Ransom

Ash Wednesday services.

The beginning of Lent, the day is a reminder of our sin. Its an invitation to stare at the cross, at the beaten, bloodied form that hangs there, and consider our place in causing that. Our role in Jesus the Christ’s suffering and death.

I almost did not go to the service this evening. I was making really great progress on website development, and really thought that my time would be better spent continuing to rally. It is just a tradition after all, and I’ve never been big on social custom.

But.

But I thought about my observation from Good Friday several years ago. When contemplating the refrain, “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?”, I admitted that I was not. That I was too busy. That while the matter of Jesus was being washed from Pilate’s hands, I was across town negotiating a business deal. Or taking in the cinema. That while others gathered in an angry mob and dragged Jesus to Golgotha, I chose not to meddle in such affairs, and keep up business as usual.

I did not want to repeat that tragedy, the tragedy of not being involved.

But I thought about how casual I had been about the Church lately. About how many services I had missed, or how late I had been arriving. Not that I believe sitting in Church makes you a Christian any more than setting in a hen house makes you a chicken, however I do recognize God’s mandate to participate in corporate worship, and I understand His reasons. I understand the value.

I was lacking the merits of that value.

But I realized that nothing was GOING to have an impact on my Lenten season if I didn’t create the opportunity for SOMETHING to have an impact.

I realized the responsibility was mine.

But I felt my spiritual dehydration as plainly as the parchment of my lips in this dry winter. I have been craving God’s companionship — or my companionship to Him — for some time now, and knew that I had kept putting work in the way.

I was missing time with my friend.

But finally I realized that coming into the week, I had been nearly a nervous wreck with projects both personal and vocational, and compassion for a friend’s condition, and… I had been overwhelmed. And each day, something was taken off my shoulders: deadlines evaporated, or moved back. Pressures were eased. Things somehow shuffled together like cards in my brother’s hands.

I did not want to seem ungrateful. For truly I was not.

Sitting in the sanctuary. Listening to the message. Open to what God would have me know, and open to have Him know me. Staring up at that beaten form on the cross …I started putting something together for the first time.

I have been very much about Grace for some time now. It was the lesson God would have me learn during this time of my life. To accept who I was, and who I am, within the context of perfect forgiveness and acceptance.

Just like my love for my best friend, I can do no harm in Jesus’ eyes. Even when we both know what I am doing is wrong, we also both know I don’t mean it for the wrong. Especially in my past, when I have done some evil (and some just plain stupid) things — they are not on my record now. They are meaningless to Christ.

I am forgiven. I was forgiven before I even committed the sin. Fell short of God’s intentions for me. Fell short of my own intentions, my own ability. Before I gave in and took the easy way. Before all of that, I was already forgiven.

This was the lesson I had been living for many months now — that my sins should not hold me back from moving ahead. From realizing greater things. From embracing the Kingdom. Nor should they weigh down upon me personally. I should not beat myself up for my past or current sins – even my future sin – because they are already all behind me.

Now I see the new lesson.

Go non-linear with me…

There, before me, is the beaten, dying form of Jesus. He struggles for every breath. He faces a death like no other, and a knowing descent into Hell. And He’s doing it for me.

That whipmark? That was for me.

That thornpoke. That was for me.

That biting painful gasp. That dry rasp of the tongue. That gnawing throb — that one, with each ragged pulse — that was for me.

What did I do that He should deserve this?

What DIDN’T I do!

What am I doing RIGHT NOW?

Every sin that I commit, from the most plain to the most heinous, costs him one more second of agony. One more mark of pain.

The pain He has suffered is already done. But right now, I am responsible for how intense it was. How intense it will be.

For Jesus saw my sin at the end of my life. He saw the sum total of my wretchedness. He saw the total of my perversity. He saw the total of my selfishness, my self-absorbtion.

And He suffered for it.

He suffered for it.

What can I do now? Right now. From now on! …to make my bill as small as possible. To make His payment as painless as possible.

This is what it means to be responsible for one’s actions.

The price is paid for me, to be sure.

But I decide the ransom.