"Surely not I, Lord," I heard myself repeat along with the rest of the congregation. The pastor continued with a string of accusations. And with each one, I whispered, "Surely not I, Lord."
Surely not.
But just as surely during this Easter season, I felt so out-of-touch with God and so unappreciative of his sacrifice. My mind had minimized Christ's incredible descent from glory to humanity, and my sin had elevated myself into thinking that surely, if I stood on my tippy toes and if Christ leaned down, then maybe-- just maybe-- we'd be at about the same level.
At times I think that the longer I walk this narrow path toward my heavenly home with Jesus by my side, the less sin I'll see in me. And though, I know that he has begun a sanctifying work in me that he will complete, I don't think that's quite true. I've come to realize that the more time I spend in my savior's presence, the more aware I am of my wretchedness. I am more aware of my own depravity and my haphazard efforts to climb out this deep pit called sin. I am more aware-- not less-- of my pride and selfishness. I see how sin has marred my intellect and emotions, causing even my reasoning to be flawed when I think and process through issues pertaining to God.
Not only this, but the longer I walk with Jesus, the more I see his incredibly holiness. I am more aware of his incredible nature that truly is beyond anything my mind can understand. I see his love that is without compare; I see purity without a rival. I cannot find an earthly match.
And so, the Gospel and it's significance in my life actually gets bigger... it takes root and grows in my heart.
I felt quite disenchanted by the state of my own heart this weekend. I knew that this weekend was a time to rejoice and be amazed that our Lord is RISEN... he has conquered death, sin and the grave. And instead, I was so aware of my own sin.
It took me a while to realize that these thoughts weren't completely contradictory. Christ didn't come for the righteous. He came for the sinners. He came because I was unable to save myself. I'd never, ever-- even if you gave me a million years and a thousand self-help books-- fix myself. He came precisely because I'd never truly understand the great depth of his sacrfice because of sin's profound impact on all of me. Christ had to die because of my sin. However, instead of fixing my eyes on my own sin, I had to turn and fix my eyes on my precious savior.
Our pastor continued on with the service...
"What should I do with this man?"
"Crucify him!" we called out in unison.
"What should I do with this man who opened the eyes of the blind?"
"Crucify him!" we urged.
"What should I do with this man came to set the sinner free?"
"Crucify him!" I distinctly heard my voice cry out from the crowd.
Ah, he came to set the sinner free... the same sinner that accused him from the crowd... the same sinner who'd betray and deny and abandon him. He came for the sinner who'd mock him. The sinner who'd be ashamed of him. The sinner who'd turn away. The sinner who'd fall.
Yes, for the sinner... he came for the sinner.
No comments:
Post a Comment