Behold the Lamb

When You Trust Him for Heaven but Not for Your Heartache

You believe in Jesus. You love His Word. You’re not doubting that He has called you for His purposes. But if you’re honest, there’s a quiet place in your soul where fear still reigns and where pain still lingers, unanswered. You know He’s the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world, yes. But you wonder if He really sees the terror in your mind, the ache behind your smile, and the grief that still wakes you up at night.

I want to address that here.

In John 1:29, John the Baptist looked up from the Jordan River and declared, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world” (ESV). Frankly, that sentence is a theological explosion, not a sentimental metaphor. And while most of us have heard the verse countless times, many have lost the force of its meaning. Here, John was not reaching for sentimental symbolism. He was declaring, by revelation, that the fullness of the sacrificial system was now embodied in a single man. And not just any man. The Messiah. The Word made flesh.

But here’s where the dissonance lives. We believe that this spotless Lamb has taken away the sin of the world, but we hesitate to believe that He can take away the anguish of our minds. We assent to the theological truth of atonement, but struggle to apply it in our emotional reality. And as a result, we compartmentalize our faith. We trust Him with our eternity, but not with our pain-filled memories. We believe He secured our legal standing before the Father, but quietly question whether He cares about our hurts, our nightmares, our intrusive thoughts, or the dark valleys of anxiety we can’t seem to escape.

Years ago, my pastor said something that has encouraged me throughout the years, and it was around the idea that what encouraged him most was not how big God is, but how willing the God of the Ages was to invade his world. That has never left me, because the scandal of the Gospel is not only that God became man, but that the Lord of Glory steps into the inner rooms of our brokenness without flinching. And the more I study the Scriptures these days, the more I’m convinced that this is not at all wishful thinking, but instead biblical revelation. The Lamb of God does not merely remove the penalty of sin; He draws near to remove the power of shame, the tyranny of fear, and the inner collapse we hide from others.

This is not a psychological theory. This is the Gospel in full view.

The Lamb Who Takes Away Sin and Carries Our Griefs

John’s declaration, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world,” is densely layered with Old Testament meaning. The Greek verb used for “takes away” is αἴρω (airō), which means to lift, carry, remove, or bear away. This word is active and judicial. Jesus did not come to overlook sin, but to bear it upon Himself. As Isaiah prophesied hundreds of years earlier, “The Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all” (Isaiah 53:6, ESV). This is substitutionary atonement in plain view.

But the same chapter in Isaiah tells us something else. Verse 4 declares, “Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows…” (ESV). The Hebrew words for “borne” (nasa) and “carried” (sabal) are both used elsewhere in the Old Testament to describe the weight of sin and the suffering it causes. And that pairing matters, because Scripture refuses to sever the spiritual from the emotional, or the legal from the personal. The Lamb of God does not only deal with guilt. He also draws near to the root of affliction.

Now, that doesn’t mean all emotional suffering is erased at conversion. But in my estimation, it does mean that Christ, in His fullness, refuses to abandon the wounded parts of our story to time or self-effort. He is the High Priest who “sympathizes with our weaknesses” (Hebrews 4:15), the Shepherd who “gathers the lambs in His arms” (Isaiah 40:11), and the One who enters the ache and refuses to leave.

That’s why I want to be abundantly clear that the Lamb of God does not deal only in legal categories. He deals in human anguish. He sees the war behind your eyes, the haunting memory you can’t escape, the panic that erupts without warning, the shame you can’t name, and the fear that’s not rational but feels all-consuming. And He does not say, “Get it together.” He says, “Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

To believe in Jesus as the Lamb of God is not merely to agree with the doctrine of substitution. It is to stake your life on the reality that He has taken into Himself the very poison that once held you captive, and that He continues to draw near in the places you’re still learning to trust Him.

But Why Does It Still Hurt?

Here lies one of the great tensions of Christian discipleship: If Jesus carried my sin and my sorrow, why do I still feel the weight of both? Why do I still bleed from wounds I thought were healed? And why do I still battle fear, depression, shame, or torment?

Well, the answer is not that Jesus is absent, but that sanctification is unfolding.

Scripture is clear about the idea that justification is a finished event. Paul wrote, “We have been justified by faith” (Romans 5:1). But sanctification (the process of being formed into the image of Christ) is ongoing. And that process includes the healing of memories, the rewiring of emotional patterns, the exposure of lies, and the daily choice to behold the Lord rather than behold our dysfunction and pain. Transformation is real, yes, but it is not instant. As I wrote in my book, transformation does not happen in one day; it happens daily. And nowhere does the Bible promise otherwise.

The danger of over-realized eschatology is the assumption that full healing is our right now, and if we don’t have it, something is wrong with our faith. That belief is not only theologically reckless, but if I can be honest, it is pastorally cruel. Paul himself cried out for deliverance from a “thorn” that tormented him, and the Lord did not remove it. Instead, He said, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9). That is not a concession. That is a revelation about an aspect of the kingdom that’s hard to reconcile.

The Lamb of God has taken away the sin of the world. But we still live in the tension of the “already and not yet”—a world where victory has been secured but is not yet fully consummated. This is what Jesus meant when He declared, “The Kingdom of God is at hand” (Mark 1:15), and what Paul echoed when he said that we “groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies” (Romans 8:23). We are in the middle of the story, and Jesus is not merely waiting for us at the end. He is walking with us through the tension.

The Lion Who Is Also a Lamb

Now, Revelation 5 gives us one of the most explosive moments in all of Scripture. John weeps because no one is found worthy to open the scroll. But then a voice declares, “Weep no more; behold, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered…” (Revelation 5:5, ESV). Yet when John turns to see this Lion, he does not see a golden light. He sees “a Lamb standing, as though it had been slain” (v. 6).

If this work is helping you heal what’s holding you back and walk in wholeness, you can invest in the mission here.

This is not a contradiction. Rather, this is the mystery of Christ. He is both. He is the Lamb who was slain and the Lion who conquered. He is the Savior who suffers and the King who reigns. He bears the marks of death and the authority of resurrection. He is meek and majestic. He holds all things together and still draws near to hold you.

And this matters greatly because we need both, too. We need the Lamb who bears our sin, and the Lion who breaks our chains. We need the gentleness that binds our wounds and the authority that silences our tormentors. We need the Savior who kneels to wash our feet and the Judge who will one day crush evil underfoot.

The Lion is no less approachable because He is powerful. His power is what guarantees the permanence of His gentleness. And the Lamb is not weak because He is meek. His meekness is what reveals the invincibility of His love. If He were only a Lion, we would tremble and hide. If He were only a Lamb, we might question whether He had the power to save. But because He is both, we can draw near to His presence with boldness.

He Sees You Right Now

I believe there is a lie many believers carry (often unnamed but deeply felt), and it’s this: He’s too busy. He’s far away. He sees the world, not me. He died for humanity, but I am just one face in the crowd.

But Scripture denounces that lie and instead declares that He knows your frame (Psalm 103:14). He knows your name (Isaiah 43:1). He knows your needs before you ask (Matthew 6:8). He numbers your hairs (Luke 12:7). He bottles your tears (Psalm 56:8). And He draws near to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18).

He does not merely love generally. He loves specifically.

And that means you are not overlooked nor are you forgotten. You are not left to manage your pain in isolation while heaven tends to “bigger” issues. The cross was not a broadcast announcement. It was a personal rescue.

And so the invitation stands: Behold Him.

What Does It Mean to Behold?

To behold is not to glance. It is to fix the eyes of your heart with unflinching intention. It is to meditate, to linger, to allow the reality of Christ’s character to shape your internal world more than your symptoms, your history, or even your pesky inner critic.

In 2 Corinthians 3:18, Paul writes, “And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image…” The word for “beholding” here implies a steady gaze, like someone looking into a mirror. And as we behold Him through His Word, through worship, and through abiding in Him, we are formed into His likeness.

That is to say that beholding is not passive. It is the bedrock of discipleship. I’ve heard it said that we become what we behold. And if we behold pain and fear more than we behold Jesus, pain and fear will disciple us. But if we behold the Lamb (and if we keep our gaze fixed on the One who took our place, bore our shame, and crushed the serpent), we will be transformed by His mighty presence.

The Invitation

My friend, if you’re wrestling today, you do not need another formula. You need Jesus, not just as a theological category, but as your Shepherd, your Advocate, your Deliverer, your Friend. You don’t need to white-knuckle your way out of emotional suffering. But neither do you wait passively for healing. Instead, you abide in Him and His Word. You obey and stay near. You ask. You trust. And you keep beholding.

So, when the old shame and taunts creep in, behold the Lamb. When the fear resurfaces, behold the Lamb. And when the silence feels unbearable…behold the Lamb.

I believe in you.

If this work is helping you heal what’s holding you back and walk in wholeness, you can invest in the mission here.

For more, I invite you to check out my book, Healing What You Can’t Erase, and listen to my weekly podcast, Win Today: Your Roadmap to Wholeness.