There is found, at the foot of that cross, a solemnity and tenderness found nowhere else. A Word that stands over all time and space, over every History and institution and heartbreak.
It is more than what can be done or taken. And yet it is an embrace; it has drawn us close.
It is nearer than what can be seen or felt.
~John Andrew Bryan
Our church observes the Lord’s Supper on the first Sunday of each month.
It’s always a time of quiet reverance. Not a time of reflection, really – but rather a time to truly examine ourselves before our God and to remind ourselves who we are, and who He is, and what He has done.
This is my body, which is given for you. (Luke 22:19)
This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many. (Mark 14:24)
Do this, in remembrance of me.
Remember the deepness of your sin and the required justice on your soul and the immensity of the love and the totality of the sacrifice and the completeness of your forgiven sin and the wonder of the resurrection.
As I sat there this morning…thinking on these things, but also thinking back over the 50+ years I’ve eaten the bread and drank from the cup…somewhere in my mind it registered with me what hymn our worship pastor was playing as the deacon body distrubuted the little plastic cups of juice with the little square pieces of crackers –
– he was playing the old Fanny Crosby hymn Near the Cross.
And sitting there, along with remembering my sin and the sacrifice made for me on the cross, I also was reminded that near the cross is exactly where I need to be. Where I need to anchor my life.
The depth of agony on the cross is what enables the grace and mercy and salvation that literally has saved both my soul and my life.
About 16 or 17 years ago now – how can it possibly have been that long ago? – at a Good Friday service, our congregation sat in our church gymnasium, in a circle of folding chairs with a large wooden cross in the middle. My soul was in utter chaos and turmoil in those days. I looked upon that cross and could only think one thing: Is it true? Is the story of Jesus and his life and his death and his resurrection and salvation and justification and sanctification really….real?
Through God’s merciful kindness, he brought people into my life and authors of books into my world that sat with me in tremendous grief and pain from things that are nearly inutterable, and as I struggled through incredible darkness and doubt. The gift of their time in listening and caring well and the gift of words from authors like C.S. Lewis, John Stott, Dallas Willard, Philip Yancey and so, so many others were a salve to my pain and a light that shined…
Upon the cross of Christ. Upon Jesus, my only hope.
You see, while the compassion and care and words written were a vital part in my story, and something I hold dear and thank God for, it would have been all for naught if it didn’t point me to…
the only one truly capable of carrying my immense grief and pain
the only one able to forgive my sin…and
the only one able to give me the faith I needed to believe.
And like the father who brought his son to Jesus for healing, I need to pray again and again “I believe; Help my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24)
And like Thomas, I need to say again and again – My Lord, and my God! (John 20:28)
I was grateful this morning, to be reminded that where I need to stay is near to the cross. I don’t mean that in some mystical, symbolic way. No, I mean that I need to remember who He is, what was done upon that cross, and who I am – his beloved daughter whom he died for on that cross, whose ransomed soul shall find rest beyond the river.
Near the cross, a trembling soul,
Love and mercy found me;
There the Bright and Morning Star
Shed His beams around me.
In the cross, in the cross,
Be my glory ever;
Till my ransomed soul shall find
Rest beyond the river.
~Fanny J. Crosby (1869)
