I watched The Passion of the Christ with my 14 year old son last night. I had forgotten how hard it was to watch.
His face as he saw our Savior beaten to the very edge of death reminded me.
As my mind tried to wrap itself around that gut wrenching scene I kept thinking of the scripture in Isaiah 53:5 that says He was wounded for our transgressions and bruised for our iniquities.
For my transgressions, for my iniquities.
The ripped flesh should have been mine. The thick pools of fresh blood on the ground…mine. Every bruise, every broken bone, every painful wound….mine.
The cross on which He hung? Mine as well.
The only thing I could not have claimed was the empty tomb where he neatly folded the cloth that covered the most beautiful face to ever express compassion and love on this Earth.
I sat in my dark living room with tears streaming down my face. How could I not remember? Every single day…how could my heart not be broken and grateful for the goodness of my Lord?
Don’t let me ever forget. I don’t ever want your sacrifice to be a distant memory. I want it to forever be in the forefront of this sinful and unworthy mind.
I want to always be in awe of the fact that the hand that was nailed to a cross with my name on it, is the same hand that reached down to lift me out of the mire of the life I had created.
The arms that stretched out to die are the same arms that reached for me as I ran from my sin. The heart broken over my betrayal is the same heart that loves me more than I can even fathom. Oh the love of Christ. A love I will never comprehend.
I will spend my life in pursuit of an appropriate way to express my gratitude to You, Jesus.
And those who do not know? I will point them your way. I will. My life is for this purpose only. To share the redeeming love of my Savior who paid it all.
But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.Isaiah 53:5 ASV