In the Torah we read about the institution of Passover and the final plague that was to befall the Egyptians on the Passover night. When we think of this time, we may imagine God “passing over” those houses that had the blood of the lamb smeared on their doorposts, though it might better be said that God passed into the homes of those who trusted him, while he withdrew His Presence from those that did not…
To see this note that two different words are used that can be translated as “pass over.” First, God said, “I will pass over (i.e., avar: עֲבַר) the land of Egypt that night, and I will strike all the firstborn in the land of Egypt, both man and beast; and on all the gods of Egypt I will execute judgments; I am the LORD” (Exod. 12:12). But directly after saying this, God promised to “pass over” (i.e., pasach: פָּסַח) the homes of those who trusted in him to impart his protection from the plague of death: “The blood shall be a sign for you, on the houses where you are. And when I see the blood, I will pass over to you (lit. עֲלֵכֶם, ‘upon you’), and no plague will befall you to destroy you, when I strike the land of Egypt” (Exod. 12:13). In other words, when God would see the blood of the Passover lamb, he would pass over to enter the house and “cover” its occupants from the judgment of death.
The blood of the Passover lamb sheltered people from the plague of death by atoning for their sin by means of a substitutionary sacrifice. The Torah states that “the life (i.e., nefesh: נֶפֶשׁ, or ‘soul’) of the flesh is in the blood” (Lev. 17:11), and therefore death represents the separation of the soul from the body. The life blood of a sacrificial lamb was therefore offered in exchange for the death and destruction of others. Eating the lamb “roasted by fire” meant identifying with the death offered in exchange for your own; eating matzah, or unleavened bread, signified being delivered in haste, apart from the “rise of the flesh” or human design; and eating maror, or bitter herbs, recalled the bitterness of former bondage.
The very first time the word “blood” (דָּם) occurs in the Scriptures concerns the death of Abel, the son of Adam and Eve who was murdered by his brother Cain. After Abel’s blood was shed, the LORD confronted Cain and said, “What have you done? The voice of your brother’s blood (קוֹל דְּמֵי אָחִיךָ) is crying to me from the ground” (Gen. 4:10). Since blood is the carrier of life, it bears the energy and vitality of life: it has its own spiritual “voice.” Likewise, the blood of Yeshua (דְּמֵי יֵשׁוּעַ), the true Lamb of God who died upon the cross, speaks on our behalf, and reverses the power of death by creating a barrier that death can no longer cross, since the death of the sacrificial victim “exchanges” the merit and power of life. Unlike the blood of Abel that “cries out” for justice, the blood of Yeshua cries out for mercy (Heb. 12:24). Putting our trust in the provision of God’s sacrifice causes His wrath (or righteous judgment) to pass over while simultaneously extending love to the sinner…. This is the essential message of the gospel itself, that we have atonement through the sacrificial death, burial, and resurrection of Yeshua our Savior, the great Lamb of God. As Yeshua said, “I tell you the solemn truth, the one who hears my message and believes the One who sent me has eternal life (חַיֵּי עוֹלָם) and will not be condemned, but has passed over (i.e., μετά + βαίνω, lit., “crossed over” [עָבַר]) from death to life” (John 5:24). Just as God’s judgment passes over from life to death on my behalf; so His love passes over from death to life on my behalf…
Notice that the Hebrew verb “pasach” can also mean “to limp,” suggesting the heel of Messiah that was “bruised” in the battle for our salvation (Gen. 3:15). It is the cross of Yeshua that enables the mercy of God to “overcome” his justice, or that allows “steadfast love and faithfulness to meet; righteousness and peace to kiss” (Psalm 85:10). His attribute of Justice passes over us as His attribute of Compassion passes into us… The sacrifice of Messiah allows God to be both just and the justifier of those who trust in God’s remedy and exchange for our sin (Rom. 3:26).
The idea of substitutionary atonement is surely mysterious and complicated, but ultimately the message is simple: God loves you and has made a way for you to be eternally accepted — despite your sin… That’s the “good news” of the cross. That’s what Yeshua meant when he said, “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life (חַיֵּי עוֹלָם). For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him” (John 3:14-17). Humanity as a whole has been “bitten by the snake” and needs to be delivered from its deadly venom. Just as the image made in the likeness of the destroying snake was lifted up for Israel’s healing, so the One made in the likeness of sinful flesh was to be lifted up as the Healer of the world (Rom. 8:3). All we need to do is look and believe. Yeshua died for you so you can live. He stands at the door and knocks, offering to cross over to give you his life (Rev. 3:20).
Hebrew Lesson
Leviticus 17:11 Hebrew reading (click):
- Lev. 17:11c Hebrew page (pdf)
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People confuse morality with religion, saying things like, “if I do good, the rest will take care of itself,” but Yeshua did not come to simply teach (or reinforce) moral truth, but to die for our sins and to transform our nature. The message of the cross is not that we should reform ourselves with renewed hope, but rather that our old nature must die and be replaced with something far greater… When King David cried out to the Lord, “Create in me a clean heart, O God,” he did not use the Hebrew word yatzar (יָצַר), which means to “fashion” or “form” something from pre-existing material (Gen. 2:7), but he instead used the word bara (בָּרָא), a verb exclusively used in the Torah to refer to God’s direct creation of the cosmos (Gen. 1:1). In other words, King David understood that no amount of reformation of his character would be enough, and therefore he appealed to that very power of God that alone could create yesh me’ayin, or “out of nothing.” Such was the nature of the remedy required that was fulfilled in the cross of Messiah…
Where it says, “Surely goodness and mercy (טוֹב וָחֶסֶד) shall follow me all the days of my life” (Psalm 23:6), note the Hebrew verb translated “shall follow me” (i.e., יִרְדְּפוּנִי) comes from a root (i.e., radaf: רָדַף) that means “to pursue,” as a hunter chases after his prey. David was sure that God’s lovingkindness would “hound” him as he made his way through this world – even in the dark places, even in “the valley of the shadow of death” (בְּגֵיא צַלְמָוֶת) – where God’s rod and staff would comfort him and direct his way (Psalm 23:4). Amen, and “may your love, O LORD, be upon us, even as we hope in you.”
In this present world it is a struggle not to be afraid… We see through a glass darkly; our heart’s desire is often thwarted; we often walk in uncertainty; our prayers may seem to go unanswered. There are many tribulations, sorrows, and pains; we are grieved and often feel lonely; we sometimes struggle to hold fast to our confession and hope; we feel alarmed over the insanity and depravity that pervades the culture around us; we feel powerless to stop the juggernaut of unrestrained evil, yea, we lament over the battle within our own hearts — our own inner fears, outrage, and wretchedness.
our heart: “O Lord, all my desire is before you; my groaning is not hidden from you” (Psalm 38:9). Be encouraged: Until the Master of the Universe helps, the Master of the Universe will help… Amen. God will help us, and he will help us before we even know that he helps us! Therefore do not be anxious, and do not fear, for “your heavenly Father knows what you need before you ask Him” (Matt. 6:8). God will make everything new, in the name and for the sake of his great love…
Some people tend to blame God for their troubles. They get angry. They ask “Why me?” Their hearts turns hard and they become bitter over the course of their lives… I suppose such people assume that if they are generally well-mannered and occasionally helpful to others, they have the “right” to expect a life of relative ease, and if that does happen, they feel disappointed with God. As Tevye ironically said to God (in the Fiddler on the Roof): “It may sound like I’m complaining, but I’m not. After all, with Your help, I’m starving to death.”
The nature of beauty has been an enduring mystery to artists and philosophers over the millennia, and various attempts have been made to define it. For example, some have defined beauty as an order, arrangement, and harmony of some kind (understood either as objective qualities inherent in something beautiful, or as a subjective sentiment of a person experiencing something that is esteemed as beautiful, and most often as a combination of both). In other words, something is regarded as beautiful because it possesses a certain arrangement of qualities that evoke pleasure or satisfaction in the mind or heart of a person.
“Let them make me a mikdash (“holy place,” “sanctuary”), that I may dwell in their midst” (Exod. 25:8). Though this verse refers to the physical mishkan (i.e., “Tabernacle”), it more deeply refers to the duty of the heart to sanctify the Name of God and bring a sense of holiness to the inner life. This requires that we focus the mind and heart to honor the sacredness of life, taking “every thought captive” to the truth of God in Messiah (2 Cor. 10:5). Since our minds and hearts are gateways to spiritual revelation, we must be careful to not to abuse ourselves by indulging in sloppy thinking or unrestrained affections. God holds us responsible for what we think and believe (Acts 17:30-31), and that means we have a duty to honor moral reality and truth. There is an “ethic of belief,” or a moral imperative to ascertain the truth and reject error in the realm of the spiritual. Since God holds us responsible to repent and believe the truth of salvation, He must have made it possible for us to do so (“ought” implies “can”). And indeed, God has created us in His image and likeness so that we are able to discern spiritual truth. He created us with a logical sense (rationality) as well as a moral sense (conscience) so that we can apprehend order and find meaning and beauty in the universe He created. All our knowledge presupposes this. Whenever we experience anything through our senses, for example, we use logic to categorize and generalize from the particular to the general, and whenever we make deductions in our thinking (comparing, making inferences, and so on), we likewise rely on logic. We have an innate intellectual and moral “compass” that points us to God.
Faith sees the invisible light, the truth of love that overcomes all the powers of darkness, hate, and fear. “I believe. I believe in the sun even when it is not shining; I believe in love even when feeling it not; and I believe in God, even when God is silent” (from an anonymous poem found on the wall of a cellar in Cologne, Germany, where some Jews hid from the Nazis).
When Abraham sought a place to bury his wife Sarah, he said to the Hittites chieftains: “I am a stranger and sojourner among you…” (Gen. 23:4). The righteous invariably feel like strangers to this world, since they are only passing through, and their focus is on the invisible “city that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God” (Heb. 11:10). Likewise they are as sojourners, not at home in this world, because their faith sees through the vanity and deceit of the present world, and therefore they regard themselves as on a journey to the place of truth and holiness where God abides. The wicked, on the other hand, regard life in this world as all that exists, and therefore they “absolutize” the moment and forfeit the blessing of the eternal (Matt. 16:26). Abraham regarded himself as a “stranger and sojourner” (גֵּר־וְתוֹשָׁב) because the people of his world considered themselves as “owners” and “permanent residents” who sought their inheritance in the here and now. Abraham was a “resident” of someplace higher, however, and understood this world to be a corridor to the next. The sages comment on this paradox: God says to man, ‘If you see yourself as a permanent resident in this world, then I will be a stranger to you; if, however, you see yourself as a stranger to this world, then I will be a Dwelling Place for you.”