Hallelujah, every breath is a second chance
And it is always, always, always yours
And I am always, I’m always, always yours
I am 21 and we have just read the story of the Passion. April is there and Jessica is there, and other friends who were really close then but who aren’t the lifers that those two are, are there. We are outside, and we are doing mission work. I have a thought in my head that I really do believe this story: that Jesus washed the feet of the disciples and broke bread and was arrested and tortured. I really do believe that after they beat him he hung on the cross. I believe his disciples denied or fled, that a friend asked for his body, that his mother cried. I believe they laid him in a grave. I believe that before that Isaiah, a prophet, said the story would happen. I believe that his punishment becomes our peace.
I am 21 and the whole story is profound, and my friends are there but I am unaware of them because my face is wet with tears, because I am hungry for and humbled by the kind of God who is love and is humble and who dies. And even though I know the finality of the cross points to the fullness of a whole different kingdom, because what seemed like the end in that moment, well, it wasn’t (but we’ll save that for another day), I am in the moment.
And Jesus, he is serving.
And Jesus, he is thanking.
And Jesus, he is breaking bread.
And Jesus, he is taking the cup.
And Jesus, he is betrayed.
And Jesus, he is surrendering.
And Jesus, he is arrested.
And Jesus, he is suffering.
And Jesus, he is broken.
And Jesus, he is dying.
And the sky goes dark. And the world groans. And the curtain tears. And the world receives back the fulfillment of hope.
I am 31 today, and that moment of the realness of the story of Jesus then still cuts me to the core today. All I have is thanks. All we have is grace. This Friday, it is good indeed. The world receives back the fulfillment of hope. We are living the best story. And it is always, always, always yours.