More Than a Carpenter (17 page)

The Godhead—God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit—made an astounding decision. Jesus, God the Son, would take upon himself human flesh. He would become the God-man. We read of this in the first chapter of the Gospel of John, where it says that “the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us” (John 1:14,
nasb
). Also Philippians 2 tells us that Christ Jesus emptied himself of his godlike prerogatives and took on human form (see Philippians 2:6-7).

Jesus was the God-man. He was just as much man as if he had never been God and just as much God as if he had never been man. His humanity did not diminish his deity, and his deity did not overpower his humanity. By his own choice he lived a sinless life, wholly obeying the Father. The biblical declaration that “the wages of sin is death” did not indict him. Because he was not only finite man but also infinite God, he had the infinite capacity to take on himself the sins of the world. When Jesus was executed on the cross more than two thousand years ago, God accepted his death as a substitute for ours. The just and righteous nature of God was satisfied. Justice was done; a penalty was paid. So at that point God’s love nature was set free from the constrictions of justice, and he could accept us again and offer us what we had lost in Eden—that original relationship in which we could experience his love and glory.

What Do You Think?

Has anyone ever taken a punishment for you? Did your relationship with that person change after that? Would you be willing to do the same for that person, even if they deserved to be punished?

Often I ask people, “For whom did Jesus die?” Usually they reply, “For me” or “For the world.” And I will say, “Yes, that is right, but for whom else did Jesus die?” They generally admit that they don’t know. I will reply, “For God the Father.” You see, not only did Christ die for us, but he also died for the Father. This is addressed in the last section of Romans 3, where some versions of the Bible call the death of Jesus a “propitiation” (see Romans 3:25,
nasb
).
Propitiation
basically means the satisfaction of a requirement. When Jesus died on the cross, he died not only for us, but he also died to meet the holy and just requirements intrinsic in the basic nature of God. The contamination was removed so we could stand clean in his presence.

Several years ago I heard a true story that illuminates what Jesus did on the cross to solve God’s problem in dealing with our sin. A young woman was stopped for speeding. The police officer ticketed her and took her before the judge. The judge read off the citation and asked, “Guilty or not guilty?” The woman replied, “Guilty.” The judge brought down the gavel and fined her one hundred dollars or ten days in jail. Then he did an amazing thing. He stood up, took off his robe, stepped down from the bench, took out his billfold, and paid the young woman’s fine. Why? The judge was her father. He loved his daughter, yet he was a just judge. She had broken the law, and he couldn’t simply say to her, “Because I love you so much, I forgive you. You may go scot-free.” Had he done such a thing, he would not have been a righteous judge. He would not have upheld the law. But because of his love for his daughter, he was willing to take off his judicial robe, step down to her position, assume his relationship as her father, and pay the fine.

What Do You Think?

Do you find it difficult to forgive someone who has wronged you? What price do most people pay when they forgive others?

This story illustrates in a small way what God did for us through Jesus Christ. We sinned, and the Bible says that “the wages of sin is death.” When God looks at us, in spite of his tremendous love for us, he has to bring down the gavel and say
death
because he is a righteous and just God. And yet, because he is also a loving God, he was willing to come down off his throne in the form of the man Jesus Christ and pay the price for us, which was his death on the cross.

At this point many people ask the natural question, “Why couldn’t God just forgive without requiring any payment?” An executive in a large corporation once told me, “My employees often damage equipment, waste materials, and break things, and I just forgive them. Are you telling me I can do something that God can’t do?” The executive failed to realize that his forgiveness cost him something. His company paid for his employees’ failures by repairing and replacing damaged items. Wherever there is forgiveness, there is payment. For example, let’s say my daughter breaks a lamp in my home. I’m a loving and forgiving father, so I hug her and say, “Don’t cry, honey. Daddy loves you and forgives you.” Usually the person who hears that story will say, “That’s exactly what God ought to do.” Then comes the question, “Who pays for the lamp?” The fact is,
I
do. Forgiveness always has a price. Let’s say someone insults you in front of others, and later you graciously say, “I forgive you.” Who bears the price of that insult? You do. You bear the pain of the lie and the loss of reputation in the eyes of those who witnessed the insult.

This is what God has done for us: He has said, “I forgive you.” But he paid the price for the forgiveness himself through the Cross. It’s a payment that Buddha, Muhammad, Confucius, or any other religious or ethical leader cannot offer. No one can pay the price by “just living a good life.” I know it sounds exclusive to say it, but we must say it simply because it is true: There is no other way but Jesus.

Chapter 13: He Changed My Life

What I have shared with you in this book is what I learned after digging through the evidence for Christianity after my friends at the university challenged me to prove the truth of their claims. You would think that after examining the evidence, I would have immediately jumped on board and become a Christian. But in spite of the abundant evidence, I felt a strong reluctance to make the plunge. My mind was convinced of the truth. I had to admit that Jesus Christ must be exactly who he claimed to be. I could plainly see that Christianity was not a myth, not a fantasy of wishful dreamers, not a hoax played on the simple-minded, but rock-solid truth. I knew the truth, yet my will was pulling me in another direction.

There were two reasons for my reluctance: pleasure and pride. I thought that becoming a Christian meant giving up the good life and giving up control. I could sense Jesus Christ at the door of my heart, pleading, “Look, I have been standing at your door and constantly knocking. If you hear me calling and will open the door, I will come in” (paraphrased from Revelation 3:20). I kept that door shut and bolted. I didn’t care if he did walk on water or turn water into wine. I didn’t want any party pooper spoiling my fun. I couldn’t think of any faster way to ruin my good times. I called them good times, but I was really miserable. I was a walking battlefield. My mind was telling me that Christianity was true, but my will was resisting it with all the energy it could muster.

Then there was the pride problem. At that time the thought of becoming a Christian shattered my ego. I had just proved that all my previous thinking had been wrong and my friends had been right. Every time I got around those enthusiastic Christians, the inner conflict would boil over. If you’ve ever been in the company of happy people when you are miserable, you know how their joy can get under your skin. Sometimes I would literally get up, leave the group, and run right out of the student union. It came to the point where I would go to bed at ten o’clock at night but wouldn’t get to sleep until four in the morning. I couldn’t let go of the problem. I had to do something before it drove me out of my mind.

I always tried to be open-minded, but not so open-minded that my brains would fall out. As G. K. Chesterton says, “The purpose of opening the mind, as of opening the mouth, is to close it again on something solid.” I opened my mind, and I finally closed it on the most solid reality I had ever experienced. On December 19, 1959, at 8:30 p.m., during my second year at the university, I became a Christian.

What Do You Think?

Now that you are at the end of the book, have any of your thoughts about Jesus Christ changed? Are you challenged to read more about him? To talk to others who have given their lives to him?

Someone asked me, “How do you know you became a Christian?” One of several answers was simple: “It has changed my life.” It is this transformation that assures me of the validity of my conversion. That night I prayed four things to establish a relationship with the resurrected, living Christ, and I am grateful that this prayer has been answered.

First, I said, “Lord Jesus, thank you for dying on the cross for me.” Second, I said, “I confess those things in my life that aren’t pleasing to you and ask you to forgive and cleanse me.” God tells us that, “No matter how deep the stain of your sins, I can remove it. I can make you as clean as freshly fallen snow” (Isaiah 1:18, paraphrased). Third, I said, “Right now, in the best way I know how, I open the door of my heart and life and trust you as my Savior and Lord. Take control of my life. Change me from the inside out. Make me the type of person you created me to be.” The last thing I prayed was, “Thank you for coming into my life by faith.” It was a faith based not on ignorance but on evidence, the facts of history, and God’s Word.

I’m sure you have heard people speak of the “bolt of lightning” that hit them when they had their first religious experience. Well, it wasn’t that dramatic for me. After I prayed, nothing happened. I mean
nothing.
And I still haven’t sprouted wings or a halo. In fact, after I made that decision, I felt worse. I actually felt that I was about to vomit.
Oh no, what have I gotten sucked into now?
I wondered. I really felt I had gone off the deep end (and I’m sure some people think I did!).

The change was not immediate, but it was real. In six to eighteen months, I knew that I had not gone off the deep end. My life
was
changed. At about that time I was in a debate with the head of the history department at a Midwestern university. I was telling him about my new life, and he interrupted me with, “McDowell, are you trying to tell me that God has really changed your life? Give me some specifics.” After listening to me explain for forty-five minutes, he finally said, “Okay, okay, that’s enough!”

One change I told him about was relief from my restlessness. Before I accepted Christ, I always had to be occupied. I had to be over at my girlfriend’s place, at a party, at the student union, or running around with friends. I’d walk across the campus with my mind in a whirlwind of conflicts. I was always bouncing off the walls. I’d sit down and try to study or cogitate but couldn’t do it. But after I made that decision for Christ, a kind of mental peace settled over me. Don’t misunderstand; I don’t mean all conflicts ceased. What I found in this relationship with Jesus wasn’t so much the absence of conflict as the ability to cope with it. I wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.

Another area that began to change was my bad temper. I used to blow my stack if anyone just looked at me cross-eyed. I still have the scars from a fight in which I almost killed a man my first year in the university. My temper was such a part of me that I didn’t consciously seek to change it. But one day I encountered a crisis that should have set me off, only to find that I stayed calm and collected. My temper was gone! It wasn’t my doing; as I’ve been telling you, Jesus changed my life. That doesn’t mean I was perfect. I went fourteen years without losing my temper, but when I did blow it, I’m afraid I made up for all those times I didn’t.

What Do You Think?

If there was one area of your life that you would like God to change, what would it be?

Jesus changed me in another way. I’m not proud of it, but I mention it because many people need the same change, and I want to show them the source of that change: a relationship with the resurrected, living Christ. The problem is hatred. I had a heavy load of hatred weighing me down. It didn’t show outwardly, but it kept grinding away inwardly. I was ticked off with people, with things, with issues. I was insecure. Every time I met anyone different from me, that person became a threat, and I reacted with some level of hatred.

I hated one man more than anyone else in the world—my father. I hated his guts. I was mortified that he was the town alcoholic. If you’re from a small town and one of your parents is an alcoholic, you know what I mean. Everybody knows. My high school friends would make jokes about my father’s drinking. They didn’t think it bothered me because I fell in with the joking and laughed with them. I was laughing on the outside, but let me tell you, I was crying on the inside. I would go to the barn and find my mother beaten so badly she couldn’t get up, lying in the manure behind the cows. When we had friends over, I would take my father out to the barn, tie him up, and park his car behind the silo. We would tell our guests he’d had to go somewhere. I don’t think anyone could hate a person more than I hated my father.

About five months after I made that decision for Christ, a love from God entered my life so powerfully that it took that hatred, turned it upside down, and emptied it out. I was able to look my father squarely in the eyes and say, “Dad, I love you.” And I really meant it. After some of the things I’d done to him, that really shook him up.

After I transferred to a private university, a serious car accident put me in the hospital. When I was moved home to recover, my father came to visit me. Remarkably, he was sober that day. But he seemed uneasy, pacing about the room. Then he blurted out, “Son, how can you love a father like me?” I answered, “Dad, six months ago I despised you.” Then I shared with him the story of my research and conclusions about Jesus Christ. I told him, “I have placed my trust in Christ, received God’s forgiveness, invited him into my life, and he has changed me. I can’t explain it all, Dad, but God has taken away my hatred and replaced it with the capacity to love. I love you and accept you just the way you are.”