L, P)But...
Illustration
(L, P)
"But I was like a gentle lamb led to the slaughter." (vs. 19) What a dynamic image!
Every year it's repeated, necessarily, on countless farms in countless countries. Animals are herded up for the slaughter. By and large we are protected from watching the killing. The trucks on the highway that carry the animals seldom make us think of their approaching death. Even meat in a grocery store doesn't remind us of flesh. It's simply "food," like any vegetable, cereal, fruit or jelly.
That changed one fall, however, when a certain pastor watched the slaying of a young steer. A single shot from the small caliber rifle was all it took, and the brown-eyed beauty knelt down to die. The farmer that necessarily pulled the trigger walked quietly to the other side of the barn. There was no joy in the kill, as life he had watched develop ebbed quickly away. The innocent steer had given up life in order that a family may feed for another year.
The gentle lamb led to the slaughter is none other than Jesus the Christ. Like meat in the supermarket not reminding us of living flesh, the slaughter of Christ hardly touches us at all, until we hear the sound of the nail, the cries of the crowd, and the weeping of the mother. Then, and only then, does the death become real, the sacrifice essential, the purpose ours. Then does "The Feast of Victory" remind us of the sacrifice that made it possible.
-- Bansemer
"But I was like a gentle lamb led to the slaughter." (vs. 19) What a dynamic image!
Every year it's repeated, necessarily, on countless farms in countless countries. Animals are herded up for the slaughter. By and large we are protected from watching the killing. The trucks on the highway that carry the animals seldom make us think of their approaching death. Even meat in a grocery store doesn't remind us of flesh. It's simply "food," like any vegetable, cereal, fruit or jelly.
That changed one fall, however, when a certain pastor watched the slaying of a young steer. A single shot from the small caliber rifle was all it took, and the brown-eyed beauty knelt down to die. The farmer that necessarily pulled the trigger walked quietly to the other side of the barn. There was no joy in the kill, as life he had watched develop ebbed quickly away. The innocent steer had given up life in order that a family may feed for another year.
The gentle lamb led to the slaughter is none other than Jesus the Christ. Like meat in the supermarket not reminding us of living flesh, the slaughter of Christ hardly touches us at all, until we hear the sound of the nail, the cries of the crowd, and the weeping of the mother. Then, and only then, does the death become real, the sacrifice essential, the purpose ours. Then does "The Feast of Victory" remind us of the sacrifice that made it possible.
-- Bansemer
