Recently, our worship service lost a close friend. John was one of the elder statesman at our contemporary service. He was hard of hearing. He liked to sit by himself. He was opinionated, sometimes to a fault. And he was a welcome surprise when he began to regularly appear each week. At John’s memorial service, a colleague reminded me of how John would always ask at the end of worship if there was anything he could do to help us remaining worker bees. One of John’s “jobs”, which he began to regularly assume unofficial responsibility for, was collecting the attendance pads from around the room. I thought to myself that, from now on, anytime I find a stray that someone forgot to collect, I’ll think of John. Because I know for sure John wouldn’t have missed it.
This past week, our Praise Team performed a song entitled “You Are My King (Amazing Love).” One of the lyrics particularly stood out for me during this time of personal reflection at Lent.
“How could it be that You, my King, would die for me?”
When I evaluate myself, quite often I don’t like the face that stares back at me in the mirror. After all, I’m a sinner. I fail more often than I succeed. I’m growing older. I lose more often than I win. My hair’s receding. I’m selfish and proud. I have ridiculously large feet. And I’m wrong more often than I’m right. My wife will appreciate the honesty in that last revelation. But at the end of the day, let’s just say I don’t even come close to being the example of God’s perfection that I’d like to be.
And yet, even in that state of imperfection, God still loves me enough that He would send His only Son to save me from sin and death. To have nails driven through his hands and feet so that I might live. To suffer the ridicule and persecution and beating that was mine. To hang on a cross until His heart stopped beating, His lungs stopped breathing, and His brain ceased to function. All the while bearing the burden of my shame. Lovingly. Willingly. Without hesitation.
Just like my friend, John, I’m far from perfect. I never deserved God’s great sacrifice or His amazing love. But, fortunately for me, those are only my opinions. God feels otherwise. He sees me not for all my faults and my underwhelming qualities. Instead He sees me for all that I can be and should be and for all the great things He intends for me. My life is meant to honor Him. And as we are led out of the wilderness of our Lenten wanderings this coming month, may each of us realize that no matter how often we get knocked down, we are called to rise up and finish the job He’s set before us. Just like my friend, John, may we never stop asking what more we can do for Him no matter how far we may think we’ve fallen from grace. And may we never allow even one of His strays to escape our attention. His death and His resurrection demand nothing less. Amen.
