Words from the Cross Part II: I Thirst

I’m preparing to dye Easter eggs with my family.

My mom is boiling water in her stock pot. Cardboard cartons of eggs sit nearby.

I help the younger boys set an assortment of cups on the table—juice glasses, tumblers, and coffee mugs. We fill them with vinegar, and the boys drop dye tablets into each one. The tablets fizzle while color stretches through clear liquid.

Isaiah drops a tablet into a Superman mug. He leans over it, sniffs, then crinkles his face.

“This stinks,” he says. “Why does the dye smell like that?”

“It’s the vinegar,” I say. I lift the mug up and hold it out to him. “Want a sip?”

“No thanks,” he says. He sticks out his tongue.  “What do people use vinegar for anyway?”

“Cooking and cleaning.”

But, as I set the mug down, I think of One who did drink vinegar. While Christ hung on the cross, He asked for a drink.

I thirst.

After thirty-two years in a human body, the Son of God had one last request—a sip of water. But instead of giving Him that, the guards offered Him a sponge full of vinegar. He had come to die for them, and they refused to meet His most basic need.

How striking that Christ gave all for those who would give nothing.

I am like those guards. I have nothing to offer Christ but bitter imperfection. I was clearly and completely undeserving.

How striking that Christ would save me despite my sin.

So I lift a prayer to the King who was crowned with thorns.

Jesus, thank you for giving eternal life to those who only offered you vinegar. And thank you for giving me undeserved grace.

The Way God Sees Me (Guest Post)

Recently, I had the opportunity to collaborate with a new friend, Joyell. She’s a fellow blogger, and her blog,  Small World, Big God, shares stories of how God shows up in everyday life. I’m honored that she invited me to be a guest writer this week. You can read my post here: https://swbgblog.wordpress.com/2019/04/10/the-way-god-sees-me/

Words from the Cross Part I: Why Have You Forsaken Me?

I’m at the rock-climbing gym with my friend, Xuan. He’s been teaching me everything from technique to climbing lingo.

“This is great,” I say. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“I enjoy unusual hobbies,” he says. “Climbing, spelunking, stuff like that.”

My chest locks up.

“Have you ever been spelunking before?” he asks.

He doesn’t know. He hasn’t heard that I once spent over twenty hours trapped in a cave.

“Once or twice,” I say.

It’s warm in the gym, but I shiver.

For a moment, I’m back in the cave. My body is pressed between cold, slick stone walls. My face is caked with mud. I struggle to unpin myself. My muscles burn, but I go nowhere. I’m utterly, completely alone.

It’s been seven years. But there are still things I don’t understand.

Why did God allow me to be trapped?

Why did He wait almost a day to rescue me?

Where was He in those hours of darkness?

Those questions bring to mind some of the last words of Christ.

My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?

I’m immediately humbled. 

Because I was never alone in that cave. And, in the end, God rescued me.

But when Christ uttered that cry, He was completely alone. His Father had turned His face away. He did not rescue His Son.

All of that was necessary for my salvation. Christ had to bear the full punishment for my sin—complete separation from God.

So why can’t I trust that the One who gave all would never abandon me? Why do I carry around these doubts years after my rescue?

“You should try to climb this route again,” Xuan says.

I dust my hands with chalk and approach the wall.

As I grip the rough handholds, I thank God for remaining with me while I was pinned against those smooth walls years ago. And I thank Jesus for dying on the cross two millennia ago so that I will never be separated from God.