The Substitute
I sat down with my Bible today and turned to an unlikely book: Numbers. Something I had read in passing elsewhere had caught my attention and I'd wanted to read more. As I turned the pages reading that story, I realized there was far more to uncover here. I flipped to the beginning of the book. I read through the census, the organizing of the family groups, the ordination of the Levites in their service in the sanctuary. And then this:
"The Lord said to Moses, 'I have taken the Levites from among the Israelites in place of the first male offspring of every Israelite woman. The Levites are mine, for all the firstborn are mine. When I struck down all the firstborn in Egypt, I set apart for myself every firstborn in Israel, whether man or animal. They are to be mine. I am the Lord.'" (Numbers 3:11-13)
Why had I never heard this before?
An entire clan in place of the offering God had required? Why the Levites? Why couldn't the Israelites give their own children? Why was a stand-in chosen, required, to fullfill the obligation?
And then I saw it.
I heard echoes down through the centuries, a common thread that suddenly wound itself in crimson from the pages of Numbers through all the pages of all the books of the Bible.
I had heard this before.
In Egypt, the firstborn of the Israelites had been spared. They had been covered under the blood of lambs when the angel of death had passed by. The punishment for the Egyptian disobedience had been death. The blessing of God's people was that they had been passed over, spared from death. They had been delivered. They were indebted to a God who had set them apart.
The Israelites were to be a holy nation, a nation separate, a consecrated people. In order to consecrate the whole, the first of everything--the crops, the livestock, the offspring--had to be given to God. But the Israelites had fallen short. They were sinful, ordinary people. Their debt had not been paid.
They were not a holy people. The paragraphs before and those that follow this passage detail how again and again the Israelites sinned. Again and again they failed to keep their commitments to God. Again and again they fell short. Something, someone, was needed to stand in the gap. A holy offering to a holy God from an unholy people? A substitute was needed.
The Levites were separate. They were purified, consecrated, made holy for service to God. Their entire lives were given to the service, the outpouring of worship, the offering of themselves to God. They were, in God's eyes, a holy people. A holy offering to a holy God from a holy people. A substitute.
The crimson thread wound its way through all the stories to my story. The punishment for my disobedience had been death. The blessing of being God's child was that I had been passed over, spared from death. Delivered. But the debt remained. A holy gift to a holy God from me, an unholy, imperfect person? A substitute was needed.
The idea of the Gospels--this extravagant, almost-reckless story of God's substitution for my own offering, it's nothing new. It was not a sudden plan worked in the desperation of centuries of disobedience. It had been echoing, growing, throughout the pages of every story of every book. A substitute had always been needed. A holy God required holiness, and we had none to give. Someone had to intercede. Someone had to pay the debt we had no means to pay. Our currency was not the currency of heaven. We were helpless to fulfill our commitment without intercession.
The blood of the lambs on the doorposts, the giving of the Levites in place of the firstborn--the story was being told all along. The revolutionary idea of Easter was written into our story from the very beginning, being worked in ever growing detail into the fabric of our faith.
A holy substitute. Our debt paid in full when we had no means, no currency, with which to pay.
Breathtaking.
"The Lord said to Moses, 'I have taken the Levites from among the Israelites in place of the first male offspring of every Israelite woman. The Levites are mine, for all the firstborn are mine. When I struck down all the firstborn in Egypt, I set apart for myself every firstborn in Israel, whether man or animal. They are to be mine. I am the Lord.'" (Numbers 3:11-13)
Why had I never heard this before?
An entire clan in place of the offering God had required? Why the Levites? Why couldn't the Israelites give their own children? Why was a stand-in chosen, required, to fullfill the obligation?
And then I saw it.
I heard echoes down through the centuries, a common thread that suddenly wound itself in crimson from the pages of Numbers through all the pages of all the books of the Bible.
I had heard this before.
In Egypt, the firstborn of the Israelites had been spared. They had been covered under the blood of lambs when the angel of death had passed by. The punishment for the Egyptian disobedience had been death. The blessing of God's people was that they had been passed over, spared from death. They had been delivered. They were indebted to a God who had set them apart.
The Israelites were to be a holy nation, a nation separate, a consecrated people. In order to consecrate the whole, the first of everything--the crops, the livestock, the offspring--had to be given to God. But the Israelites had fallen short. They were sinful, ordinary people. Their debt had not been paid.
They were not a holy people. The paragraphs before and those that follow this passage detail how again and again the Israelites sinned. Again and again they failed to keep their commitments to God. Again and again they fell short. Something, someone, was needed to stand in the gap. A holy offering to a holy God from an unholy people? A substitute was needed.
The Levites were separate. They were purified, consecrated, made holy for service to God. Their entire lives were given to the service, the outpouring of worship, the offering of themselves to God. They were, in God's eyes, a holy people. A holy offering to a holy God from a holy people. A substitute.
The crimson thread wound its way through all the stories to my story. The punishment for my disobedience had been death. The blessing of being God's child was that I had been passed over, spared from death. Delivered. But the debt remained. A holy gift to a holy God from me, an unholy, imperfect person? A substitute was needed.
The idea of the Gospels--this extravagant, almost-reckless story of God's substitution for my own offering, it's nothing new. It was not a sudden plan worked in the desperation of centuries of disobedience. It had been echoing, growing, throughout the pages of every story of every book. A substitute had always been needed. A holy God required holiness, and we had none to give. Someone had to intercede. Someone had to pay the debt we had no means to pay. Our currency was not the currency of heaven. We were helpless to fulfill our commitment without intercession.
The blood of the lambs on the doorposts, the giving of the Levites in place of the firstborn--the story was being told all along. The revolutionary idea of Easter was written into our story from the very beginning, being worked in ever growing detail into the fabric of our faith.
A holy substitute. Our debt paid in full when we had no means, no currency, with which to pay.
Breathtaking.
