Barrabus County Corrections
Physics and Free Parking
Mark 15:6-15

Every parent who has ever wielded a spanking tool has said, “Now, [Johnny/Suzy], this hurts me, too—more than you know. But I have to do this.”  And every kid on the other end of the swat has done the physics in their head and been left to wonder how that jives with the scientific laws of the universe.

My dad must have seen the smoke off my computing cranium and decided against the stereotypical, “You’ll understand when you have a kid of your own someday.”  For on one of the many occasions when I deserved a tush whack, I followed the routine into his office, the place of punishment. When Dad arrived, we had the usual talk; and then he handed me the belt.

I had to spank him.

I couldn’t. I cried and told him that I couldn’t. He made me. When I didn’t swing the belt hard enough, he reprimanded me and made me try again. And when he told me that he didn’t want to spank me again, I understood. He had taken my place and put me in his. In so doing, it made me look differently at both his role and mine.

Barrabus probably didn’t understand the full ramifications of his release in lieu of Christ’s. First, he had to adjust to sunlight after a stint in the darkness of a Roman prison. Then, he had to get over the shock of hearing countrymen chanting his name and religious leaders begging for a murderous robber to be returned to the public. And he had to wonder why the Romans would allow a militant Jewish protestor back on the streets of Israel’s cultural seat.

All he knew was that he was free.

Even if Barrabus never became a believer, the picture of Christ taking his punishment illustrates the abstract concept of our salvation from hell. While he wasn’t handed the belt, as it were, to punish Jesus, he was handed a different look at his freedom.

We tend to forget what Jesus took for us—the shackles of our unaided humanity, the sentence of cross-rendered scars, the prison of hell. Selective memory, I guess. Unfortunately, that leads us to jettison our gratitude. When we take his work for granted, we take our responsibility for granted. We’re left, like Barrabus, eyeing up Free Parking with a cashed get-out-of-jail-free card.

I’ve often wondered what Barrabus did with his freedom. Maybe he looked over his shoulder all his life, thinking that one mistake would take it all away. Maybe he went back to his old ways, figuring he had some Teflon® resistance to consequences. Maybe he shunned himself from the world, embarrassed that his new identity was inextricably linked to Jesus. These are things Christians do in their new sonlight.

While we shouldn’t flog ourselves with the sins of the past, we need to live like we were just given our lives back—and live it for the one who gave us that chance, the one who handed us his belt.

Word has it . . .
For this reason I say to you, her sins, which are many, have been forgiven, for she loved much; but he who is forgiven little, loves little. Luke 7:47.

Do you remember a time when you accepted Christ’s work on your behalf?

When was the last time you thanked Jesus for taking your place?

Do you know a Barrabus who needs to recognize that Christ took his place?

What are you doing with your spiritual freedom?

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Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture texts are from the New American Standard Bible, © The Lockman Foundation 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977.