The King. His Daughter. Her Crime. His Death

While I was scrolling on Facebook, I came across a video of a pastor and podcast host. The host asked Pastor Josh Howerton a question: Why did Jesus have to die?

Pastor Josh responded with an illustration that was so beautiful, I was literally fighting back tears. I watched the video once and was able to retell the story almost immediately. That should tell you how much of an impact it had on me.

I hope I do it justice, but the story went something like this: There was a king who had a reputation for being both just and loving. One day, he discovered that someone was stealing from his kingdom’s treasury. So he made a decree: when the thief was found, they would receive five lashes.

But the stealing continued.

Eventually, the king increased the punishment to forty lashes; a punishment that would result in death. Then they discovered who the thief was.

It was the king's own daughter. Now everyone wondered what the king would do. He had a reputation for being just. He also had a reputation for being loving.

The punishment was just. The crime had been committed. The decree had been made. But this was his daughter.

So she was taken into custody and brought to the whipping post. She was bent over the post, her shirt ripped open to expose her back. The executioner raised the whip, and just before he brought it down, the king interrupted. "Wait." He rushed toward his daughter, wrapped his arms around her, and then told the executioner to proceed.

The executioner hesitated. "King, you will be hit. You will die." The king simply responded, essentially saying: The punishment is just. And he took the forty lashes in his daughter's place.

I thought it was a beautiful picture of what Jesus did for us. Justice wasn't ignored. Love wasn't abandoned. The punishment wasn't simply dismissed. Someone took our place.

And then I immediately thought about the daughter. Why did she steal? She was the king's kid, for crying out loud! Why didn't she come clean when the consequence was only five lashes? Why did she keep going?

And then I started thinking about us. Because aren't we sometimes just like her? We know we're the King's kids, yet we still wander. We know better, yet we still do it. We know what God has said, yet sometimes we'd rather do what we want. And sometimes we don't even stop when we know we're wrong. We just get better at hiding it. We rename it. We justify it. We compare ourselves to someone doing something worse. We tell ourselves, "It's not that serious." Until eventually, we're standing in the consequences of choices we knew we shouldn't have made in the first place.

And here's where the gospel gets me. Jesus didn't die for the version of me that finally got everything together. He died for the version of me that needed saving. Romans 5:8 tells us:

But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.

Romans 5:8

While we were yet sinners.

Not when we had cleaned ourselves up. Not when we finally understood everything. Not when we became the kind of Christian who had a five-step morning routine, a color-coded Bible, and remembered to pray before making every decision. While we were still sinners.

That's the part I don't want to rush past. Because sometimes we talk about the cross so often that we forget how shocking it actually is. The King didn't look at His guilty children and say, "Figure it out." He came for us. Jesus willingly took the punishment we could never pay ourselves. And if we really believe that, then something has to happen after the lashes.

And that's where I think the cross confronts me. How has the sacrifice of Jesus changed me?

Not just, "Do I believe Jesus died for my sins?" But: Do I still treat sin casually? Do I confess quickly, or do I hide? Do I obey God only when obedience is convenient? Do I extend the same mercy to others that I've received? Do I actually live like I belong to the King?

Because the goal of the gospel isn't simply that I would be relieved that my punishment was taken. It's that I would become different because of the One who took it. I don't obey God so that He will love me. I obey because He has already loved me.

That's the question I want to leave with you today: What are you going to do with the love that took your place?

The cross wasn't permission to keep living the same way. It was an invitation to become new. The King took the lashes. Now what will His daughter do?