Moreover, this was evident not only then but also when He chastised Peter, indicating that His voluntary death was part of divine design, whereas Peter’s thoughts were influenced by deceit, leading to his condemnation (though motivated differently—Peter acted from misguided affection while Satan schemed against our salvation). Despite their contrasting motives, both were united in their reluctance to see the One whose suffering would alleviate the afflictions of humanity endure pain. The chief architect of evil, upon seeing that the perfect and divine Body submitted to natural and non-judgmental passions, hatched a treachery and attempted to execute it. However, witnessing the divine glory magnified through miraculous signs, he retracted and was caught between his desire for the Lord's demise and his opposition to it, ultimately ensnared by his own schemes. Yet, madness triumphed over fear, as the adversary, familiar with death and destruction, succumbed to an overwhelming trap. Our sacred texts explicitly declare that the Father desired the death of the Son, while the Evil One did not. It may be inferred from various sources that the latter was most eager for the crucifixion—indeed, the Jewish people, influenced by him, sought the execution of their Saviour. Similarly, it is apparent that, though the Father’s heart recoiled from the suffering of the Son, this will be clarified further on.
Now that we have organized this understanding, we must consider that while contradictory statements are made regarding the Lord's death, they are not identical. One perspective arises from the suffering He endured, while the other arises from the ultimate triumph that followed. Ultimately, through death, the salvation of humanity and the defeat of diabolical tyranny were achieved—this is undoubtedly the desire and delight of the Father, reflecting the pinnacle of His providence for humankind. It cannot be overlooked that this outcome delivers a severe blow to the adversary. The death of the Son, as a painful reality, is displeasing to the Father, evoking wrath and indignation, just as it does for the Evil One, representing the greatest of sorrows. This is why our Saviour, in the form of a plea for forgiveness, uttered, “Father, forgive them this sin, for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34). Thus, the Father found the murder of the Son profoundly unwelcome, prompting the Victim Himself to intercede, asking for mercy for the guilty in hopes of their repentance. Therefore, there is no contradiction in the Father desiring and simultaneously resisting the death of the Son—one assertion stems from the resulting act of salvation, while the other derives from the act of death itself. Like a commander witnessing a brave soldier enduring wounds while vanquishing the enemy, He rejoices in the soldier's triumph and does not grieve over the wounds sustained when viewed through the lens of victory. Yet, for the commander, in the early stages of battle, the sight of wounds can evoke a deep concern for the outcome until victory is assured.
In this case, even as the Lord was struck, even prior to the full measure of His suffering, a resounding triumph was already apparent, especially evident when the wicked dared to execute their insolence. The Lord possesses complete understanding of both the future and the present, owing to the oneness of His divine knowledge, making forthcoming events no less significant than those that have transpired or are unfolding. Thus, it becomes clear that the death of the Son can be regarded as both desired and undesired by the Father, and that the original adversary of our nature sought this death while ultimately suffering dreadful consequences for his efforts. The Evil One, deriving joy from the bloodshed and consumption of the Saviour, was soon consumed by a catastrophic blow and inevitable ruin. Meanwhile, the Father, who abhors the shedding of innocent blood, found satisfaction in the outcome of the encroachment on salvation, accepting it with great joy—not because He approved of the Son's death but rather because of the glorious result, thus transforming it into an object of divine favor. This offers insight into a longstanding mystery—namely, to whom was the sacrificial blood given that secured our redemption? It cannot please the Father to slay the Son; thus, is it not audacious to allow a robber and murderer dominion over the sovereign blood? There are numerous answers to this question, which can be elucidated upon later, but derived from the above we recognize that the Father receives the Son's blood in light of the desired outcome, while the Evil One sought to claim it only to suffer a profound blow in the process, doubting the success of his intentions whilst simultaneously striving toward malicious aims. I believe this question will no longer trouble the pious. The promise remains intact: redemption manifests in two aspects, as a ransom for the bound and as a gift to the captor, with the saving blood serving as the ransom but not for the one who detains it. It is not the nature of these themes to strictly conform to the conventional understanding of redemption. The one offering a ransom stands to lose, while the one receiving gains dominion over that which was previously held. In this scenario, however, the opposite occurs; the One who pays the ransom (for all is under His sovereignty and neither Abel's blood nor the blood of martyrs sits outside His providential will) loses nothing—who can claim that He does not retain the blood that saves, preserving it in the untainted reserves of His providential care? The Ransom-bearer incurs no loss and, as a lover of humanity, thereby acquires the salvation of humankind, while the adversary, who sought to gain, instead lost his claim to tyranny in this endeavor. Thus, the redemptive and sovereign blood will serve as both atonement (reclaiming humanity from bondage) and distinction from ransom; for through deceit, the one who enslaved creation gained nothing, while multitude found reclamation without cost to itself, leading to a total loss for the captor. In other situations, negotiations precede ransoms, while here, in the context of atonement, a just verdict from long ago condemned the unrepentant enemy, deepening that condemnation.
Moreover, in typical cases, a truce of some kind is necessary, but in this atonement, no such concept even exists. Various distinctions abound, and there is little reason to approach these topics with the same expectations one might have concerning a standard ransom—where the terms may be different from traditional interpretations. It is evident that we must be careful to avoid mistakenly conflating synonymous terms that, in truth, carry distinct meanings. By distinguishing between terms as utilized in their proper senses, we can avoid significant misinterpretations and the perplexities they may provoke in others, especially in unwise attempts to change their meanings unjustly. With divine witnesses, such as those martyrs who labored for Christ, it is justly said they offered their blood to God, though this is meant figuratively. Unlike civil witnesses who confirm truth to earthly authorities, the champions of faith testify truthfully in the face of tyrants and kings about the inherent Truth. Additionally, it is noted that they offered their blood in the manner of Abel, who presented the firstlings of his flock (Gen. 4:4), or the lamb that Abraham divided (Gen. 15:8-21), or Melchisedec, who brought Abraham bread and wine (Gen. 14:18). Each of these individuals presented offerings without suffering harm or loss. In contrast, Christ's martyrs did not merely present an external offering; they offered their very lives, willingly testifying to the divine truth.
If someone insists on applying the definition of martyr indiscriminately to both contexts, they risk introducing confusion and misunderstanding—thus leading themselves into false dilemmas rather than unveiling genuine challenges. Those who delineate between forms of witness can see the absurdity in drawing such comparisons. For instance, if martyrs sacrifice their blood, the question arises to whom it was offered. If Christ received it, how does the Saviour rejoice in the blood of humanity? If the Evil One is thought to gain from this, how could they willingly shed blood for their adversary? Who, then, presides as a fair judge in this matter? Such questions stem from an improper application of terms; true martyrs offer their blood willingly for Christ, whose acceptance lies not in the physicality of the offering but in the intention behind it. Thus, the martyrs did not present merely their blood, and in doing so, it must be recognized that they, too, suffer in the spiritual sense—the terms of offering are metaphorical and ought not to be rigidly applied. It is also evident that the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world (John 1:29), did not deliver the blood that redeems; rather, the Father accepted the Son’s suffering with joy, even if it was not as explicitly as one might desire. While my response may not fully satisfy your inquiry, it encapsulates the core understanding required to address such matters, drawing from our discussions within sacred doctrine, thereby facilitating your recollection of any lost thoughts.
THEOSIS