Inspired by . . . always near the cross

Inspired by . . . always near the cross

 

Good morning! I’m glad to be back in this space today, if only briefly.

 

Help me to make use of {Christ’s righteousness} by faith

as the ground of my peace

and of thy favour and acceptance,

so that I may live always near the cross.

Valley of Vision p88

 

I read this prayer just before falling into bed Tuesday night, after having spent three days in the hospital with my dad. I thought, “That’s where I need to be, Lord, because it’s the only way I’m going to get through this.”

“But what does it mean to live near the cross, and how do I do it,” my exhausted mind asked just before I fell asleep.

Over the next few days, as we transitioned dad from the hospital to a rehab facility, snippets of this brief conversation kept coming back to me. I imagined myself sitting at His feet. Not as Mary did, in a warm house, listening to the Rabbi teach, but at the cross. In the desolation and pain of that moment. In the truth of that moment and what it means for me personally and for us collectively.

 

 

There is peace and comfort at the cross that transcends understanding. The arms of Jesus are not wrapped around me in comfort, as I often imagine them to be. No, as I sit at the cross, they are spread wide in sacrifice. How does that comfort me? His sacrifice was about more than the taking on and forgiveness of my sins. It is also about empathizing with my pain, whatever the source of that pain is: physical, emotional, spiritual. Jesus experienced and suffered all.

For we have not a high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities;

but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.
(Heb 4:15 KJV)

From Matthew Henry’s commentary we read:

Though He is so great, and so far above us, yet He is very kind, and tenderly concerned for us.

He is touched with the feeling of our infirmities in such a manner as none else can be;

for He was Himself tried with all the afflictions and troubles that are incident to our nature in its fallen state:

and this not only that He might be able to satisfy for us, but to sympathize with us.

***

Dad is recovering from his stroke more and more every day; growing stronger and less confused.

Today, the ice storms bring a mixed blessing, forcing me to stay home.

Sit quietly with me, won’t you? and think about what it means

to live always near the cross.

 

Blessings,

June

 

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