How I was Rescued

I suppose if I have a blog, I should let my audience get to know me a little. The most important thing in my life is the hope I have found in believing in Jesus. See, when I was a kid, I went to church with my family, ate goldfish, learned all the Bible stories – Noah and the ark, Adam and Eve, all that – and I memorized Bible verses for candy. I had friends there, so I liked that part. But that’s about it.

I thought it was boring sitting through the lessons the teachers would give. I would sit there itching to do crafts or eat a snack, not understanding the meaning behind what they were teaching. Not until I was in the 8^th grade did I begin to understand. It started when my junior high pastor was caught molesting girls in my youth group. Presumably, it was a shocking thing for the church to take, and he ran away to Hawaii and we never heard from him again. Lots of kids in the youth group stopped coming and questioned the faith they had. After all, if this pastor we all looked up to could fall that hard, was it all a lie? Did he believe a word of what he would teach us? Many of them thought being a Christian was a big joke after that. I didn’t.

The way I understood it, he made a mistake. His faith is no less true because he made a mistake. His mistake doesn’t affect my faith. God was still the same God I had known Him to be. Since I had no pastor to look up to, I began to look in the Bible for myself to see what it was I had been taught my whole life. And I found that the way Jesus lived was extraordinary. He loved everyone – everyone, folks – and I saw that He invited people to follow Him. Granted, this was 2,000 years ago, but the words He said transcend into today. So I decided then that I would follow Jesus. I would let Him have control over my future, over my everyday life, over everything. My life belongs to Him. He owns me. He died – was tortured to death, rather – for me. In effect, instead of me suffering my own consequences for my own mistakes, He suffered my consequences. He bought my life with the blood He spilled when He died. The thing, though, is that He isn’t still dead. Jesus told his friends, regarding his coming death, in John 10:18, “No one takes it [his life] from me, but I lay it down on my own initiative. I have authority to lay it down, and I have authority to take it up again.” Jesus did not die because the Romans decided He was a criminal; rather, He died on purpose. He knew exactly what was happening. He bought me with his blood.

Think about this. Say a terrorist was standing in front of you, hatred burning in his eyes, pointing a gun at your head. He doesn’t shoot yet, but smiles as he relishes the victory in taking your life. Suddenly, a soldier steps in, and both men fire at the same time, ending both of their lives. There you stand, enemy dead, and savior dead. Imagine the feelings that would be racing through you. Crying, you sit at the side of the soldier that gave his life for you…then he wakes up. The hole in his heart is clearly there, but there he sits, alive, smiling. Would you feel that you owed him something? Would you just walk away with a brief thank you, or would you promise to do anything you could for that soldier whenever he needed anything?

Jesus took the bullet meant for me. Therefore, I owe Him everything. And that’s how I strive to live.