Columnists, Scripture

My Sins Did This

In the Old Testament, sins were forgiven through sacrifice. That sounds rather basic, but consider what a sacrifice means. It means that the sinner must go to his flock or herd and pick out, not just any sheep, but the finest, most healthy, most unblemished male — a valuable commodity.

He then takes the sheep on a journey of many miles to Jerusalem — an arduous, difficult journey. He is forced to drag it against its will into the Temple, where he kills it. The sinner is forced to hold it down on the altar as it struggles to be free, all the while thinking: my sins caused this. He drives the knife into its throat, as it shrieks and writhes in pain, thinking: my sins caused this. He watches the struggle slowly stop, as blood flows out from the animal and washes onto the floor, all the while thinking: my sins caused this. He then must cut the animal open, feeling the still-warm heart and innards, knowing that he killed this innocent animal because his sins caused this. He offers and burns this animal’s organs on a fire, knowing that this destruction was because his sins caused this.

I apologize for being graphic, but we need to understand just how much sins cost — when you feel the blood running over your hands, when you hear the shrieks of pain of the animal, when you see it stop breathing and touch its still-warm organs, you know, viscerally, the cost of sin.

But we do not live under the Old Covenant. Our New Covenant was sworn with a much more precious price. Now, when we see the crown of thorns, we should think, my sins caused this. When we consider the scourge marks across His back, we should think, my sins caused this. When we look at the nails that penetrated through flesh and bone, we realize, my sins caused this. When we see the Holy Face contorted in agony, when we see the Precious Blood race to the ground, when we see the Man upon the Cross wheeze His last breath, we are forced to think: my sins caused this.

And when we look upon the Cross, we realize that here, our judgment has been passed, our sentence has been paid, and all that is left for us is love and mercy.

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Originally published at The Cross Stands While the World Turns
Photo: Gustave Doré, Wikipedia Commons / PD-US

Fr. Joseph Gill

Fr. Joseph Gill grew up in a musical family in Frederick, MD, the oldest of five children. His father taught him piano from a young age, and his mother often sang in the church choir. He began writing songs very young, honing his skill further when he received his first guitar. After his conversion, he dedicated his life and his songwriting to the Lord. Fr. Gill was ordained a Catholic priest in May 2013. He is currently serving at the Basilica of Saint John the Evangelist, Stamford, Connecticut. He shares his homilies at The Cross Stands While the World Turns.