my brother, Barabbas

Dear Barabbas,

You're on my mind today. I feel a strange connection to you that I've never felt before.

For a moment I want to see what you saw, feel what you felt. I think it would shake me to the core. I would never be the same.

Did you know? Did you ever realize what happened that Friday?

You woke up in prison. You went to sleep in your own bed.

The sun found you a prisoner. The moon found you a free man.

How did you do it? What words did you say? Did you treat the other prisoners nicely? Were you respectful of the guards? Did you do enough good things to outweigh your mutiny against Rome? Did you protect enough people to excuse your murderous reputation?

Somehow, I doubt it.

In a way I am jealous of the perspective you had, because our stories are the same on that day.

When your eyes first opened that morning, you were sentenced to death, resigned to justice, awaiting the punishment you knew you deserved. You had seen crosses. You knew what your treachery would earn if ever you were captured. Traitors to the crown of Rome lined the streets, the barely living and the long dead, vivid reminders of the wrath that awaited those who threatened the emperor. You had earned that status, that sentence, that misery.

How did you feel when you learned you were chosen? Were you shocked when the guard brought you out at their request? Were you proud and self-confident? Did you gloat as you left?

Or did you see Jesus on your way out? You must have known who He was. Were you astounded to see that His freedom was given to you? Had you any idea just how innocent He was?

You see, as you walked away to resume your life, He was led away to allow others to end His own. All the miracles, all the sermons, all the Scriptures He had memorized, all the acts of mercy were as nothing to Him. Everyone ignored His impeccable record. And all of the good that He had accomplished was credited to you. Certainly no one was actually thinking that you had behaved so well, but you found yourself reaping the benefits of perfect living in an instant.

Did you realize what was happening? You, and you alone, had any semblance of a notion what Jesus was doing that day. Whether you realized it or not, while everyone else was baffled by His horrifying torture and death, you alone were already walking in the shadow of the cross, covered by the blood of the Lamb.

You see, a transaction was made that day. The wrath of God was coming. Let there be no doubt. The wrath of God was always coming. From the apple in the garden to the hills outside your city, the vengeance of Almighty God was coming against those who rejected His love and established their own kingdom. Wrath was coming for you and me. For the mutinous, calloused-hearted, self-exalting race. Because a holy God, one who truly loves, cannot allow wickedness, Love's antithesis, to prevail. He would not be loving at all if He did.

So heaven's fury made a date with the earth. Retribution.

And heaven's flesh-clad Love accepted the invitation. Substitution.

To those who looked on, He appeared weak and passive, but in bewildering humility, the King of kings held His tongue and let you walk free in His place. And after watching your reentry into freedom, Jesus set His gaze on the hill. He dragged His self and His fuel to the altar of Calvary to intercept the punishment you traded Him for, I traded Him for.

Perhaps watching your freedom fanned His flame. Perhaps the faint reflection of the grander task at hand was the hope He clasped as He started down the road. Because He was not merely taking your punishment, though your guilt was exceedingly great. And He was not merely setting you free, though His love for you did compel Him. He was taking my guilt and punishment, and your cousin's, and my brother's, and the teenage boys who were looking for trouble at the park today, and the beautiful preschool girl who sits angelically through the service at church each week, and every person who has every lived. He was setting free the entire race, not from mere physical imprisonment in this life, but from the cast-iron bonds of slavery to sin and from the unspeakable agony of eternity apart from Love.

Oh Barabbas, His love for you was overwhelming! And yet it speaks but a faint whisper of the love He has for all humanity, a love He would shout with all His might from the cross: "It is finished!"

Your name, Barabbas, is altogether gripping. From the Aramaic root words "bar" and "Abba," "son of Abba," "son of a father or master." Privileged. Favored. Heir. As one who represented all who would accept the substitution offered by Jesus, all who would exchange freedom with Him, your name is the one we have all inherited. "When the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, "Abba! Father!" So you are no longer a slave, but a son, and if a son, then an heir through God."

I hope you realized who you were, my friend. I hope to meet with you one day when days are endless and hear how your frozen heart was thawed on that one good day for you.

I am grateful for your identity, Barabbas, for your presence in the story that is mine as well. All glory be to God--for Your Word, for Your Love, for Your goodness on display on Friday.

Daughter of Abba,

Katie