Many times, I have watched the following happen at church. (I am going to provide some fictitious names to make this easier to tell, but the details are real.): Usually, these things become known during prayer request time; it is in such a time of sharing needs that Sue reveals that it has just been discovered she has a serious, life-threatening form of cancer. Someone in the congregation seems more particularly attuned to her news than others. That would be Anne. Anne is a survivor of that very cancer. After the service, following Sue’s disclosure of her condition, I from across the sanctuary watch Anne go to Sue and to begin talking with her. Undoubtedly, Anne broaches the conversation with something like, “I had that very cancer you have. I know what you’re going through.” The empathy on Anne’s face is real, and her voice conveys great concern as she shares insights she learned in her battle with the disease. I see Sue’s face lighten, her head lift a bit, although she is still shocked and burdened by her news. In Anne, she has found an understanding kindred spirit. As pastor, I am grateful for the encouragement and help Anne is being, the consolation she’s offering. A cancer survivor can bolster and strengthen one who has just gotten the news in a way a person who’s never had cancer possibly can. The understanding, empathy, and encouragement is palpable and real. I know Sue must be grateful for Anne. But, let’s create another scenario of Anne’s conversation with Sue. Suppose Anne begins with the same “I had that very cancer. I know what you are going through.” But from there she continues, “I didn’t have the cancer, but I volunteered for a study.” (This is a hypothetical. Such a study, I’m sure, the CDC conceivably would not allow). Anne continues, “I allowed them to genetically engineer my cells so I would contract this cancer. As the cancer developed and enveloped my body, researchers studied it closely and tried different treatments of new drugs on me. I suffered horribly—both from the cancer and the treatment. However, eventually they found a cure. I no longer have cancer. I know there is a cure for this. I know you can be cured! I know because it was through my suffering the antidote was discovered.” In this scene, Sue is going to feel more than empathy and understanding. Sue is going to experience overwhelming gratefulness and hope at the same moment. Anne not only had the cancer Sue has, Anne purposely allowed herself to be inoculated with Sue’s cancer so that a cure might be developed for it. Make no mistake. Jesus had no sin. But, He “became sin,” bore our sins, and suffered horribly for it on the cross. It was that suffering that yielded a cure for our sin. His suffering resulted in our saving. In the first scenario, Anne gave Sue consolation. In the second, she gave her a cure. Jesus has more than consolation to offer us. He has a cure. (see Isa. 53).