I was knee deep in Lamar Jackson, Derrick Henry, Jalen Hurts, & Saquon Barkley when it hit. Last Sunday evening I found myself on the couch in my living room after a long morning watching the Philadelphia Eagles and Baltimore Ravens duke it out when my regularly scheduled program was interrupted by a special news report. When I saw the defcon 5 “special report” graphic slide across the TV screen my gut reaction was, “World War III….here it comes.” With all that is presently tense in the world between Russian and Ukraine, North and South Korea, Israel and Palestine, etc., I didn’t think my reaction was unjustified. Visions of the nuclear apocolypse flashed through my mind. “Do we have enough toilet paper to make it?”….. I breathed in and out slowly. Come quickly, Lord Jesus. I was surprised when the talking head behind the news desk shared what the networks had decided we should all know amidst everything else that was happening.
“This just in: President Joe Biden has officially exercised his presidential authority and pardoned his son, Hunter, from his criminal allegations.”
The news was then repeated and followed by a quick “now we bring you back to your regularly scheduled program.” Just like that we were back in Philly.
It wasn’t quite World War III news, and for that I offered a sigh of relief. But from the torrent of reaction from both sides of the political aisle you wouldn’t know it. Instant reactions came from every angle. It was an easy layup for Fox News. The recent red state revolution all rolled their eyes… “He would.” Even progressive Politico quickly broke the story of the left's criticism of the pardon. The pundits all chimed in. “Family is not above the law! Where’s justice?!”
It just so happened that the announcement had been made on the evening of Sunday, Dec. 1st. On the church calendar that day is commonly recognized for a different reason altogether. Earlier that morning, I was leading worship with a good friend at First Baptist Church in Orlando where Dr. David Uth had ushered his congregation into the beginning of the recognition of the season of Advent. (Info in the hyperlink). We all sang songs about it together.
A few thousand years prior to that Sunday evening (give or take a few) some shepherds were watching their regularly scheduled program (less gridiron, more white and fluffy) somewhere in the deep of the Judean countryside when a special news bulletin of a different sort interrupted them. The news wasn’t brought to them by way of some spit and polished news platform with manufactured color saturation and eye-candy graphics. This was the real deal. The physical sky above their head was suddenly ablaze with the light of heaven, and the air around them shook with the sound of glorious antiphonal song. The news brought that night by heaven’s messenger was a billion times more scandalous than the Biden’s. It was worthy of the audacious presentation.
“Peace on earth!”
And…
“Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.” (Luke 2: 10-12 ESV)
I paused to let the juxtaposition sink in.
Adam and all his offspring had allegations of the most severe sort leveled against him in the high courtroom of heaven. God’s image bearers, every one of them, had been living in the darkness and disillusionment that comes with departure from the light. Death was their destiny in both a physical and spiritual sense. The judge on the throne overseeing the case was righteous and just in all his rulings. There had never been, nor would there ever be, a case in which he would bend the purity of his own justice. For certain, the law had been broken. Payment for transgression was eternally inevitable. But the angel’s song that night, the one that pulled the shepherds eyes and hearts into the heavens, carried a different tone. The message was one of hope because of a child. A savior. The shepherds were simple men, not theological giants. They had no way of knowing the full weight of the implications of the announcement. But for some reason they were the first outside of mom and dad to know about it. Shaken by the news they took off to Bethlehem to do some fact checking. Sure enough, it wasn’t fake news. The baby was in the feeding trough under the star just as the messenger had said.
About thirty years later (give or take a few) that baby, now a man with rough hands from years of construction labor…and miracles…stood in chains before the fifth governor of the Roman province of Judea. He had done nothing to land himself there except tell the Truth in love. He was hated for it. According to his accusers (his own), and according to his Father the just judge, there was a punishment that had to be doled out for the treason committed. The most severe treason that deserved the most severe punishment ever given.
It just so happened that the trial that found Jesus of Nazareth in chains that day was occurring over the celebration of the Jewish Passover. The Jews had all come to Jerusalem to remember the lamb that their ancestors had killed and eaten around a common table centuries before. They replayed it all in their mind’s eye as they gathered. They had smeared the lamb’s shed blood over their doorposts before they were delivered from 400 years of Egyptian oppression through a parted sea and were ushered into a new way of living. It was customary for the Roman governor to commemorate the holiday by the pardon of prisoner. Someone would be unshackled. But who would it be? He gave the people a choice.
“Pick one.”
There at the foot of Pilate’s judicial platform in front of the people stood two men, an innocent carpenter-King named Jesus who claimed to be the very son of God, and a political insurrectionist and murderer named Barab’bas. Bar-abba-s….meaning “son of the father.”
Do you recognize the scene?
Here’s how God’s Spirit inspired Matthew to recount what happened:
“Now at the feast the governor was accustomed to release for the crowd any one prisoner whom they wanted. 16 And they had then a notorious prisoner, called Barab′bas. So when they had gathered, Pilate said to them, “Whom do you want me to release for you, Barab′bas or Jesus who is called Christ?” For he knew that it was out of envy that they had delivered him up. Besides, while he was sitting on the judgment seat, his wife sent word to him, “Have nothing to do with that righteous man, for I have suffered much over him today in a dream.” Now the chief priests and the elders persuaded the people to ask for Barab′bas and destroy Jesus. The governor again said to them, “Which of the two do you want me to release for you?” And they said, “Barab′bas.” Pilate said to them, “Then what shall I do with Jesus who is called Christ?” They all said, “Let him be crucified.” And he said, “Why, what evil has he done?” But they shouted all the more, “Let him be crucified.” (Matthew 27: 15-23 ESV)
They did just that. Barab’bas was embraced by the angry mob while the carpenter-King was stripped naked and killed like a criminal.
You see, there was a once a Father who couldn’t stand seeing his children enchained in the courtroom. He knew they were guilty and he know the payment for the crime. So, he did the unthinkable. It was a scandal of immense proportions. The greatest that has ever, or will ever, occur. That Father found a way for his own justice to be preserved and for his relationship with his children to be restored. He did it through self-sacrifice.
“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.” (John 3:16 ESV)
The innocent took the punishment. The guilty took the pardon. It makes no sense. It doesn’t seem just. But he had the authority…and the means…to do it, and he did just that. It was a lot to take in at that hour of the evening.
The Eagles won the game. Jalen’s “tush push” was too much for Baltimore to handle. As I got up from the couch and made my way to bed in the dark my imagination started to wander. A scene began to form in my head. I pictured Joe Biden’s smiling face around the Christmas dinner table at the White House as his son Hunter, Hunter’s wife Melissa, and their son Beau (named in honor of his deceased brother) ate one of their final meals together before the change of power. Soon the ability to pardon would be no more and old Joe would have a Delaware street address. As it played out in my mind Old Joe, Hunter, and their families all ate dinner surrounded by all the fineries of the State Dining Room in full knowledge of the drama that had unfolded up to that point. As they sat in their plush, upholstered dining room chairs Joe knew what his boy had done, and so did his boy. It was complicated and broken. Just then, Old Joe starts to replay the vision of his son in that courtroom in his own mind, handcuffs and all. He imagines the verdict being read over his son by the judge with all of the court reporters at the ready to release the news of his condemnation to the world. Joe feels his heart begin to sink as his son is taken by the bailiff out the door to do his time. But just then, Old Joe comes to. He realizes where he is, who he is with, and how they got there. He had sealed his son’s pardon and been crucified by the broader world for it. He leans over to Hunter who is sitting next to him in his Sunday best and whispers faintly in his ear…
“I’m so glad you’re here, son. I enjoy your company.”
Then, lifting his head, Hunter looks at his dad and cracks a Barab’bas smile in return.
Here’s the best Christmas gift you could ever receive: we’re all Hunter.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year.
Merry Christmas.
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