If you have enough time read John 20.
Both were running, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. John 20:4
It is not a question of whether or not your life is a race. We’re all racing. We’re all running. We’re all go, go, go-ing.
The question is what are we racing to?
Where are YOU running to? Look at the course you are on right now – if you continue on this course, what will be at the end – the finish line, so to speak?
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. 2 Timothy 4:7
The course can be rough, while at other times it can be smooth. It can go uphill and downhill. We can receive from the crowds cheers and jeers. Sometimes it is hard to take even the tiniest of steps. Other times it seems as though someone has picked us up and is carrying us along the way (Way). Sometimes the scenery along the Way is tremendous and wonderful. Other times it moves me to pain and tears. Sometimes the only reason I keep going is because I know there is an empty tomb up ahead (and it’s not just His). Other times I can recognize that in many ways, I’ve already left the empty tomb and living the new life today!
Prayer: Lord Jesus, help me to finish the race, knowing that because of you the victory is already mine. In your name. Amen.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Holy Week
If you have enough time read Isaiah 53.
But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. Isaiah 53:5
My middle child shocked me the other day. He told me that he was going to have a lot of tears on Good Friday. I asked him how come? – guessing that thinking about someone suffering and dying, and especially Jesus, must just be too much for him to hold in. I should have known better, for it is my oldest who is much more sensitive to physical pain, suffering, and death (tears can come forth from him at just the mentioning of “Old Yeller”).
No, contrary to what I had anticipated from this one, he merely answered (spoken as if I already knew the answer): “Well you know, because of all my sins.”
Because of all my sins?
Did I mention this is the child who hardly ever gets in trouble?
I mean, of course, he is right – but is he really grasping what many of us often miss?
The idea of someone who has come to “die for us” is moving, touching, and a story we like to hold onto.
The story of someone whom we killed (directly or indirectly – does it really matter?) on the other hand can seem a little more uncomfortable to hold.
He was pierced for our transgressions.
He was crushed for our iniquities.
Might it be that the more honest I am with the profanities in my life, the more I can understand the sacredness of this week?
Might it be that as I understand that “for me” begins first with “because of me”, that I too, if not moved to tears, might at least be moved to greater repentance? That the healing which his wounds bring might not just seem like some distant kind act of God, but that these wounds are the means by which my transgressions, iniquities, sins might actually be healed?
Before looking at the cross, might I be brave enough to look in the mirror? If so, the cross will certainly become more clear.
Prayer: Lord Jesus, you proved your love for us in that while we were still sinners – sinners not just against each other, but against YOU! – nonetheless, you died for us. My sins indeed added to your death. May I recognize all the more how much your life is meant to take away my sins. In your name. Amen.
But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. Isaiah 53:5
My middle child shocked me the other day. He told me that he was going to have a lot of tears on Good Friday. I asked him how come? – guessing that thinking about someone suffering and dying, and especially Jesus, must just be too much for him to hold in. I should have known better, for it is my oldest who is much more sensitive to physical pain, suffering, and death (tears can come forth from him at just the mentioning of “Old Yeller”).
No, contrary to what I had anticipated from this one, he merely answered (spoken as if I already knew the answer): “Well you know, because of all my sins.”
Because of all my sins?
Did I mention this is the child who hardly ever gets in trouble?
I mean, of course, he is right – but is he really grasping what many of us often miss?
The idea of someone who has come to “die for us” is moving, touching, and a story we like to hold onto.
The story of someone whom we killed (directly or indirectly – does it really matter?) on the other hand can seem a little more uncomfortable to hold.
He was pierced for our transgressions.
He was crushed for our iniquities.
Might it be that the more honest I am with the profanities in my life, the more I can understand the sacredness of this week?
Might it be that as I understand that “for me” begins first with “because of me”, that I too, if not moved to tears, might at least be moved to greater repentance? That the healing which his wounds bring might not just seem like some distant kind act of God, but that these wounds are the means by which my transgressions, iniquities, sins might actually be healed?
Before looking at the cross, might I be brave enough to look in the mirror? If so, the cross will certainly become more clear.
Prayer: Lord Jesus, you proved your love for us in that while we were still sinners – sinners not just against each other, but against YOU! – nonetheless, you died for us. My sins indeed added to your death. May I recognize all the more how much your life is meant to take away my sins. In your name. Amen.
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