What must be the weight of a worlds sin? I can only begin to imagine. Shucks, I am barely beginning to comprehend the weight of my own. Day after day it’s like another brick to the top of a never ending wall. Multiply the bricks of the worlds sin and it would, and did, reach all the way to heavens doorstep, but never entered through.
That’s the part that blows me away about Calvary. It didn’t have to happen. He didn’t have to do what He did. He was under no force or compulsion to do anything about the mess we found ourselves in. But all glory to Him, He did. He did it to glorify Himself. Satan helped to undo perfection in Adam, but the second Adam would have none of it. He created it perfect, and He would end it perfect…otherwise Satan would have the victory.
Contemplating the weight of it all just drives me lower on my spiritual knees. To know that perfection stepped from eternal glory to robe himself amongst the wretched boggles the mind. Then to willingly die for the very ones that spurned Him.
What a tremendous gospel. How could you not love it? How could you not want to defend it’s purity and lovliness?
I don’t love my Savior anywhere near that I should. As a matter of fact, I’m so ashamed I love Him as little as I do. How little I desire His voice, to speak to Him, to desire Him. Everyday is a day of carting around this dead carcass on my back of the remnant of this old sin nature. I beat it and kick it and pound it until it submits. But more often than not, he still wins…old crotchety thing that he is.
But this hopelessness in myself only throws me into a greater joy of knowing my Savior is keeping me in this faith He has established. He and only He holds me here and nothing could take me from Him. It’s the only hope I have. There is nothing I can bring to Him. Nothing I can do. All I can do is cling and hold on for dear life.
I often think that when I breath my last breath, I’ll wake up in His presence squinting my eyes as hard as I can and grasping onto His robe as tight fist-ed as possible. He’ll put His hand on my head, I’ll open my eyes, and weep like no one has ever wept in the history of mankind. I know full well how Peter felt when he said to Jesus in the boat, “Depart from me Lord, for I am a sinner.” But I would argue with Peter that I am the greater sinner than he.
Oh the cross. The blood. The strength by which I am held. To understand the cost that was paid I would have some begining of understanding the majesty and beauty of it all.
But for now, I’ll settle for seeing through a glass dimly…still clinging.