The Weight of Sin

In one of his messages this week Alistair Begg commented, “My sin must be absolutely horrendous if it takes the death of God’s only Son to fix it.” A couple different songs contain lines like “It was my sin that held Him there.” 

While we accept that to be theologically correct, I don’t think most of us really believe it. Part of our difficulty comes from our experience of the American system of jurisprudence. We believe in proportional punishment. A minor crime receives a smaller punishment than a major crime. However, that is not the case in all cultures or times. Remember that the two men crucified with Jesus are identified simply as thieves, although we don’t know the exact nature of their crimes. One of them stated clearly “We deserve our punishment” (Luke 23:41).

That doesn’t make sense to our modern ears. It’s natural to start comparing sins. Most of us aren’t guilty of any of the “big” ones. We might lie occasionally, steal a few office supplies, and get a little envious of our neighbor, but nothing worthy of death. Or so we think. It’s hard to even conceive how Jesus bore the punishment that we deserved, because we don’t really think we deserve it. Many who call themselves Christians would say that their salvation is because “I’m a pretty good person. I may not be Mother Teresa, but I haven’t done anything really bad.”

The problem is that God’s definition of sin bears little resemblance to the laws of our country. Many of our laws can be broken with very little consequence. (When’s the last time you exceeded the speed limit?) But God’s rule book demands absolute perfection, because He Himself is absolutely perfect. Anything less keeps us from even coming into His presence. The smallest of sins creates a barrier that we cannot cross, and therefore God had to create a way to cross it for us. David said in Psalm 51:4 (ESV): “Against You, You only, have I sinned and done what is evil in Your sight, so that You may be justified in Your words and blameless in Your judgment.”

The other piece of the puzzle is the question of why any death was necessary to pay for sin. Logically, it seems like God could have just said, “Okay, I’ll just write off the sins of anyone who repents.” The short explanation is that God set up the rules for this universe, and He decreed that sin must be dealt with by the shedding of blood. Hebrews 9:22 says, “Indeed, under the law almost everything is purified with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins.” Why He did so is a mystery, not unlike the question of why He allowed sin to enter the world to begin with. We can speculate, but only He knows the real reasons.

It seems to me that an awareness of the weight of sin is something that grows as we grow in relationship with God. Unbelievers can sin with impunity because they have no conviction of sin. I can remember a time when I didn’t particularly care about sin or its consequences. Now even small things bother me much more because I don’t want anything to interrupt that fellowship with the Father. The conscience is more easily pricked by the Holy Spirit when we are actively seeking His guidance. At the same time, the enemy turns up the heat of condemnation to try to distract us from growing in faith and turn us away from the ministry set before us.

A right view of sin is necessary if we are to truly understand the importance of Easter. If my sin is unimportant or inconsequential, then the cross is meaningless. If my sin does not deserve death, then Jesus’ death and resurrection are merely a dramatic end to His few years of teaching on earth. However, if I deserved death but received forgiveness instead, then Easter should be a day of great celebration. “For our sake He made Him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Corinthians 5:21).

My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

(Public domain)

© 2016 Dawn Rutan.