The Power of the Cross

Growing up, I liked to read the parts of the Gospel that were about me.

You know... like I can do all things through Christ.

and that Jesus came to save me.

And that while I was a sinner, He died for me.

That mercies are new every morning and that beauty comes from ashes and that nothing can separate me from His love.

I didn't like to think about the Cross. About His Passion.

I'd skirt right through passages referring to being dead in my sins and alive in Christ, and would inwardly groan when someone would sing Nothing but the Blood.

What a disservice I did to Him.

I'm not even sure when I realized the power of the Cross... but it was through intentional reading of His Word.

Not just reading what sounded pretty or made me happy...

but really digging into His Word.

It came about the same time that I started realizing that Jesus really did want to be my friend.

That the love He has for me, it was made evident through the ultimate sacrifice.

Maybe it's the whole idea of sacrifice that I didn't really like to think about... because Heaven knows we aren't good at sacrificing... at least I'm not.

But tonight, I sit here on the eve of Resurrection Sunday, knowing that I would be nothing without the Cross.

His blood, covering my sin.

And while I still can acknowledge how morbid it can be to think about His blood, it is a beautiful thing. And I know that it can be disturbing to consider what He went through for me...

But it's something that we all need to do.

Pause and think about the worst physical hurt you've ever had in your life. Personally, I'm a bit of a baby. I can think of times when I fell and skinned my knee when I was little, of when I flipped over the bike and got a knot on my head, of when my Mom accidentally slammed my fingers in the car door, of labor pains...

But y'all.  Those were all over in a matter of minutes, or hours, at least.

He suffered a day and an evening of torture.

Beating.

Blood blurring his vision.

Thorns piercing his temple.

And then, as they spit on him and yelled at him, he picked up the Cross that should have been for me... and packed it.

The weight would have been heavy.

Sometimes, the weight of life is heavy, making me fall to my knees...

but He is always there, if I look for Him.

He's carried the heaviest weight.

For hours, He hung in torture, separated from His Father because of my sin...

Your sin.

Separated so that I didn't have to be...

So that the veil in the temple would be torn and I could have access to Him.

Relationship with Him.

The power of the cross...

may not necessarily be a physical power.

But it's the power that sustains me, daily, as I have good days and bad days and look to serve Him.

The power of the Cross...

Love, undeniable. Love that never fails. Love that saves. Love that redeems.

Thank You, Lord, for the power of Your Cross, and the redemption of Your blood... and may I never take it lightly again.