“But the goat chosen by lot as the scapegoat shall be presented alive before the Lord to be used for making atonement by sending it into the wilderness as a scapegoat.”
- Leviticus 16:10
I don’t know much about goats. Truth be told, they seem a little high-strung. They climb on things that ought not be climbed on, eat things that ought not be eaten, and somehow always look like they’re up to something.
Now dogs?
We know a thing or two about getting blamed.
If there’s a mud on the kitchen floor, everybody looks at me first. Never mind whoever else could’ve tracked half the flower bed through the house. Somehow, I become the… well… scapedog.
My human just chuckles, wipes my feet, scratches behind my ears, and says, “Buddy, somebody always seems to need a scapegoat.”
That got me listening.
That evening he sat on the porch with his Bible while I stretched out beside the rocker, pretending to sleep. He read about the Day of Atonement, when a goat wearing a red wool band symbolically carried away the sins of the people into the wilderness so the camp could be made clean again.
Then he turned to the story of the two men named Jesus.
Two men standing before Pilate and the crowd.
One was Jesus Barabbas—a name meaning son of the father.
A guilty man. A rebel. A criminal. A man deserving punishment.
The other was Jesus of Nazareth—the true Son of the Father.
Sinless. Holy. The Christ.
The people had a choice.
They cried, “Release Barabbas!”
And they did.
The guilty man walked away free because the innocent One took his place.
I tilted my head. That didn’t seem right.
That wasn’t just a courtroom decision.
That was me.
That was my human.
That was every one of us.
We’re Barabbas.
Jesus became the true Scapegoat—not merely carrying sin into the wilderness, but while wearing a crown of thorns, carrying it all the way to the cross.
He bore the guilt that belonged to us so we could walk away forgiven.
I guess dogs understand substitution better than folks sometimes. I’d gladly jump between my human and danger. I’d take the swat, the thorn, or the snakebite if it meant protecting the one I love.
But even I couldn’t carry away anyone’s sin.
Only Jesus could that.
Every now and then I still get blamed for something I didn’t do. Usually there’s a biscuit involved afterward, so I don’t complain too much.
But when I remember what Jesus willingly accepted—every accusation, every lash, every nail—for sinners like me and my human, I quit worrying about being unfairly blamed.
Because the greatest act of love the world has ever known happened when the Innocent was treated as guilty… so the guilty could be treated as innocent… as righteous.
That’s a lesson even an old dog can understand.
And unlike Barabbas, I don’t just walk away free.
I walk beside the One who took my place.
Keep the Faith… Carpe Diem
