I was checking in on some blogs lately and came across one of a friend of mine, one that I've mostly lost touch with. We met about a year ago and I know that, deep down, we have a lot more in common than either of us know to be obvious.
At any rate, this friend has noted recently on her blog that she is no longer a believer in Jesus. She isn't a Christian, and the tone she often takes makes me believe that she may even have some anti-christian emotions. Oh how I wish she could see me, when I was her age, and know that we are truly so much alike.
The part that took me back was when she listed people in history she'd like to meet. She noted some that seem obvious like FDR and Hitler. But then, at the bottom, she blew me away. She listed Jesus, but not for the reasons I would have hoped. The words she used about my King were curt and had a sting of pain. Then at the end of her explanation of why she would chose to meet Him, she stated, "I'd shake his hand though, and let him know I respect his humanitarian efforts."
Wow. My Prince, my Lord. The One who set me free from things that I never even knew held me in bondage. My Love. Shake his hand? I exited off her blog, intent on coming back and sharing with her something profound. The profound never came. But, her words lingered.
Then, this past week when I took Baby Girl to her physical therapy appointment, I ran some errands. As I drove in the (uncommon) silence, I thought about my friend's words. "Shake his hand..."
I thought, "My dear friend, if you could shake His hand, if you could just touch him, see the scars, feel him for yourself, you'd see that He really is all you will ever need."
Tears formed in my eyes. I hurt for her. Not a pity hurt, an authentic hurt, like when you know someone is experiencing a loss that you cannot prevent. I love her. I hurt for her. Then it hit me. There were people who touched Him, soldiers who gripped His arms, felt His flesh, drove the nails. There were real men who carried His lifeless body. There were people who pulled the nails from His hands. They touched Him.
They felt his flesh.
Yet, for some of them, their lives were not changed. Face to face, skin to skin, smearing the very blood that bore all sin, they felt Him and yet, no change.
I think the thing that saddens me most about being a believer in the Savior of the world is that not everyone will take advantage of His sacrifice. Not all who see Him will see Him. Not all who come face to face with Him will believe. Not all will be rescued.
When I know that these people can be friends, loved ones and family, my heart breaks. It breaks terribly. Yet, the truth remains.
He came.
He lived.
He died.
He rose.
He redeemed.
Choosing not to accept that truth does not make it less true. He died, he did, for me, for you, for all people. He would have came just for one, even if all others chose not to believe.
Although I really believe in my heart that my friend knows the truth. I also know that every day that she questions, everyday that she seeks after other forms of false redemption, everyday that she looks away from the One who is all truth, it is one more day that she is living outside of the fullness that God intended for her life.
The flesh. The nails. The blood. The body. For her, for me, for all.
To believe, to change, should it take a handshake? If you're waiting on all your questions to be answered, I can promise you they never will be. I have unanswered questions. Pastors have unanswered questions. We all do.
So what is the difference between those soldiers who touched Jesus yet never believed and a true Christ follower? Faith. It is by faith, through grace, that He redeemed us all. Faith that He is enough. Faith in what you may never understand. Faith in the One who bore all sin.
At any rate, this friend has noted recently on her blog that she is no longer a believer in Jesus. She isn't a Christian, and the tone she often takes makes me believe that she may even have some anti-christian emotions. Oh how I wish she could see me, when I was her age, and know that we are truly so much alike.
The part that took me back was when she listed people in history she'd like to meet. She noted some that seem obvious like FDR and Hitler. But then, at the bottom, she blew me away. She listed Jesus, but not for the reasons I would have hoped. The words she used about my King were curt and had a sting of pain. Then at the end of her explanation of why she would chose to meet Him, she stated, "I'd shake his hand though, and let him know I respect his humanitarian efforts."
Wow. My Prince, my Lord. The One who set me free from things that I never even knew held me in bondage. My Love. Shake his hand? I exited off her blog, intent on coming back and sharing with her something profound. The profound never came. But, her words lingered.
Then, this past week when I took Baby Girl to her physical therapy appointment, I ran some errands. As I drove in the (uncommon) silence, I thought about my friend's words. "Shake his hand..."
I thought, "My dear friend, if you could shake His hand, if you could just touch him, see the scars, feel him for yourself, you'd see that He really is all you will ever need."
Tears formed in my eyes. I hurt for her. Not a pity hurt, an authentic hurt, like when you know someone is experiencing a loss that you cannot prevent. I love her. I hurt for her. Then it hit me. There were people who touched Him, soldiers who gripped His arms, felt His flesh, drove the nails. There were real men who carried His lifeless body. There were people who pulled the nails from His hands. They touched Him.
They felt his flesh.
Yet, for some of them, their lives were not changed. Face to face, skin to skin, smearing the very blood that bore all sin, they felt Him and yet, no change.
I think the thing that saddens me most about being a believer in the Savior of the world is that not everyone will take advantage of His sacrifice. Not all who see Him will see Him. Not all who come face to face with Him will believe. Not all will be rescued.
When I know that these people can be friends, loved ones and family, my heart breaks. It breaks terribly. Yet, the truth remains.
He came.
He lived.
He died.
He rose.
He redeemed.
Choosing not to accept that truth does not make it less true. He died, he did, for me, for you, for all people. He would have came just for one, even if all others chose not to believe.
He was despised and rejected—
a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief.
We turned our backs on him and looked the other way.
He was despised, and we did not care.
a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief.
We turned our backs on him and looked the other way.
He was despised, and we did not care.
Yet it was our weaknesses he carried;
it was our sorrows that weighed him down.
And we thought his troubles were a punishment from God,
a punishment for his own sins!
But he was pierced for our rebellion,
crushed for our sins.
He was beaten so we could be whole. He was whipped so we could be healed.
All of us, like sheep, have strayed away.
We have left God’s paths to follow our own.
Yet the Lord laid on him
the sins of us all.
Isaiah 53:3-6
(emphasis added)
Although I really believe in my heart that my friend knows the truth. I also know that every day that she questions, everyday that she seeks after other forms of false redemption, everyday that she looks away from the One who is all truth, it is one more day that she is living outside of the fullness that God intended for her life.
The flesh. The nails. The blood. The body. For her, for me, for all.
To believe, to change, should it take a handshake? If you're waiting on all your questions to be answered, I can promise you they never will be. I have unanswered questions. Pastors have unanswered questions. We all do.
So what is the difference between those soldiers who touched Jesus yet never believed and a true Christ follower? Faith. It is by faith, through grace, that He redeemed us all. Faith that He is enough. Faith in what you may never understand. Faith in the One who bore all sin.
Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.
This is what the ancients were commended for.
This is what the ancients were commended for.
By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God's command,
so that what is seen was not made out of what was visible.
Hebrews 11:1-3