God’s Strange Hobby: Drowning Sins
Text: Micah 7:18–20 (ESV) – “Who is a God
like you, pardoning iniquity and passing over transgression for the remnant of
his inheritance? He does not retain his anger forever, because he delights in
steadfast love.”
I. The Question No One Asks (Law / The Problem)
(2 minutes)
My friends, look at the first words of our text: “Who
is a God like you?”
That is a strange question. In the Bible, people usually ask
the opposite. Jonah asked, “Who is a God like you?”—and he was
furious. He said, “I knew you were gracious and merciful, slow to
anger, and relenting from disaster. That’s why I ran away!” (Jonah
4:2).
We don’t ask, “Who is a God like you?” in surprise at mercy.
We usually ask, “Is God really this angry?” Or “What did I do wrong?” Or “Where
is God when I suffer?”
But Micah has seen judgment. Israel is in exile. The cities
are rubble. The prophets are mocked. And Micah looks at the wreckage of his
nation—caused by their own sin—and he dares to whisper: “Who is a God
like you? Because if you were like our gods—if you were like our grudges—you
would have burned us to nothing.”
Law point: You and I know the voice of deserved
punishment. When you lie to your spouse, when you cheat on your taxes, when you
harbor hatred for your neighbor—you know you deserve silence from God at best,
thunder at worst. You try to bargain. You try to be “good enough.” But deep
down, you feel the weight of transgression—the word Micah uses for willful
rebellion.
Transition: So the question stands: If God is
holy, how can He forgive without becoming corrupt? If God is just, how can He
“pass over transgression”? That sounds like a judge letting a criminal go free.
That’s not justice—that’s scandal.
II. The Parable of the Sinking Ledger (Gospel / The
Answer)
(3 minutes)
Let me tell you a story.
There was once an accountant who embezzled from his
company—not just a little, but a fortune. The owner discovered it. The
accountant stood trembling, knowing the law: repayment plus prison. But the
owner said nothing. The next morning, the accountant came to work expecting
handcuffs. Instead, the owner handed him a cup of coffee and said, “I’ve
destroyed the ledger.”
The accountant whispered, “But the numbers—the
evidence—”
The owner said, “I’ve drowned it. Go home.”
That’s a nice story, isn’t it? But you and I would call that
owner a fool. Because justice wasn’t done. The debt wasn’t paid. The owner
just… ignored it.
Here’s the Lutheran twist: God cannot simply
“ignore” sin. He is not a senile grandfather. Your sin is real. It has cosmic
weight. As Luther said, sin is not a minor mistake; it is “a turning
away from God to the creature.”
So how does God “pass over transgression” without becoming
unjust?
Answer: He doesn’t pass over it lightly. He
passes over it on top of a corpse.
Look at verse 19: “He will again have compassion on
us; he will tread our iniquities underfoot. You will cast all our sins into the
depths of the sea.”
In the Old Testament, “treading underfoot” is what a
conqueror does to a defeated enemy. And “casting into the sea” is what an army
does with a captive—drowning.
But here, God treads down not us—but our iniquities.
He drowns not us—but our sins.
How?
Centuries after Micah, another Jew stood in the Jordan
River. John pointed: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin
of the world!” Jesus went into the water—not for His own sin, but for
yours. And when He came up, the sky tore open. But the real tearing happened
three years later, on a cross.
On Good Friday, God trod down His own Son. He drowned the
Sinless One in the sea of your guilt.
Gospel declaration: You are not forgiven because
God “overlooked” your sin. You are forgiven because God satisfied His
own justice in the flesh of Jesus. Your sin is gone—not hidden under a rug, but
drowned in the Red Sea of Christ’s blood.
This is what Luther called the “happy exchange”:
Christ takes your drowning and gives you His rising.
III. The Parable of the Two Fishermen (Sanctification /
Certainty)
(3 minutes)
Here’s a second story.
Two fishermen lived on the Sea of Galilee. One, named Simon
Peter, was a professional. The other was a pharisee who had retired to fish.
One night, both sinned terribly. Peter denied knowing
Jesus—with curses. The pharisee cheated his business partner.
The next morning, the pharisee went to the temple, offered a
sacrifice, and paid extra. He thought, “God has surely forgiven me
because I made up for it.”
Peter, however, went back to his boat—weeping. He couldn’t
fix it. He had looked Jesus in the eye and lied. He was a corpse of shame.
Then, on the shore, a stranger called out: “Children,
do you have any fish?” They had none. He said, “Cast on the
right side.” The net filled. John whispered, “It is the Lord.”
Peter jumped into the water—not to drown, but to be near
Jesus.
And what did Jesus say? Not “Here’s a list of
penance.” Not “You need to feel more sorry.” He
said, “Feed my lambs.”
Do you see?
The pharisee kept looking at his sin—balancing accounts.
Peter looked at the risen Lord.
Lutheran theology says: After forgiveness, your sin is in
the depths of the sea (Micah 7:19). That means you are not to go
diving for it. You don’t dredge up what God has drowned.
When the devil whispers, “You did that terrible
thing,” you reply: “Yes, I did. But that sin is now at the
bottom of the Pacific, and God has posted a ‘No Fishing’ sign.”
Application: You don’t need to manufacture
sorrow or bargain with God. You need to believe the promise: “He does
not retain his anger forever, because he delights in steadfast love.” God
actually delights in forgiving you. It’s not His reluctant
duty. It’s His hobby.
IV. The Lutheran “Because” (Conclusion / Assurance)
(2 minutes)
Verse 18 says God “pardons iniquity and passes over
transgression… because he delights in steadfast love.”
Not “if you repent enough.”
Not “if you clean up your life.”
Because—that’s the only reason. The ground of your forgiveness is not
your faith’s quality but God’s character.
Luther once wrote to a depressed monk: “Learn to
know Christ and him crucified. Learn to sing a new song to him… and despair of
yourself, saying, ‘Lord, you are my righteousness, I am your sin. You have
taken what is mine and given me what is yours.’”
That’s Micah 7:18–20.
So who is a God like you?
The pagan gods demand you climb the mountain.
The Muslim god demands you tip the scales.
The atheist’s universe offers no forgiveness at all.
But the God of Micah—the God of Calvary—climbs down the
mountain, tips the scales onto His own Son, and then drowns the evidence in the
sea of His baptismal flood.
You are not walking on thin ice. You are standing on a
drowned enemy.
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the
Holy Spirit. Amen.
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