Good Friday

There was nothing attractive about him, nothing to cause us to take a second look. He was looked down on and passed over, a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand. One look at him and people turned away. We looked down on him, thought he was scum.

But the fact is, it was our pains he carried— our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us. We thought he brought it on himself, that God was punishing him for his failures. But it was our sins that did that to him, that ripped and tore and crushed him—our sins! He took the punishment, that made us whole. Through his bruises we get healed.

We’re all like sheep who’ve wandered off and gotten lost. We’ve all done our own thing, gone our own way. God has piled all our sins, everything we’ve done wrong, on him.

He was beaten, he was tortured, but he didn’t say a word. Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered    and like a sheep being sheared, he took it all in silence. Justice miscarried, and he was led off—    and did anyone really know what was happening?

He died without a thought for his own welfare, beaten bloody for the sins of my people. They buried him with the wicked, threw him in a grave with a rich man, even though he’d never hurt a soul or said one word that wasn’t true.

(From Isaiah 53:3-9, MSG)

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