I sometimes wonder.
I wonder if his blood hasn’t been shoveled so far below our capacity to dig that we can no longer even claim redemption in its accomplishments.
I wonder if that soil isn’t so far beneath ours that we cannot even reach it anymore.
I wonder if the wood of his cross hasn’t been so eroded and deteriorated that we can no longer lean upon the sacrifice that dwelt thereon.
I wonder if I, myself, have vitiated the call to crucifixion by my rash decisions and hard-hearted ways.
I wonder if it’s over for us . . . if we have been taken so far into the depths of our own desires and cultural stigmas that we can’t even wonder at truly pleasing him.
But then I am reminded that though the ancient cross was buried, though his garments have wasted away and his blood can no longer be looked upon, his resurrection face rests in my heart and continues to beckon me forward... forward... out of this world... out... into an eternity that will not wait, as it persists on starting now. Here and now. Within me.
Praise God for my Resurrected Savior.
Past the dyed easter eggs, past the new spring clothes, past the church services, past the relatives, past the food and the laughter . . . He will wait.
: ) Great Post.
ReplyDeleteThis Easter, really got passed me. I actually got a little upset at myself, because my thoughts were this after the Easter Production: "That wasn't moving at all..."
Just because the production didn't stir my feelings I wasn't reminded of what the Cross was really about. Then Sunday, it was a less than average church service and again I wasn't emotionally feed, so I was just stale. Which seriously irritates me.
Sunday was a weird day for me. I felt very "under the weather" for the first time in quite a long time.
So:
Praise God for my Resurrected Savior.
Past the emotions, the productions, and the expectations . . . He will wait.