Filthy

I have to be honest, there are times I’ve spent several days fairly motionless, and do not feel as though I need to shower. However, a single whiff from an armpit causes me to reassess such a decision, even though I feel perfectly hygienic.

I usually crave a good washing when I’ve spent the past several hours in profuse perspiration. I’m not sure whether my heightened desire derives from the visible dirt that coats my skin, or from the memory of cleanliness that is so fresh in my mind. Either way, in those instances I’m fully aware of my filth.

Contrast this with the habit of hand washing. Even though the spread of bacteria is common knowledge, I can’t tell you how often I’ve witnessed men move from a bathroom stall to the restroom exit without so much as a glance towards the sink. And how often do we think about washing our hands before we eat, especially when we dine at a restaurant?

I guess it’s easy to dismiss what we can’t see or feel.

I think sin is the same way. It’s easy to develop selective amnesia towards our own folly when we cannot visibly observe the scummy buildup of our immorality. Why else would hard-core criminals, convicted murderers and rapists, admit to believing that they were “good” people? We have a propensity to elevate our virtue high above it’s true level, and compare our waste to the soiled beings around us, rather than to the fresh, spotless perfection that a righteous God expects.

Perhaps this sheds light on why some compare Jesus on the Cross to cosmic child abuse. It’s easy to think that an occasional good deed would be sufficient to cleanse us of our transgressions if all we needed were a spiritual bath. But the truth of the matter is, we aren’t just dirty, we aren’t just broken and bruised. The Bible clearly states that rebellion from God deserves “death.”

Ravi Zacharias says, “Jesus did not come to make bad people good, but dead people live.” Jesus confirms this when compared the sinners to the sick (Matthew 9:12). He did not come for the unclean or the broken, but for the terminally ill. And we all have been diagnosed with the same disease.

James Edwards gives us this insight: “The doctrine of atonement obviously hangs on the doctrine of sin. A physician who removes a leg because of a splinter is a monster. A physician who removes a leg because of cancer or gangrene, on the other hand, is a hero who saves his or her patient's life. It all depends on the nature and seriousness of the problem.”

Why else would Isaiah write, “It pleased the Father to crush him”?

I can only conclude that if sin were merely a splinter, an infection that God could simply remove, then the cross would be meaningless. But Calvary confirms the seriousness of our offense. Even though we cannot see or feel it’s grime, its contamination is real and its infectious result is deadly.