Thursday, March 31, 2011

A lesson in Humility

Whenever I get too big for my britches...the Lord reminds me how little I know, how small I am, and how much I have to learn.  Usually through things I read...like this:

A blog post on Only a Breath:


“But He was wounded for our transgressions, 
      He was bruised for our iniquities;
      The chastisement for our peace was upon Him,
      And by His stripes we are healed.” ~ Isaiah 53:5
      
I read about the Man who touched blind eyes and made them see — His face first! I am amazed that He can calm the sea and even walk across the water. I love to embrace Him who is able to see my deepest need, become a friend to sinners, and show compassion to those who desparately hate Him. My heart sings on Resurrection Day when the promise of eternal life is given, even to me!
But when it comes to the deadly wounding, I get uneasy.
Wounds make me want to run away.
There are those who naturally long to care for the wounded – doctors, nurses, and other caregivers. I am the one who gets queasy at the sight of a paper-cut, and if there is any blood involved, I’m a goner. I have to admit that I actually took an entire semester of First Aid in college, and when the instructor showed “trauma” photos, I closed my eyes for the entire class.
My heart feels deeply for those that hurt. I am immediately in their place, and even though I want nothing more than to help them, I can’t bear to look at the wound. Maybe because it reminds me of my own human frailty?
Is this how I treat the death of Christ? Do I run away or cover my eyes?
Sometimes I can’t bear to look into the eyes of the Son of God on the cross. It’s too messy. My sins have made it that way. I like to clean up the cross, polish it up in gold, and wear a clean shiny reminder. The cross was not a clean, shiny death. Jesus died a horrible, torturing death so that in exchange, my heart could be cleaned up and shine as only He can make it. By avoiding the thought of his death, do I cheapen His sacrifice? Do I glance over the most important event in all of human history because I don’t want to be uncomfortable?
Is this how I treat others who are wounded and hurting around me?
Do I look into the eyes of the homeless man on the street or do I glance away because he is wounded, and I am uncomfortable?
Do I embrace the woman whose husband has left her brokenhearted, with a whole household full of children, because it scares me and makes me uncomfortable?
Do I squirm in my seat as I hear a parent cry over their teenager’s addiction to drugs because, they too, are wounded… and I can’t bear to really see?
My prayer is that during this season of remembrance of Christ’s victory over death, that I will not cheapen His sacrifice but will instead look into the eyes of the One who was wounded, tortured, and gave His very last breath for me. All of this so that I could have life.
By His stripes, I am healed.

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