The crux of the matter. The central thing. It’s the cross. The emblem can be problematic–perhaps a bit too commonplace. It hangs from my window shutter. It sits on my shelf. What is it really, this cross, but an instrument of death? Criminal death. Outside the city death. “Reserved for the dregs of society” death. And in the case of my Savior, undeserved death . . . my death.
I say it on the repeat—He died for me. He died for me. He died for me. I am the criminal. I am alienated. I am the worthless part. Do I believe this really? Can’t there be even a little fragment of me that He would esteem?
No—“I bring nothing to my salvation except the sin that made it necessary.” So says Jerry Bridges in his cross manifesto and I want to believe it.
Lord, help my unbelief. Let His raw, bloody mercy plead on my behalf and give me life.
“Take this world and give me Christ, take this death and give me life–
Take this world and give me Christ, take the dark and give me light.”