Did It Please God to See Jesus Suffer?

I found this picture online, bearing the notice "This image may be subject to copyright,"
and yet I could find no information on how to get permission to use it.

I sat down for breakfast with Graham Cooke the other morning. I was at the dining room table with my broccoli omelette; Graham was on YouTube. It was a ten-minute clip called “Uncommon Love,” probably an excerpt from a much longer sermon. I could listen to Graham Cooke all day, but this time, a few minutes in, I choked on something he said. I couldn’t swallow it. Perhaps in this case he didn’t choose his words carefully enough.

Pausing the video, and my meal, I grabbed the big concordance and a couple of Bibles. If I didn’t agree with what he said, I had better articulate exactly why not, and then put into words what might perhaps be a clearer way of expressing the matter.

Graham was painting a picture of how much God loves us:

Beloved, He has everything covered. He knows you—oh, does He know you! And He’s not embarrassed by you; He adores you. He is not offended by you, He is not disillusioned with you, He’s not angry at you.

Great so far. But then:

He’s never going to punish you, because he got angry with Jesus and He punished Jesus. [Here he quotes from Isaiah:] ‘It pleased the Father to bruise him.’ Why? So he would never have to do it to you.

I believe that God loves us with a fathomless love, but I cannot conceive of a God—nor can I trust One—Who got angry and punished His own beloved Son—on my behalf. It sounds sadistic and schizophrenic—and I think such a portrait would frighten away those who do not yet know Him or who haven’t yet grown to trust Him. But I do understand the biblical truth that is being referenced, and I’d like to try to present it more clearly, more accurately.

God is love. And what of “the wrath of God”? I once heard someone say that God’s wrath is poured out on anything or anyone who threatens the objects of His great love. And who are the objects of His love? We are. Not just we the believers, but we the people of this world. “God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son” (John 3:16); “God was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself” (2 Corinthians 5:19).

God hates sin because it hinders and enslaves and destroys us. His wrath is directed against it. If our lives are so controlled by sin that we are damaging other people, along with ourselves, then we might get seared and scorched by being in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong life-view. But God’s heart is always looking to restore even the worst of us, if we will but yield to Him. “He is not willing that any should perish.”

God, the Living Word (Jesus), and the Holy Spirit had a plan all the way from the foundation of the world (Rev. 13:8), that the Word would take on flesh (John 1:14) and offer Himself as a sacrifice for sins. “When Christ came into the world, he said to God, ‘You did not want animal sacrifices or sin offerings. But you have given me a body to offer…. Then I said, “Look, I have come to do your will, O God—as is written about me in the Scriptures”’” (Heb. 10:5-7, NLT; Ps. 40:6-8). He offered Himself willingly to fulfil His part in the plan of the Godhead, not just to die for the sins of the world but to actually become that sin. “He became sin that we might become the righteousness of God in Him” (2 Cor. 5:21).

Think of the worst thing you’ve ever done; then think of the vilest thing you’ve ever heard of being done. Add to that the ravages of every disease and infirmity. Think, too, of the deepest depression, the most grievous sorrow, paralyzing fear, and uncontrollable anger. Multiply all that, the darkest of thoughts and words and deeds and conditions, by however many people have ever lived on this earth or ever will: that grand total is what settled on Jesus as He hung on the Cross. That is what He became. He drank to the dregs the cup that had been given to Him, and the Father poured out His wrath against all of it, every single thing that ever threatened the peace and joy and righteousness of any human being—everything that is contrary God’s nature and design. The power of sin died there on the Cross with Jesus. Then He rose again from the dead.

Graham Cooke quotes above, “It pleased the Father to bruise Him.” This comes from Isaiah 53:10, the prophet proclaiming the events that would unfold at Calvary, about 700 years before they happened. Here is the whole verse, drawing from many different translations: “Yet it pleased the Lord to bruise Him; He was willing—it was His good plan—to crush Jesus and cause Him grief. Yet when His life is given as a guilt offering, an atonement for sin, He will have many spiritual offspring or descendants. He will enjoy a long life: He will continue to live—forever, and the will and pleasure of the Lord shall prosper in His hand—Adonai’s desire will be accomplished. God’s purpose will succeed. The will of the Lord will triumph through Jesus.”

In Isaiah 55:11, we are told that God’s Word will not return to Him empty but will accomplish that which He pleases; it will prosper in the thing He sent it to do. Think of that verse for a moment in this particular context: Jesus is the Word (see John 1:1-14). After He died and rose again, He did not return to the Father empty-handed: when He “ascended on high,” He “led captivity captive” (Ps. 68:18 KJV; Eph. 4:8) and brought “many children into glory” (Hebrews 2:10, NLT). The living Word accomplished what the Father sent Him to do.

It was the fulfillment of a plan, a holy mystery, devised before the world began, a plan that the enemy of our souls could not perceive or penetrate. The powers of darkness thought they would gain a tremendous victory in destroying Christ. They didn’t understand what God was doing; “had they known it, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory” (I Cor. 2:8, KJV).

The Father drew no pleasure from seeing His Son suffer on the Cross, but there was pleasure in the anticipation of its end result. Even Jesus Himself, in spite of His terrible suffering, “endured the Cross”—"for the joy that was set before Him” (Heb. 12:2, KJV). That joy was the triumph of seeing mankind reconciled to God.

In the Little Things

Last month Greg and I were invited to attend a fund-raising gala. It was to be a classy event, which meant I was going to have to reach way back in my closet and find something much dressier than I usually wear. The day came: we got all dressed up and went out and had a wonderful time. 

And that is the end of that story. But wearing that outfit reminded me of a story that I have only ever shared with a couple of friends and yet which I always meant to tell to a larger audience: a story of the goodness of God in the little things, His readiness to help in the tiniest details of our lives—when we simply ask.

It must be ten years ago that I found that plum and metallic gold dress at Winner’s: only $29 and it fit like a glove. I wore it on a couple of occasions, in places like Mexico where one is quite comfortable going out with nothing to throw over bare shoulders. But then a couple of years later, I wanted to wear it to a special event in Wetaskiwin in March, and I knew I would freeze if I didn’t have a wrap.

But plum and metallic gold—what an impossible material to match. I began to think that I should try to find a piece of all-gold metallic fabric. Tending to procrastination as I have often been inclined, it wasn’t until a couple of days before the big dinner-dance that I did anything about it. In my usual running conversation with God that morning, I asked Him to help me find something suitable. After praying that little prayer, I felt impressed that I should drive to the solitary fabric store in Leduc, 20 minutes away. Not that that seemed a really supernatural leading; that was the only choice I had without driving all the way into Edmonton.

I stuffed the slinky little dress into a plastic bag and headed out. Once at the store, I went directly to the remnant bin, looking as always for a bargain. As I pawed through bundles of leftover cloth, a sales woman came over and asked if I needed any help.

“I’m hoping to find something to make a shawl, maybe a gold metallic, to go with this,” and I pulled the dress out of the bag.

“We have a rack of metallics over here,” she said, and she led the way.

And there I saw it: the same plum, the same gold, the same fringe, just with a slightly different weave. I was absolutely astounded.

The fabric was made in large square panels surrounded by the fringe. The woman cut off a single square for me. I paid her $13 and headed home, planning exactly how to sew up this little treasure.

That evening a friend happened to drop by. Excitedly I pulled out the dress and shawl fabric and told her the story, finishing with, “What do you think?!”

And she said, “I think Jesus loves you very much.”

What a cool way to put it. I did feel His love through that gesture; I felt His caring heart in the little details; His provision—not just in the necessities but in the special extras.

He loves each one of us like that, and He is just waiting for us to connect in that way, to come to Him with expectation, so He can show His kindness.

When "Stuff" Happens

Job was a man who lived during the time of the patriarchs of Genesis. The richest man in his territory, he was also described, even by God, as a man of complete integrity (Job 1:8, NLT). Then God allowed Satan to test him, and in the space of a few hours, Job’s extensive herds of oxen, sheep, and camels were all wiped out and his seven sons and three daughters died. (When we think we’re having a bad day, we should compare ourselves to Job.)

Through all this, he kept his trust in God and did not blame Him for what had happened.

In the second round of testing, Job’s health was taken from him. He was a miserable mess. This time his wife told him to shake his fist at God and lie down and die. Job simply told her not to be foolish. His whole stance is summed up in Job 13:15: “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.” Since the first time I read that scripture, many years ago, it has stayed with me, burned in my heart, and it has challenged me to learn to trust God like that. A few years ago, He gave me a vivid metaphor of that kind of trust.

I have a dear little cat named Muppet. She’ll be 16 this year. She lives outside, along with Antonio the Siamese. She’s half wild, jumpy, neurotic, and not given to affection unless her radically cycling hormones throw her in that direction for a short period of time. She does love me in her own way; in the summer when I’m working in the garden, she like to sit beside my little stool, and there we quietly enjoy each other’s company. But mostly we live quite independently of each other, and we both like it that way.

She used to have a batch of kittens almost every summer. Especially when the kids were still around, it was fun, and the kids made sure the kittens got handled plenty enough to be well tamed and socialized by the time they were ready to go to their new homes.

But times changed; the kids grew up. Rachel, the youngest, was the real cat lover, and when she moved out, new kittens didn’t get enough attention. I soon discovered that if the kittens grew up feral, they would be impossible to settle in homes. They don’t ever really seem to tame unless they’re tamed early on. If they grow up wild, they have to be destroyed. And that is not a happy option.

It was a few summers ago that Muppet raised her last batch of kittens. I had managed to keep her calm and contented enough that she was caring for them in the little cat house on the back deck instead of hiding them somewhere. I tried to handle them regularly. But around the time that the kittens were starting to frisk around on their wobbly little legs, Muppet found a breach in the barricade that keeps her from getting under the front deck, and she moved them all under there.

Several days went by. The kittens were very happy; they had no cause to ever come out, as their mother showed up regularly to nurse them. And while they weren’t afraid of me, they weren’t about to come when I called.

I tore off some of the lath and crawled under the upper deck, but the kittens had migrated to the smaller space under the lower deck. Eight inches of clearance was lots for them, but it wasn’t nearly enough for me.

There was only one solution, as far as I could see: I would have to starve them out and then re-barricade where they had got in. I placed Muppet in the carrying kennel, with my apologies and generous rations of water and kibble. But she was so frantic at being locked up, her long coat was soon a mess of water and soggy kibble. By morning she looked much worse, because she had had to relieve herself in between freak-outs and now she was covered in “stuff.” The poor thing! She had no idea why I was doing this to her, this seemingly random cruelty. She had no way of understanding that this temporary trial would save the lives of her kittens.

By early afternoon that next day, the kittens were plenty hungry enough that they came romping to a bowl of milk as I called. I took them and the milk into the house and quickly set about securing the barricade. Now I had to deal with cat kaka before I restored Muppet to her family.

I gathered mild shampoo, a big pot of warm water with a dipper, and towels out on the back deck where everything could be hosed down later. Muppet, when I released her from the kennel, was no longer half wild; she was full-on feral. She is not a cat you would ever try to shampoo at the best of times; now I was adding insult to injury and indignity.

As I knew it would be necessary, I caught her by the scruff of the neck. And then I began lathering. There were four sets of claws going in all directions and she looked like she was going to turn herself inside out. “I’m sorry, kitty, I’m sorry,” I kept saying.

Two or three lathers and rinses later, I figured I’d got her as clean as I could. Her belly had been difficult to get at, though, with all those flailing claws. I was also concerned that there would be shampoo remaining deep down in her coat. It might be irritating, and it sure would not be good for her as she groomed herself.

Again, I saw only one solution. I picked her up, avoiding the claws, carried her to the pond, and threw her in. Just as I knew she would be, she was back out in a split second. Not nearly enough time for a good rinse. She ran a few metres, shook hard to expel the majority of the water, and crouched there, looking confused and miserable. She didn’t try to run; she held still as I came up and ruffled all her fur to stir up any deep-down soap. I threw her in again, scrubbed her coat again with my hands, and threw her in again, apologizing in a soft voice all the while.

Then I gathered her into a big towel and held her while I rubbed her coat half dry, and then I set her down to find a warm place in the sun while I went off to get her kittens.

Once I had finished cleaning things up, I sat down in the love-seat on the deck just to have a little rest. Now, the cats absolutely know that they are not allowed on the deck furniture, and although they will sneak up there when no one is around, they would not dream of jumping up when we are right there. Neither is Muppet, as I indicated earlier, one to come and offer affection.

But this dear little cat saw me sitting there; she came up on the deck and jumped right up beside me, lay down with her chin on my leg, and began to purr as loudly as her little body could manage. In the purring, I heard her saying, “I love you anyway. I have no idea why you did what you did to me, but I trust you. And I won’t hold it against you.”

And then I heard God in my heart quoting Job’s words, “Though he slay me, yet will I trust Him.”