I grew up in church.

In L– V—, there’s this Methodist church. The organ reaches the ceiling. As a child, I got to tear pieces of bread to eat at the altar. When my grandfather, we called him Poppy, passed away, that church was filled with more people than it could hold. They had a TV on in the basement so that the mourners there could see the service. Then there was a simple church in A—. My grandpa was a pastor there. After service, people would gather at the altar or kneelers in the pews to pray. I would go to the altar just to watch my grandpa pray. No idea what or who he was praying for. But I wonder if it wasn’t for his children and grandchildren. Did he have the foresight to pray for his great grandchildren? He has eighteen.

Did he ever know how much we all need his prayers today?

Grandma and Grandpa were saved later in life. He didn’t become a preacher till after I was born. While studying to teach of God’s love and saving grace, his youngest daughter, my aunt, was killed. I’ll never know if this is true or not, but I suspect that their faith became real because death became real.

I was 6 months old and my mom fell to her knees and begged God for strength to get coffee for her parents.  

My family learned that sometimes God saves in ways we don’t like, can’t understand, don’t want.

I was probably saved in that church with the red carpet and wooden beams in the sanctuary. A cross, large, was the focus of the stage where choir and pastor stood. This simple church, where grandpa preached and children ran wild, was a source of stability growing up. I really don’t remember the day or how old I was.

Young.

So, I grew to be a good girl trying to good girl things and make good girl choices. And life did a very life thing to me. Hurt, pain, betrayal opened a new reality. Being a good girl and doing good girl things even through good girl choices, sin creeps in.

And sin brings death to all it touches. Always.

My twenties were shaped by the experience that the only good this world gives are thorns shaped into crowns.

Deceitful things. Every time I saw a beautiful crown, it would pierce my head and heart with pain deep. The scars are still there. I would scream at God for all the injustice in my life, in this world.

Does He not see?

I then learned that sometimes God saves in ways we don’t like, can’t understand, don’t want.

My salvation was based on works and piousness. My god was good, doing good things, being a good girl. My salvation was a mathematical relationship that if I do A and B then C – a good, easy, peaceful life with no hurt or regrets – follows.

I had no idea of Grace, the depths of Forgiveness, nor the power of Love and Justice.

This world I built up with thorny crowns and supposed good works came crashing down. When I screamed for God to save, He only gave his Son. Jesus crucified, bloodied on a cross with men mocking and women crying. God opened my eyes to the sepulcher where only the dead go.

Life comes from the womb. Death goes to the tomb.

Jesus was laid in the dark where hearts are still, breath ceased, and the electricity of life is completely silenced.

I wanted justice done to those that hurt me. I wanted recompense for what the locusts ate. I wanted validation and justification. Not a dead saviour who spoke nice words, whose end was a grave that grips jealously all who enter. I’ve been to enough funerals.

No one leaves.

This façade of a life I had created kept falling brick by worthless brick. God revealed that the grave that held Jesus could not keep Him.

Of course, I believe this. This is what you have to say at the altar and people get happy. Jesus emptied the grave to bring salvation to sinners. To make them saints.

And that is fine for my sins, because I was a good girl.

But Jesus didn’t vanquish my enemies and save me from their hurt. Because He died for them.

I didn’t want that salvation. For me, yes, over and over yes. For them, absolutely no. Bad people don’t deserve salvation. Don’t deserve forgiveness. Bad people deserve punishment, death. Justice is important. I didn’t like this salvation; salvation for my enemies. I couldn’t understand why God would love bad people enough to save them with the life of His own son. I didn’t really want reconciliation.

Then God in his mercy, his HESED, gave me a lesson on justice through Grace. Justice is harsh. Justice is nothing to bandied around lightly.  

God introduces himself to Moses in Exodus as a God who is merciful, slow to anger, gracious, abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness. These are great. But He also mentioned that He will by no means clear the guilty. My egocentric worldview thought this was great.

Until I realized that I was that guilty person.

This God that I always assumed was my personal body guard was holy. What did I know of holy? Something set apart, perfect, good, sacred? I had no idea what this meant. And my eyes were opened.

The Milky Way runs bright and strong on those nights at the Ranch where city and pollution are nonexistent.

That crack in the Earth in Arizona breaks wide and deep beyond human comprehension.

The Moon bright and big hangs like an ornament against a pale blue backdrop, the thought still takes my breath away.

My baby’s first felt flutter of life within me stilled time and space. I was in awe!

The goodness of friends taking up my cross to help me down the path and the opportunity to help them becomes space to breathe.

None of those touched the holy of God, but are reminiscent of His glory. In His HESED, God used these moments to humble my soul and my mind to show me, like Moses, just a glimpse of Him. I realized that I am not good, no matter my trying.

All my good I offered God was thorns in the shape of a crown.

And I laid that down.

My salvation was a process of breaking me, upending me, shattering me.

To be remade by a Holy God, to be reconciled by a Holy Sacrifice, to be retrained by a Holy Word.

Jesus Christ came to live a good life and die a horrible death. So that I, in my bad life, could live for Him as redeemed good.

Jesus Christ came to lie in a grave for a space and time. In that tomb, electricity of life began flowing, breath filled lungs, and His Heart Beat. From this tomb came life.

He came from the womb to die and came from the tomb to life eternal.

And only the foolish follow this Jesus.

I am that foolish whose good was a thorny crown, whose life fell apart, whose knowledge is of no substance. But I do know Christ, beaten and buried and breathing again. I do know Christ who took me and showed me grace, forgiveness, life. I do know Christ whose path is narrow and hard, whose gate is difficult to find, whose reward is rich, real, resolute.

Here I am telling you that I serve a God who was bloodied on a cross, whose holiness hurts this world, whose resurrected life brings people to their knees. And I expect this to make you see this good God as your Saviour.

Following him will be difficult, but so sweet. Serving him will upend you, but you be completely whole. Worshiping him will change all your notions, but will give you peace. I am asking you to consider being foolish for the wisdom of One who knows the past and future and your own heart.

I like to go on hikes here in my desert land. Some hikes are smooth with wide, easy paths, but these usually don’t lead to exquisiteness in the land. But the hikes that lead to hidden waterfalls and beauty unimagined are the difficult, narrow paths. Those paths are worth every labored breath and worth every challenging obstacle and worth every effort to see those nuggets of glory.

I am asking to consider leaving the wide path that is easy to walk but leads to a wide gate that opens only and always to destruction.

I am asking you to walk the narrow, difficult path to go through that narrow gate and live abundantly.

Jesus is no easy Saviour. He is dangerous, but full of Grace, Mercy, Love, Forgiveness, Justice.

Jesus means the world to me.