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Jesus – The Scapegoat

Why did God create us?

It's a question that has echoed through the centuries. The triune God—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—existed in perfect unity long before time began. He lacked nothing. And yet, He chose to create a universe, a world, and within it, us.

At the heart of this mystery lies something deeply personal: love.

God, in His nature, is love. And love longs to be shared. But love isn't a one-way street—it's not something you can pour into a machine or an object and expect it to flourish. Love requires relationship. It needs freedom. It needs choice.

That's why humanity was created with the capacity to choose. Not as automatons programmed to obey, but as beings capable of responding to God's love with love of our own.

In the beginning, God placed Adam in a garden overflowing with beauty and abundance. Everything he needed was provided. There was only one boundary—a single tree whose fruit was not to be eaten. It wasn't a trap. It was a test of love. A chance to trust. A chance to say, "God, I believe You know what's best."

But love, when it's real, must be free to say no.

And Adam did say no.

In that moment, something broke. The connection between God and man—once so intimate—was fractured. Not because God stopped loving, but because man chose separation. That's what death really is: not just the end of breath, but the loss of fellowship with the One who gives life.

Yet even then, God didn't give up. He already had a plan to restore what was lost. A plan that would one day involve another garden, another choice, and a Savior who would take our place.

That's where Jesus enters the story—not just as a teacher or a healer, but as the scapegoat. The one who would carry our rejection, our shame, and our death so we could be brought back into the love we were created for.

The Model: Covered by Grace

After Adam and Eve chose to disobey, shame entered the world. They tried to cover themselves with fig leaves—makeshift garments stitched together by guilt and fear. But it wasn't enough.

So God stepped in.

In one of the most tender and haunting moments in scripture, "the LORD God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife and clothed them" (Genesis 3:21). It's easy to miss the weight of that verse. But imagine it: the first shedding of blood in history wasn't an act of violence—it was an act of mercy.

To cover their shame, something innocent had to die.

Perhaps Adam and Eve watched in silence as God took two of their animal companions—likely gentle sheep—and offered them as a sacrifice. It was the first lesson in atonement: that sin always costs something. That covering guilt requires more than good intentions. It requires life.

This wasn't just about clothing. It was a model—a foreshadowing of something far greater.

Centuries later, God would give His people a law, and with it, a system of sacrifices. "It is the blood that makes atonement for one's life," He said (Leviticus 17:11). The message was clear: sin separates, and only blood can bridge the gap.

Even Moses, the great leader of Israel, couldn't stand fully exposed before God's glory. When he asked to see God's face, the Lord replied, "You cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live" (Exodus 33:20). Holiness and sin cannot coexist. One would consume the other.

But God didn't abandon His people. Through the blood of the covenant, He marked them as His own. When He looked upon them, He didn't see their failures or flaws—He saw the covering. He saw the blood.

And that model—of innocent blood covering guilty people—was pointing forward to something even more profound. A final sacrifice. A perfect Lamb.

The Sin Offering: Once and for All

For centuries, the people of Israel lived under a system of sacrifices. Some were offered every year—rituals of atonement that reminded them of their sin and their need for mercy. Others were performed only once, like the purification of the Tabernacle, marking sacred spaces with sacred blood.

But one offering stood out: the sin offering.

It was meant for those who sinned unintentionally—those who broke God's commands not out of rebellion, but out of weakness. And even then, the process was deeply personal. The person bringing the sacrifice would lay their hands on the animal's head, symbolically transferring their guilt. Then the animal would be slain.

It was a sobering act. A reminder that sin always has a cost.

And then came the Day of Atonement. Once a year, the high priest would take two goats. One would be sacrificed. The other—the scapegoat—would have the sins of the people confessed over it. Then it would be led into the wilderness, carrying those sins far away.

It was a vivid picture of substitution. Of innocence bearing guilt. Of one life given so another could go free.

And it was all pointing to Jesus.

Romans 8 tells us that God did what the law could never do: He sent His own Son "to be a sin offering." Jesus became the fulfillment of every sacrifice, every ritual, every shadow of redemption. He was the Lamb. He was the Scapegoat.

He took our sin. He bore our shame. And when He hung on the cross, He declared, "It is finished" (John 19:30).

No more sacrifices. No more rituals. No more barriers.

Just grace.

Through Jesus, we are no longer condemned. We are no longer defined by our failures. We are covered—once and for all—by the blood of the One who loved us enough to take our place.

Dead Men See His Face

There's a phrase that appears again and again in the Old Testament: "a pleasing aroma to the Lord." It's used to describe burnt offerings—sacrifices made by fire. But what was it about the smell of burning flesh and hide that pleased God?

It wasn't the scent. It was the surrender.

When Moses and Aaron prepared a sacrifice and the fire of God consumed it, the people fell facedown in awe (Leviticus 9). Why? Because God showed up. He came down to the place of death. There's something about a life laid down that draws Him near.

Frank Bartleman, one of the voices of the Azusa Street Revival, once said, "The depth of your repentance will determine the height of your revival." That truth still echoes today. God desires intimacy with us—but sin makes that intimacy dangerous. Living flesh—our pride, our self-will, our worldly attachments—can't survive in the presence of a holy God.

Only dead men can see His face.

That's why Jesus came—not just to forgive us, but to make us holy. To be our sin offering. To do what no priest, no ritual, no sacrifice could ever do. He entered the Most Holy Place once for all, offering His own blood as the final atonement (Hebrews 9). And when we receive that gift, we are covered. Not in shame, but in glory.

Now, when God looks at us, He sees the blood of His Son. He sees righteousness. He sees a way back to the intimacy we were created for.

But there's a warning.

In the Old Testament, the high priest couldn't just stroll into the Holy of Holies. He had to prepare. He had to purify. He had to crawl in under a cloud of incense, trembling with reverence. Because to see God's face was to risk everything.

And yet… some still dared.

There are those who say, "If I perish, I perish—but I must see the King." They tie a rope around their ankle, spiritually speaking, and step behind the veil. They don't want to just know about God—they want to know Him. To see Him. To walk with Him.

John the Revelator was exiled, abandoned, and as good as dead when he heard a voice and turned to see the face of Jesus. Enoch walked with God until he was no more. And John Wesley once said, "I set myself on fire, and the people come to see me burn."

If you're hungry for revival, here's the truth: fire doesn't fall on empty altars. There must be a sacrifice. If you want the fire of God, you must become the fuel of God.

The more of you that dies, the closer He can come.

How far can this go? Ask Enoch. He'll tell you: you can walk with God so closely that one day, you simply don't come back.

So let us draw near—with confidence, with reverence, with hearts sprinkled clean by the blood of Christ. Let us press in—not just to know about Him, but to truly know Him.

Because dead men see His face.