The Peg Wall

 I was revisiting my old sins scrupulously one day—all the ugly things I had done, the ways I had been disobedient. “How nice,” I thought, “if I could see exactly which sins were covered and which ones I needed to pray about a little more.”

 Almost immediately an image came to my mind. I envisioned a big wall covered with wooden pegs. Every peg stood for a wrong I had done. The “little sins” were hardly more than a bump on the wall. But there were some pegs that stood out two or three inches, and I knew those must be horrible sins.

 From the top of the wall ran a thin sheet of blood. In a steady flow, it trickled down the wall. The little pegs were obscured completely, but the larger ones stuck out too far to be covered. The result of this picture was panic and fear. There was nothing I could do about the larger pegs. There they were, unforgiving and unforgiven, taunting me with the bad choices I had made.

 Suddenly, God spoke to me. “That’s not how it is,” He said.

 The picture continued to play out in my mind. The wall of pegs remained the same, with some large and some small. But the stream of blood became, in my mind’s eye, a gushing river. It poured down the wall in one great torrent. In amazement I saw that it covered every peg. Both the small bumps and the large ones disappeared. The river was so abundant I could no longer say which pegs were which.

 I have held this picture close to my heart. When I am tempted to go back to my old sins, digging up the buried things of the past, I am reminded that they are forgiven. They are hidden under the blood.

 I think Mary Magdalene had a moment like this at the tomb on Easter morning. As she peered into the sepulcher and saw her Lord was missing, the awfulness of the moment must have overwhelmed her. She ran to tell the others. Peter confirmed her fears: the body of her Lord was missing. What answer was there, but that it had been stolen?

 As long as she had been near Him, the seven devils from which she had been freed did not torment her. But would they come back? Now that He was gone, what was there worth living for?

 Left alone weeping near the tomb, she looked inside once more. This time she saw two shining figures inside. “Woman, why weepest thou?” they asked. (John 20:13) “Why seek ye the living among the dead?” (Luke 24:5b)

 Brokenly, hope gone, she answered, “Because they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him.”

 We know the story. The agony as she turned away and stumbled, half blinded by tears, through the garden.

 The man whom she thought in her grief was the gardener.

 The gentle voice, “Mary.”

 The cry of recognition, of wonder, of pure joy, “Master!”

 Like Mary, we linger by the tomb. In desperation we keep searching among the dead for one tiny ray of hope.

 What we need to do is step away from the tomb. Turn our eyes to the living God we serve. The God who promises us hope and a future.

 I don’t want to disregard journeying to the tomb. Not anymore than I wish to devalue kneeling at the cross. Both are essential parts of Christian life. But Jesus, once revealed to Mary, did not encourage her to stay at the tomb. Instead, he told her to “…go to my brethren…” (John 20:17)

 When our sins have been covered by blood, and our Lord is living inside of us, there is no benefit to us lingering and weeping in sorrow. This is not to say we will not reap what we have sown nor that we will not feel regret, but to continue in mourning for a sin that has been forgiven is to dishonor and disbelieve the true power of the Forgiver.

 2 Corinthians 5:17 says, “Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.” 1 John 1:9 reminds us that, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” Isaiah prophesied about the miracle of new birth and forgiveness in chapter 43, verse 25: “I, even I, am he that blotteth out thy transgressions for mine own sake, and will not remember thy sins.”

 And so it is my desire to move among the living. To hear my own name whispered by my Redeemer. To thank Him ever more for the blood that washed away my sins and gives me a hope and a future. And to remember while I visit the tomb, I need not stay there, for He has risen.

 Wishing each one a blessed Easter!

Gifts

 A gift cannot be truly given until it has been accepted.

One morning in the midst of revivals I entered my classroom to find a tiny ceramic bird on my desk. It was perched on top of a blue post it note on which was scrawled simply in black sharpie, “Love you.” 

 

I had two choices. I could accept the gift, or I could consider it a nice gesture but doubt the underlying sentiment.

 

Perhaps the choice looks obvious to you, but it hasn’t always been so obvious to me. I am, perhaps, a skeptic, always doubting that people actually care about me, always supposing their kind actions are a form of pity or condescension. Any gift, grandiose purchases made by my schoolboard or tiny treasures such as a smile or a compliment, was met with doubt inside my heart.

 

When I was eighteen, one of my friends really let me have it. “You need to learn to just accept it and say thank-you when someone gives you a compliment,” she said. And so I tried to learn to say thank-you, but the acceptance part has taken some time. I’m not sure I’m there yet.

 

I love to give gifts, but my search for the perfect gift that is functional, beautiful, and has a sentimental backstory, usually ends in frustration and I end up gifting a highly unsatisfactory gift card or cash. Accepting gifts, however, has always been hard for me. The public spectacle of opening a package during a birthday party at school is enough to make me consider retirement. But I have begun to wonder if it is the gift itself that makes me uneasy, or the emotion one could perceive behind it.

 

If a gift is given out of duty, I’m not interested. If it is given out of actual love? Well, that makes me fearful. There’s so much at stake here. What if I mess up our friendship somehow and they regret giving it to me? If I accept the gift, that means I have to accept the giver loves me, and I know I’m not that lovable.

 

The reality of this doubtful part of me plays out in my relationship with Christ as well. I doubt that the experiences He gives me are true. I question His forgiveness, expecting it to be only a loan rather than an abundant life-long supply. I can ask Him for little things, yet I fear to request a large gift, because why would He love me that much?

 

But His gifts are real, and many times I need not even ask. The song going through my head when I wake up, the verse He gives during my devotions, the way the sunlight and shadows play together through the branches of a tree—all these are free and full gifts, His divine pleasure to give. Once again, the question is whether I will accept them, and so doing accept His love, or will I turn away, convinced I am not worthy to be loved?

 

Somehow, I think gifts are mine to earn. I have to prove I am worthy to receive.  I could understand God forgetting a sin. I can understand how He might choose to not see it, like some weary parents and teachers do with a troublesome child. But the fact that He sees my every sin, my each wrongdoing, looks it full in the face and says, “I love you,” with no hesitation, no condescension, no sigh of longsuffering, is beyond my capability to grasp.

 

I can receive a gift and refuse to use it. Many of us have been given gifts that perish in dark corners because they just aren't really "me". And there's things like the beautiful vintage style notebook a student’s mother gave me. She said, “It’s to use, not just sit around.” She must have known me. It’s still sitting around because I haven’t come up with the perfect words to write in it, even though I've tried.

 

To truly receive, we must believe, accept, and use. The Great Gift Giver has many gifts waiting for each of His dear children, but He cannot fully bless us with them until we are willing to let Him love us completely. He cannot pour our cups to overflowing until we are ready to accept. "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." (John 3:16)

 

Will we take the gift of His Son’s blood? Will we use it? Or will we refuse it? 

A gift cannot be truly given until it has been accepted.

"Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift." (2 Corinthians 9:15)