Forthright Fixation

[continued from Monday's post] 

You see, this monstrosity that I am has killed me, and I can’t do a thing about it. The only one great enough to ransom me from this slavery and give me life beyond the grave I’ve dug myself into is my Creator, and my dread foe—the Righteous Judge.

But the inevitable fate of my wretched soul to eternal damnation by the Holy One was thwarted by His own mercy.

He gave up His Son to His own terrible wrath, to the worst torment of soul imaginable, for my sake. Instead of enjoying eternal fellowship with His Father, Christ took the form of sinful man—that broken image of God—and walked the sin-weary world as a man.

Can you taste the bitterness in the air there in Judea? He could. He wept over it with a heart so full of love and aching that He would give His own lifeblood to overcome the acrid stench of sin that so permeated His handiwork. The people went about their lives before his eyes, and He wept over them. They were proud of their heritage, their customs, their laws; their clean hands and their orderly lives had almost hidden the wretchedness of their hearts from the unfamiliar eye. They had numbed themselves to their sin as they fed the monsters of pride and legalism that lurked in the back rooms of the synagogues. No different from you or me, they were just as dead in their sin and just as helpless under the gavel of God’s justice, but they kept busy and kept their hearts cold to Him, trying to fix themselves without His help or just hoping that because they were the favored children of Abraham that His justice might wink in their direction.

But they would never succeed, and His justice is perfect.

Christ came in the form of man, laying aside His right to justice, to honor, to worship, to His very creation. He left the continual fellowship and presence with His Father, and submitted to limitations and frailty—Adam’s curse could not stain Him, but He still bore the limitations that it had brought.

Then, He walked among His people, telling them of their wretchedness, but also that His Father was going to have mercy on their dead souls and bring life and hope to mankind in order that He would be glorified and be worshiped and loved as He ought. He told them that their regulations and customs were worthless, but He also told them what would be good and right instead.

But they were still dead and coldhearted—like me. They knew they were wretches, but they were proud wretches, and if you remind a poor man of his lack of goods, he will be riled up and irritable. And so with them. They hated that they needed His sort of redemption instead of the salvation by regulations that they had forged throughout the generations. Instead of taking heart at His promise of salvation and the joy that would be restored to His creation in that day of salvation, they turned on Him.

The creation mocked and scorned the Creator. The Healer and Maker was torn and bruised and battered and broken. His hands—the strong carpenter’s hands that had healed so many—were pierced until weak and lifeless. His back, which bore the weight of all our sorrows, was shredded under the lash until it could not bear up a beam of wood. His feet, which had grown dusty as He had walked about His footstool for our sake, were nailed to a tree and the blood washed them clean under the melancholy Jerusalem sky. And the Breath of Life that had first given light to Adam’s eyes and animation and life to all his offspring—at the hands of Adam’s sons the Breath of Life ceased to breathe.

The destruction of the image of God in man by man was utterly and finally complete.

But, the destruction of the power of sin in man was also utterly and finally complete. As the breath left the Lord’s body, He declared His purpose “finished.”

To fulfill the prophecy, He lay still and cold in a rich man’s tomb for three days. When the Sabbath was over, a woman whose demons—not unlike my own—had been driven from her by His strong right hand, found that her life was not over and that hope had been proven a hundred fold. He was risen, the victorious Lord of Creation, having conquered Death and crushed Sin. And life could be restored to dead hearts long cold in the ancient labyrinthine dungeons of Sin. Life and light had come at last.

That resurrection morning, the rebel in my soul shuddered and trembled in the brilliant light that flashed out of the tomb and came to rest in his former dwelling place. I may have been a slave to Sin, but Love called my name that morning to tell me that Sin was dead and as far removed from me as east is from west. There was no more need of submission to that depraved creature I had been. He used past tense, even though I could still see my own filthiness. There was victory in His eyes, and as He took my hand, I knew that there was a promise to never forsake me, to get Himself dirty as He rooted out the filth in me and to wash even those darkest, most terrible places with the purest of His living water. He gave me tools—a Comforter and a Counselor guide me, and His own Word to teach me of myself and of Him and His beautiful and perfect will for my new life. His smile as He looked upon me said that He delighted to restore His creation—His image in me—and would see this work to completion.

The book still lay in my lap, its pages still warm from my fingers. The discontent and wanderlust that filled my spirit had quenched my joy. But the Friend that Love had left with me had taught me that joy and satisfaction were best found in Him and His Word. The author of that novel had promised me happiness and peace if only… But the Author of my life had given me delight and that peace that comes only from a soul at ease before the Judge. Fear and damnation were no longer my lot, but rather a rich satisfaction much like that of a child perfectly content and utterly abandoning any cares in the bliss of a moment as he curls up in his mother’s lap. I’d tasted wine of the best vintage, and while the wild taste of creek water had tantalized me for a moment, it would leave me sick and shivering in the corner, afraid to look my Father in the eye.

So I laid aside that book, and took up another. The airy pages fluttered in my haste, and that rebel in my soul hung his head in misery as he crept back into the dark of starvation and gloom. My eyes lit upon these verses, and my heart again found peace in the presence of the Father…

“So then, brothers, we are debtors, not to the flesh, to live according to the flesh. For if you live according to the flesh you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live. For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’ The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him. For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.” – Romans 8:12-18, ESV

Filed under: Conviction, Forgiven, Grace, Joy in Christ, Weakness