A Good Friday Resolution

Wherever you are, whatever goodness and badness of life you have experienced, in this moment as you are reading, please know this:

There is more to life than what you see and experience now. To be clear, there is another life than the one you see and experience now. And it is infinitely better.

I want you to resolve to make it yours. Take it. It’s yours for the taking. But lest you think I’m appealing to your self-confidence, your self-reliance, know this: You can’t improve yourself enough to make yourself fit for it.

Someone else has to make you fit.

If you’re an average person like me, you are more woefully unfit for that life than you would like to believe. But, I ask you to believe it for the sake of a Good Friday resolution.

I’m not asking you to make a Good Friday resolution. I want you to believe that a Good Friday resolution was already made for you and to you. And the resolution still stands:

This bread is my body broken for you.

This cup is the new covenant in my blood shed for you.

Jesus said the words.

Then, He did them.

For you.

Though you, like me, would have been among the first to abandon him that night.

Remember this on Good Friday. Remember, and abandon all self-hope, all self-resolve. When you receive the bread and wine, receive Christ’s resolve, his words and work for you. Taste his commitment to you in the simple covenant meal. It is prepared, it is finished, for you.

As Good Friday cross is the center of Christian faith, so the bread and wine, the resolution fulfilled, is the center of Christian hope and life. They are your hope of eternal life.

Consider this. Wonder at it. Be dismayed at the cross-trampling, false hope that you could achieve eternal life by your own merit. But, rejoice in this one, true hope. Worship and serve and obey One whose Good Friday resolution did not overlook such a one as you.

Boredom with “This Is My Body”

Did you share in Christ’s body and blood Sunday? I did, and I confess, it was a lack luster experience.

The Last Supper by Leonardo Da Vinci

[“The Last Supper” by Leonardo Da Vinci, photo courtesy of Wikipedia]

Barely a whisper of faith and worship wafted through my mind. The temperature of my heart at that moment seemed set to lukewarm, which was ironic since the sermon was from Revelation 2:14-22 where John records Jesus’ message to the lukewarm Laodician church. To adapt John Wesley’s famous phrase, my heart was not “strangely warmed.”

If you’re average like me, you’ve experienced this, too.

Continue reading