My brother and I were talking about second chances the other day. Sure, there are second chances, but can we really go back to the way things were? When something starts over can it really be a continuation of the original product, or does it have to be built on a new foundation?
Actually, we weren't really getting that philosophical about it, it went more like this:
My brother: "It was stupid that [so-and-so] said that they could never start again."
Me: "I know, right?"
But I sort of ended up thinking about it a little more on the side, so these thoughts were what I've been pondering about it.
The song Castaway by Chasen (love these guys!) always reminds me of this thought. The last line of the chorus says, "And I know You gave me a gift of a second chance." Even though I was saved when I was quite young, and sometimes bemoan the fact that I don't have a dramatic story of being saved from a live of unhealthy addictions (actually, I'm fine with that fact, trust me), I still love knowing that my whole life is a second chance. And when I mess up (and I do, sigh), the Lord stands, waiting, holding out His hands, willing to give me that second chance.
It's only through His grace that such opportunities exist. His grace extended to Rahab, giving her a whole new life, a new chance, and a lineage of joy. To King David a second chance was given, even after his indiscretion with Bathsheba and murder of Uriah. To me, when I stray, and cease to seek His voice in favor of my own way, He stands, giving chance after chance.
Oh, plus, there's Israel. Nearly every chapter in the Bible has an account of yet another time the Lord gave them yet another chance, and saved their day yet again.
He's a God of second chances. And even though we humans are weak and can't go back to where things started and truly start anew, God can. The cross was the starting point for all of our second chances, and through his gift to us of our second life, we have the assurance of knowing that in His eyes, we begin through the work of the cross. My second chance is possible because of His sacrifice. My eternal life--and rescue from the second death--is mirrored out in everything I do, or He does through me, because Jesus Christ gave His life for me.
It makes every day worth living. And every second chance that we extend, worth giving.
Showing posts with label crucifixion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crucifixion. Show all posts
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Humble Pie
I read an interesting quip this morning. It effectively goes as follows: We should not be humbled by pondering our sins and failures, but rather by the work of the cross and Christ's sacrifice for us.
Tru dat.
I tend to pause, all too often, on my own failures. I've failed more than I'll ever let on (I'm that type of person, sorry), but the fact of the matter is, that's just another way of being self-centered. It's not furthering my relationship with the Lord to think back to the fact that my fleshly self sins way too often. It's not bringing Him glory. It's not doing anything productive, in fact.
So instead I should look more to the cross, and beyond, to the completed work of my risen Saviour. Through His death and resurrection I have been made whole, I have been redeemed, and I have been given a new life. There's no sense looking back through my rear-view mirror, so to speak, and dwell on that old life. But rather look forward through the large windshield in front of me and face my every tomorrow knowing that I come to my knees in gratitude and humility only because His work shines more greatly than my frailty ever will.
I am awed, and humbled, by the Life He lived. And Gave. For me.
Tru dat.
I tend to pause, all too often, on my own failures. I've failed more than I'll ever let on (I'm that type of person, sorry), but the fact of the matter is, that's just another way of being self-centered. It's not furthering my relationship with the Lord to think back to the fact that my fleshly self sins way too often. It's not bringing Him glory. It's not doing anything productive, in fact.
So instead I should look more to the cross, and beyond, to the completed work of my risen Saviour. Through His death and resurrection I have been made whole, I have been redeemed, and I have been given a new life. There's no sense looking back through my rear-view mirror, so to speak, and dwell on that old life. But rather look forward through the large windshield in front of me and face my every tomorrow knowing that I come to my knees in gratitude and humility only because His work shines more greatly than my frailty ever will.
I am awed, and humbled, by the Life He lived. And Gave. For me.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Purchased
On the topic of parables, here's a good one. The story of the guy who found the pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had, and bought the field--what did he sell? And from whom did he buy?
I guess I should have capitalized all of that, because the "he" in the story represents Christ. Actually, are we supposed to capitalize pronouns that don't actually entirely refer to the Lord? I'm not sure.
Moving on.
We all talk about how we were purchased with the blood of Christ, bought with a price, etc. And that's good, that's from the Bible (1 Corinthians 6:20, for example), but from whom were we purchased? Was the transaction with the Father? Were we purchased by the Son from the Father? Because I certainly don't think that Jesus was transacting with Satan or anything like that. So we were purchased, saved from the clutches of sin, but from whom?
And in the parable, the merchant sold all that he had, and purchased the field with the pearl in it. What did Jesus have to give up in coming to Earth to save us? He didn't give up His Deity, nor did He give up His place at the right hand of God. I guess it's one of those things that I won't know until Glory.
And once again, if we were smart enough to understand God, well, that just wouldn't make sense, would it? =)
I guess I should have capitalized all of that, because the "he" in the story represents Christ. Actually, are we supposed to capitalize pronouns that don't actually entirely refer to the Lord? I'm not sure.
Moving on.
We all talk about how we were purchased with the blood of Christ, bought with a price, etc. And that's good, that's from the Bible (1 Corinthians 6:20, for example), but from whom were we purchased? Was the transaction with the Father? Were we purchased by the Son from the Father? Because I certainly don't think that Jesus was transacting with Satan or anything like that. So we were purchased, saved from the clutches of sin, but from whom?
And in the parable, the merchant sold all that he had, and purchased the field with the pearl in it. What did Jesus have to give up in coming to Earth to save us? He didn't give up His Deity, nor did He give up His place at the right hand of God. I guess it's one of those things that I won't know until Glory.
And once again, if we were smart enough to understand God, well, that just wouldn't make sense, would it? =)
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
A moment for reflection
We've all lost someone, or something. None of us remain untouched by the sorrows of death, even if we somehow think that our loss might not be as life-shattering as the next guy's.
We have a guest in our home right now, and he was sharing the most incredible things last night. He recounted how approximately fifteen years ago, he went to a home-schooling gathering to pick up a bunch of children for a time at the gym, and was met by several frazzled mothers. Not thinking anything about it, he joked that if he didn't know better, he'd think they were upset at him. It turns out, they weren't upset, they were worried... for him. The police were trying to get a hold of him, his family was in an accident, and all sorts of doctors were trying to reach him. He rushed in the building to call the doctors. It started out with mostly good news--his son was being released right then. The next doctor reported that his wife and one of his girls were both in surgery, more news later. The last doctor had news about one of his other girls. The doctor had never seen someone survive an injury like that before.
Our friend described how awful it all was; how difficult those moments were. As he was leaving a few of the mothers offered to go with him, or drive him, or help somehow. He wanted to go alone, he told them, but he was very thirsty, and could someone bring him something to drink?
"Can you imagine what would have compelled someone, in my moment of grief, to bring me some vinegar to drink?" He asked us last night.
That's when I started crying. Not just because I know the family, and know the twin of the girl who ended up dying in that accident, but because he made such a good point. To think that Christ, in His moments of suffering, had been brought vinegar to quench his thirst. The disregard of the world, having nothing but thorns and nails to offer, stooped to a place that wouldn't allow the simple kindness of water to quench His thirst. The Man Who was the Living Water was made like the scum of the earth by dying on the cross.
Puts it in perspective, doesn't it?
We have a guest in our home right now, and he was sharing the most incredible things last night. He recounted how approximately fifteen years ago, he went to a home-schooling gathering to pick up a bunch of children for a time at the gym, and was met by several frazzled mothers. Not thinking anything about it, he joked that if he didn't know better, he'd think they were upset at him. It turns out, they weren't upset, they were worried... for him. The police were trying to get a hold of him, his family was in an accident, and all sorts of doctors were trying to reach him. He rushed in the building to call the doctors. It started out with mostly good news--his son was being released right then. The next doctor reported that his wife and one of his girls were both in surgery, more news later. The last doctor had news about one of his other girls. The doctor had never seen someone survive an injury like that before.
Our friend described how awful it all was; how difficult those moments were. As he was leaving a few of the mothers offered to go with him, or drive him, or help somehow. He wanted to go alone, he told them, but he was very thirsty, and could someone bring him something to drink?
"Can you imagine what would have compelled someone, in my moment of grief, to bring me some vinegar to drink?" He asked us last night.
That's when I started crying. Not just because I know the family, and know the twin of the girl who ended up dying in that accident, but because he made such a good point. To think that Christ, in His moments of suffering, had been brought vinegar to quench his thirst. The disregard of the world, having nothing but thorns and nails to offer, stooped to a place that wouldn't allow the simple kindness of water to quench His thirst. The Man Who was the Living Water was made like the scum of the earth by dying on the cross.
Puts it in perspective, doesn't it?
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