My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from the words of my groaning? (Psalm 22:1, NIV)
“It’s over. The cross didn’t work.”
What? !Señor reprenda! Who am I to abhor (or my mind to incline to) the work of the cross in my life? How come Jesus died in vain, if he didn’t? Why am I located in the point of no return, where the work of the Lord is finished, soon to be revealed?
It all came early today, when I reached to school. I woke up at 6:30, pretty rare for me now. When I had to reach the bus in 25 minutes, it became a mad dash! Bathing, dressing, perfuming, shampooing, picking up books, all in all, I reached it with seven minutes to spare.
In school, I had to dash to my Office Tech class, and took the wrong book. This also made me dash to my Art class, and in the journey, this musing came to mind. Somewhat murky, gory, and ugly, my mind was convinced that the cross didn’t work. Though I successfully reached both dashes, I still couldn’t finish the work.
Worse: in the road to the bus, I got scolded for buying a Welch’s pack of gummies (which are delicious!) and it made me get a pack of guilt (you know the drill). This mostly improved my convictions that the cross didn’t work.
Who am I to backslide (or at least try to) in the work the Lord has done? Why this thought ran so smoothly in my head all day? Is it the devil trying to trick me? No, he isn’t. If Satan tried, God would warn me in any way. Is it my crazy, perverted, unknowable mind? Yes, my self-righteous persona tried to supersede what the cross has done in my life.
Jesus did this back on the cross, hanging Himself for all mankind. If He didn’t do this, would we bear ourselves in the bare minimum? What about the dash on the cross? What about the long road Jesus went through while carrying what we couldn’t (and can’t and don’t) do… successfully. He not only carried our sins, but our weaknesses and iniquities, our doubts and our pride, our poor holiness and our law. He also carried billions on people on that mad dash. He didn’t run; He paced Himself, bit by bit.
And I guess it’s our time to run that mad dash to the cross! Then by faith, I’ll kick out the “cross didn’t work” charade outta here!