Sometimes I feel foolish for being a Christian.
Like, maybe I’m not cool…?
Whaaat?! Of course I’m cool! … I can totes dab, I’m lit, totally on fleek.
One Easter break I heard a cool kid yell, “hey, thanks for dying for my sins Jesus so I can have a 4-day weekend!” across the school yard with just a tad of snide sarcasm. I flinched at the sting of his barb, I felt angry, hurt and yes, a tad foolish.
Because even though I understood that he had probably not come to this deep philosophic understanding through rigorous assessment, study, and earnest searching, he said it cleverly, with the confidence of one who has the popular vote. And so, I cowered under the embarrassment of being outed as a religious nutter, a weirdo, a Christian.
I can still feel the piercing of my heart that anyone should belittle Christ in such a way. Also, and perhaps if I’m honest, even more painfully, I suffered the horrible ache of rejection.
How could he? How could he trivialise and minimise the one who chose to humble himself, who chose to give himself completely?
How could he reject Jesus?
How could he reject me?
*Not to self – don’t reject Jesus like that guy!
Do I reject Jesus?
Do I have to answer that? …
I reject him when I pretend to have it all together, instead of being honest in my pain.
I reject him when I seek the approval of others more than I seek him.
I reject him when I quicken my pace as I walk past my brother who is hurting.
I reject him when I spend more time on Netflix than I do in prayer.
I reject him when I stand in front of the fridge thinking a snack will make me feel better than he possible could.
I reject him when I feel safer with money in the bank than I do in his arms.
I reject him.
Today is the day we mark his death. Good Friday.
Yes, Sunday is coming. But today is Friday.
I’m going to take this day to sit with the truth, the truth of my rejection of Christ. I need to be honest, to look at it, to own it, to take it to Jesus, to lay it down.
Despised and rejected.
"How Deep The Father's Love For Us"
How deep the Father's love for us,
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure
How great the pain of searing loss,
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One,
Bring many sons to glory
Behold the Man upon a cross,
My sin upon His shoulders
Ashamed I hear my mocking voice,
Call out among the scoffers
It was my sin that held Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I know that it is finished
I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection
Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom
by Stuart Townend