascension is described in terms of an “inner shrine behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf” (6:20). In contrast with the Levitical priests, “Christ has entered, not into a sanctuary made with hands, a copy of the true one, but into heaven itself, now to appear in the presence of God on our behalf” (9:24). Repeatedly he speaks of Christ as high priest, and that not in any impersonal sense: “it was fitting that we should have such a high priest…” (7:26). That Jesus’ priesthood began only after his resurrection is specifically stated (8:4): “if he were on earth, he would not be a priest at all, since there are priests who offer gifts according to the law”.
But what exactly is the function of our high priest? We are told (2:18) that “because he himself has suffered and been tempted, he is able to help those who are tempted”. As to the nature of that help, we are told in the previous verse that “he had to be made like his brethren in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make expiation for the sins of the people”.
We notice that the expiation was for “sins”; and since Jesus was free from sins he was likewise free from the need for self-expiation. We note also that this is the very same work that we associate with his death; the continuity, then, does not cease with his resurrection and ascension. And thirdly, we notice that the wording leaves some room for ambiguity: does the “help” relate to forgiveness for sins that are past, or to strength in avoiding future sins, and thus avoiding the need for their expiation? The same problem remains in 4:15: after emphasising that our high priest was “tempted as we are, yet without sinning”, the writer continues, “Let us then with confidence draw near the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need”. If we have been guilty of a sin, our immediate need is for forgiveness — and that is offered by God’s grace on the basis of the atoning work of Jesus. If we are venturing into territory that has been the cause of temptation in the past, this too is a time of need, but here our need is for strength to overcome the evil one — and this help is available in the power of the risen Christ, given in response to prayer.
Now Paul, in writing to the Ephesians, used words very similar to those we have quoted from Hebrews, but with one addition: the mention of the Spirit. Jesus, he says, was the preacher and creator of peace; through him both Jews and Gentiles “have access in one Spirit to the Father”. Is it through the name of Jesus that we have access to the throne of grace, or is it through the Spirit of God? Since there cannot be two divergent ways to the same goal, is it possible that these are different ways of saying the same thing? It seems to me that the close connection between the Son of God and the Spirit of God is a facet of New Testament teaching which we have rather neglected — possibly because of our desire to avoid the faintest suggestion of “God the Son” and “God the Holy Spirit”. And yet it does have a practical bearing on our worship. If we are prayerful people, it behooves us to know what power we are invoking when we pray — unless indeed we think our words drift through the limitless space of the universe, never finding a home!
Paul didn’t think prayer was like that. When he wrote to the Philippians he was languishing in prison, awaiting a trial that could set him free or sentence him to death; and he said (1:19), “I know that through your prayers and the help of the Spirit of Jesus Christ this will turn out for my deliverance”.
Was this Spirit a miraculous power shown in the form of mighty works by a handful of believers? What then of Paul’s words in Gal. 4? We have already seen how it was “when the time had fully come” that God sent forth his Son “so that we might receive adoption as sons”. That passage continues: “And because you are sons God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying ‘Abba! Father!’.” Have you felt the Spirit of Christ at work in your heart, so that the Fatherhood of God becomes a real thing, a priceless gift? I hope so, because Paul told the Romans (8:9), “anyone who does not have the Spirit of Christ does not belong to him”.
There was nothing wishy-washy about this language as far as Paul was concerned. He was quite happy that people should look at the lives of his friends at Corinth and judge the worth-while-ness of his preaching by that yardstick. I wonder how he would feel about setting us up before the world and saying, “You yourselves are our letter of recommendation, written on your hearts, to be known and read by all men; and you show that you are a letter from Christ delivered by us, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God. not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts”? (2 Cor. 3:2f). Then he goes on to contrast the written code of the Old Covenant with the Spirit that gives life, and to link that Spirit with the work of the Lord Jesus. Could language make the point more strongly than in v. 17: “Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom”?
However, we were exploring one specific aspect of the work of Christ, namely his work as our high priest and its unity with the earlier phases of his work. We mentioned the twofold nature of the help available. We can see it again in the words of John (1 John 2:1): “My little children, I am writing this to you so that you may not sin; but if anyone does sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous”.
This notion of advocacy is the same as that of intercession which we have in Heb. 7,
“Consequently he is able for all time to save those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them”. Have we tried to think what this means in real terms? We must of course beware of over-literalism. H. B. Swete (The Ascended Christ, 1925, 95) warns that Jesus should be thought of not as “standing ever before the Father with outstretched arms, like the figures in the mosaics of the catacombs, and with strong crying and tears pleading our cause in the presence of a reluctant God; but as a throned Priest-King, asking what He will from a Father who always hears and grants His request. Our Lord’s life in heaven is His prayer”.
Let us return to Rom. 8, and look at verse 34. The words are similar to those we have been considering: “Who is he that condemneth? It is Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again, who is even at the right hand of God, who also maketh intercession for us”. (We have reverted to the A.V. here, since the RSV, from which we have been quoting, unaccountably presents this sentence in the form of a question.)
I would like to use this quotation to bind together the several threads which I have been trying to weave this morning. In the first place, it completes the chain of evidence that the story of the universe is the story of Jesus. And the story of Jesus is the story of God’s love for us. His mortal life of perfect obedience, his resurrection life of glory, the agony that separated these two — all are parts of an indivisible whole. To separate one phase of that whole and to insist that Jesus died for himself, is to miss the purpose of that whole. To say he suffered for the possession of our nature is to fail to ask why he possessed that nature. All, every last detail, was the expression of God’s love for us.
Secondly, may I draw attention to the words just preceding these in Rom. 8, where the work of intercession is attributed not to Jesus at all, but to the Spirit: I do not have either the time or the depth of perception to expound this paradox here, but may I leave it as a challenge, that we should think more deeply about the work of the Holy Spirit in our day and in our lives, and the identity of that work with the continuing work of our Lord and Master. Here is what Paul says (vv. 26,27): “Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words. And he who searches the hearts of men knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God”.
Finally, I certainly hope we have seen more here than a theological exercise. If we will but receive it, there is a wealth of comfort in this passage and in its picture of the Lord of glory, patiently pleading on behalf of weak, sinful men and women — you and me.
He died, but lives always,
And in the holy standsTo plead for saints who pray,
To hold up failing hands.