It Is Finished

It is the day before Easter. Two millennia ago, Jesus was lying dead in a tomb. But in the church, it is not a time of hopelessness like it was to his followers at the time. There is a sense of anticipation. Easter is a day of celebration unlike any other in the church year. It is a day of joy, knowing death has been overcome once for all. Christian singer/songwriter Michael Card wrote, “Love crucified arose, and the grave became a place of hope, for the heart that sin and sorrow broke is beating once again.” In the midst of holy day preparations, his words remind us that before we can rejoice in the Resurrection, we must first visit Gethsemane and Golgotha. We must first remember the passion and death of Christ, recognizing his suffering on our behalf.

We began preparing our hearts for Easter with Ash Wednesday, and throughout the Lenten season each day has brought us closer to the day of the final and everlasting Atonement. If we allow it, the same Holy Spirit that inspires us to sing for joy at Easter, will also lead us along the spiritual path Jesus walked on his way to an agonizing death on Good Friday. Though we do not suffer as he did, our hearts can and should experience the pain of knowing he paid the penalty that is justly ours. Our sorrow and penitence over our sin is a sacrifice as well. As the Psalmist wrote, “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise” (Psalm 51).

By entering into his suffering, we experience greater joy in his resurrection. As we partake of communion on Maundy Thursday, we reflect on the sorrow Jesus felt, knowing what he was facing, and knowing he would be deserted by those who had just spent three years in close fellowship with him. Walk with him to Gethsemane and feel the fear and anxiety. It won’t be easy. His closest disciples fell asleep when he needed them most. In the same way, we also can be guilty of complacency when it comes to comprehending the cost of our salvation. But Gethsemane and Golgotha must come before Easter. They are inseparable. Suffering, death, and resurrection—all were necessary to secure an everlasting salvation for those who believe.

God’s love led Jesus to the cross of condemnation and suffering. He bore the terrible weight of the sin of the world, of our sin. His body broken, his blood spilled, all for us. But the tomb that held the lifeless body is empty. The price was paid in full and God raised him from the dead. His pain for our healing, his sorrow for our joy, his death for our life. In Jesus’ words, “It is finished.”

This Easter, when you speak and hear the words, “He is risen. He is risen indeed,” may your joy truly be made complete because, thanks to Jesus, your salvation is. 

Happy Birthday

Yesterday was my birthday. Fifty-nine years on earth. Fifty-nine years of ups and downs, pain and pleasure, joy and sadness, setbacks and success. I have been a victim and I have been a fighter. In short, I am a survivor and an over-comer of odds stacked against me, but in this I do not brag in the least. For all my life I have been beset by sin and error, both deliberate and simply because I am a fallen being descended from Adam and Eve, whose rebellion has been handed down through the ages to all who have lived.

I feel like I have vied for Paul’s claim to be the chief of sinners. My past is littered with a whirlwind of destruction in the lives of others and in mine. Responding in terrible ways to those who sinned against me, and in the sins I have committed against innocent people who had the misfortune to have encountered me before I gave my heart to the Lord.

I have lived a life of loss and gain since I made a 180 degree turn around thirty years ago. Two steps forward and one step back has marked my progress. I have wrestled with shame, guilt, self-loathing, failure, and hopelessness. Living with Bipolar Disorder has caused turmoil within and without. The mental illness has adversely affected those who love me and brought unbearable despair to me often. But it has also made me a humbler and more compassionate person. I have heard the condition referred to as wounded healer. I bear scars from my past, and not all has been healed, but much of the crushing load has been lifted. There are times when I can hold my head high because of the redemption and soul cleansing bought with the blood of my Savior. It is he who declares me righteous even if there are times when I don’t act like it.

My life has not been a total loss, though I rue the lost years of my teens and twenties. I am being transformed however slowly into the likeness of Jesus. Memories that still haunt compel me to press harder into the loving and accepting arms of the Lord. If I lift my face toward him, I see glimpses of the potential still waiting to unfold in my life. But so many times my eyes are cast down and I cannot cling to the truth that I am no longer the person I once was. I need the gentle reminders from my sisters and brothers in Christ to remind me of that. Though I still fear rejection if I let my guard down, I oftentimes feel the comforts of acceptance and tender mercies of Jesus that flow through other Christians. In all, I know I am loved by both God and his people. If I focus on that, the burdens I shoulder are not so heavy.

This feels like a very risky blog entry, but I started it to journal my walk of faith in this life in the hope that readers may be encouraged as well as challenged. I have been chronicling my progress and because I am slowly growing in faith, I have discovered there can be joy in the journey in spite of the sorrow that visits from time to time.

When I look back on my life, I can see the changes that have been wrought in me by the Holy Spirit. There is still frustration and shame at times that I have not come as far as I think I ought to have by now; that I haven’t come as far as I should have. The should haves, would haves, and could haves dog my steps. But as David wrote, who else can I turn to but the Lord? I am wholly dependent on him to mold me into a vessel that reflects his glory.

In his time, in due season, I will appear before him face to face and the transformation will be made complete. Like those believers who have proceeded me in death in this life, it is my fervent hope to hear the words, “Well done good and faithful servant. Welcome into the joy of the Lord.” The tears will be wiped away and there will be no more suffering, no more stumbling, and no more straying. My joy and the joy of the Lord will be overflowing and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Today is Good Friday. It is only fitting to compare my sufferings to his and allow that to put all things into perspective. In two days we will celebrate the resurrection of the Lord and take heart in our promised resurrection to new life forever in the presence of the Lord who has saved us by the free gift of grace. I live because he has made it so, and nothing can separate me from the love of God in Christ Jesus. I can rejoice in this truth and do.

 Jesus loves me, this I know.

My Mother's Legacy

Today we laid my mother’s ashes to rest with my father’s at Fort Leavenworth, KS. There are still matters of estate to wrap up, but today is a final step in many ways. I have kept her ashes since December waiting for the time when most of us could get together for the burial. I have deliberately not looked at the wooden container as much as possible. To do so brings grief. I carry enough as it is.

My mother was a strong, independent woman of deep faith. With my father in the Air Force for much of my childhood, she had to run the house, corral three kids, and take care of finances. My father would come home on leaves, but he would be gone months at a time. She was comforter, nurse, disciplinarian, room mother, and more. I don’t remember a milestone or special event of mine that she wasn't a part of.

Going through her cedar chest, we found all manner of memorabilia of the three of us. She even kept my grade cards from elementary school. Photos, baby clothes and shoes, and records that were special in piecing together her life. Grade cards, baptism record, high school diploma (she was the top of her class), photos, and even records pertaining to her parents. It was a rich treasure trove of a life well spent.

My mother grew up and matured during the Depression years and nothing was wasted in our household. She kept meticulous financial records, recording every purchase no matter how small. Living on military pay wasn't easy. I remember when we would sometimes have pancakes for dinner and thought it was a treat. It wasn't until I was an adult that I realized it was the end of the month and money was tight.

My mother did not have the means to go to college, but seemed content being an at home mom. My father dropped out of high school and joined the Army. He finally got his GED, a source of pride, and rose to the rank of Captain in the U.S. Air Force. They both wanted better for us and worked hard and sacrificed much to give the three of us a college education. My inheritance wasn't money as much as it was the skill and love of lifetime learning and better jobs. They believed it would be a better inheritance for us, and it was.

My mother lived long enough to see our son, her last grandchild, graduate from college. At 91, she flew to New York with us to see him graduate from West Point. She was thrilled. Even more, she was grateful to the Lord that he had given her enough years to see it. She had a great sense of satisfaction that she had seen all nine of her grandchildren graduate from college. And all her grandchildren loved her dearly and many tears were shed at her memorial service. Every one of them had the chance to speak last words to her in the final week of her life. I remember her telling my son to be good and always do his best. He promised her he would, and I know he will.

As I proofread this, I see the phrase, “My mother” is everywhere. Normally, I would make sure my writing would not be so repetitious, but this is about her and not my writing skills. My mother was a Godly, loving person who gave life to me and even during my years of wandering and rejection, never stopped loving me. My final words to her were a heartfelt apology and she shushed me saying it never changed her love for me. I told her it was okay to let go, read her favorite scriptures to her and told her that I loved her. She lapsed into a coma the last two days of her life and passed away quietly, gently carried off to her Savior, and my waiting father.

I am crying as I close this blog entry. I miss her. But she bequeathed an inheritance of faith to me, faith in a loving, merciful God. She left me sweet childhood memories, lessons in how to have a successful marriage, and how to raise a child so he will live in relationship to God.

Mom, I will see you again. I hope to see my future grandchildren graduate from college, too; to see my son live as you and Dad did, humbly, faithfully, and to love mercy more than judgment. If I can look back on my life at the end of it and see the same as you did, then I will count it a blessed success. I owe so much to you. I pray I will always honor you and your memory.