Skip to main content

Thoughts Coaxed through the Backdoor of My Mind

Is something wrong with me that I struggle to write about Christian holidays for Christian holidays? It seems expected; prompts and requests abound. But somehow, I can’t bring myself to respond on paper or screen. Every attempt comes out artificial, strained, or stale. Morsels with wondrous potential seem only half-baked, far from ready for reader savoring.

I ponder faith deeply during these times, seek fresh insights, talk them over with God. That when Jesus died on the cross, in that moment, He took all the sins of the whole world committed through all time right into His God-man Self, became a vacuum ingesting all heinous evil ever, then somehow said, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:24, NIV). In that moment, His moment of greatest weakness, He revealed God’s power supreme to the world.

Or that Jesus’ death wasn’t to appease the out-of-control anger of a wrathful god, but to pay death’s demanded ransom. Our one, true God loves us all so much that He only sends His wrath against the evil run rampant that gave death its authority on this earth. He sent His Son to redeem, revealing His perfect goodness, grace, mercy, wisdom, sovereignty, and love that never leaves.

Or that somehow Jesus’ incarnation, death, and resurrection allows him not only to empathize, to suffer alongside, but also to heal our hurts with His own. Somehow beyond my comprehension, because Jesus died and rose again, all my hurts were/are/will be healed for eternity. Thank You, Lord.

These truths, planted as seeds in my brain by Brian Zahnd through his “poetic theology of the cross,” The Wood Between the Worlds, based on God’s Word, mixed with ideas originally presented by Wiesel, Dostoevsky, and Bonhoeffer, I’m still absorbing, therefore can’t write for others on cue. Never can. As Mary had to ponder Jesus’ wonders in her heart (Luke 2:19, NIV), so must I. But maybe I can coax a word or two through the backdoor of my mind.

Maybe for next year, I’ll begin my Easter contemplations early in July.

* * *

Work Referenced:

Zahnd, Brian. The Wood Between the Worlds. Downers Grove, IL, InterVarsity Press, 2024.

Photo by Cdoncel on Unsplash

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

No Worry Anymore

I don’t want to worry anymore. Don’t want to fear the phone call, the bill, arriving unexpected by mail, the month left at the end of the money, the unseen predator, the crisis not mine, but mine to fix or forever wonder if my two mites could have made the difference after all, at last, the natural disaster, the unnatural disaster caused by consequences unintended, unforeseen. I don’t want to worry about any thing, any more. And so, I give all of this worry unworthy to You Who sees only and all real threats to me coming, no surprise, no problem, only gracious provision preprepared . * * * I wrote this post for the Five-Minute Friday Link-Up. Click  here  to read other writers' posts on today's prompt: anymore . Photo by Artem Kovalev on Unsplash
2 comments
Read more

Noise

Clutter is noise to the eye A cacophony of chaos That distracts Forces lids shut Like hands over ears Desperate for focus nowhere Yet everywhere to be found Too many choices Eyes need a place to land Clean up clutter Clear view Clear mind Find peace Breathe deep See clear
8 comments
Read more

A New Box of Bees: My Close Encounter

My son is a novice beekeeper. He trained for several months under a mentor. Then in May, he purchased his first box of bees, which has already grown into three boxes of bees, two in the process of raising their own queens. Justin and his family were able to taste the honeycomb and the nectar within just a few weeks of receiving their hive. This past weekend, my granddaughter proudly presented me with a jar of honey she and my son collected. Locally grown has taken on a whole new meaning: honey from hives thriving in my son’s backyard. Last month, my son and granddaughter took me to meet the bees for the first time. I had already seen pictures of my three-year-old grandson letting bees walk on his hand. My son had talked of petting them and assured me the bees had to be seriously provoked to sting. After all, bees want to make honey. If they sting someone, they die. Armed with this knowledge and led by my son, I approached the hives with what felt like a surprising amount of confidenc...
Post a Comment
Read more