Yesterday I read an article on CNN about how some Christians now are afraid to speak about their beliefs — afraid of being branded bigots or hate-mongers for their views on things like homosexuality or same-sex marriage. They still hold these beliefs, they are just reluctant to state them out loud in public. You can read the article by clicking here.

It got me thinking about a category of people in the early portions of Church History. They were known as “the lapsi” — believers who, under the pressure of persecution, lapsed or recanted their faith in Jesus.

Now, when I say “persecution” here, I mean actual persecution. Christians were being rounded up and forced to kneel before the Roman Emperor. They were required to say, “Caesar is lord.” If they did not, they might be beaten with rods or have stones hurled at them. They might even be torn to shreds by wild animals. They could be killed.

Some chose that fate. Some ran towards death and embraced it with a strange sort of joy. These were called the martyrs. Others bore up under the assaults and survived with the scars to prove themselves. These were called the confessors.

The Church had no problem with martyrs and confessors. They were heroes, and their stories were told over and over to give strength and encouragement to those who maintained their faith. The lapsi, however, posed a problem. How were you to treat one who renounced their faith? Should you welcome them back into your gatherings? They were unsure.

Dionysius of Alexandria wrote a letter to Fabius, Bishop of Antioch, about this in the middle of the third century:

Immediately, the news spread abroad. The rule that had been more kind to us was changing; now the fear of threatened punishment hung over us. What is more, the edict arrived; it was almost like that which the Lord predicted. It was most terrible so as to cause, if possible, even the elect to stumble. All cowered with fear. A number of the more eminent persons came forward immediately through fear. Others, because of their business and public positions, were compelled to come forward. Others were dragged forward by those around them. Each of those were called forward by name. They approached the impure and unholy sacrifices, some pale and trembling, as if they were themselves the sacrifices and victims to the idols. The large crowd that stood around heaped mockery upon them. It was evident that they were by nature cowards in everything — cowards both to die and to sacrifice. Others, however, ran eagerly toward the altars, affirming by their forwardness that they had never been Christians. For these, the Lord truly predicted that they shall hardly be saved.

So, here’s my question: does Dionysius sound too harsh? Should he have been more forgiving of those who recanted under threat of bodily harm? Or are we too soft? Should we expect more from people today when the worst thing that can happen is you might get made fun of or called a bigot?

Salvation is free. It costs you nothing.

Following Jesus, however, comes at a cost. Sometimes it costs you personal comfort. You may get made fun of. You may get passed over for a promotion. You may find yourself excluded from a social gathering. Here in America, the costs are relatively low.

For others — in other places or times — following Jesus cost their very lives.

By the end of the first century, the baby church had gotten up and started walking on its own. But it did so without the direction or leadership of the original friends of Jesus. All of the eyewitnesses were dead. Most of that band of disciples had been martyred. John, the last living of the 12 Jesus had called, wrote the Book of Revelation (probably between AD 90-95). Then he died.

Church history — as an academic study — picks up where the Bible leaves off. It is a glorious story but not an easy one to tell. For the next several months I am going to attempt to tell it to you, but I should make some disclaimers here at the beginning.

First, this will not be very scholarly. I won’t include a ton of footnotes or technical language. I want regular people to understand this grand, epic story. Also, I will not be completely balanced. I will give more attention to certain eras and people than to others. I cannot be exhaustive. I will not spend a lot of time on the Eastern Orthodox Church. Their story is a valid part of this whole story, but I just don’t have time or space to tell the whole thing exhaustively!

Because I will have to summarize some events and people, there is a high probability that at least one person or event will come out looking more like a caricature than a real sketch. I’m going to do my best to summarize 2,000 years of history. Caricatures are inevitable.

Oh, and I should just go ahead and admit that I am biased. I am American. I am male. I am Protestant. I am Evangelical. I was raised and educated mostly within the American Restoration Movement. All of these perspectives contain certain imbedded biases — both good and bad. I will try to affirm all theological heritages that are within the framework of historical, orthodox Christianity. I obviously have some differences with the Roman Catholic Church, but I will attempt to affirm them in what follows.

I believe we have a shared history — particularly before the Reformation. Growing up in an Arminian tradition, the name Calvin was frequently used negatively. As an adult theologian I still have some problems with some of John Calvin’s fundamental assumptions, but I believe he is one of the most influential theologians of history — and I mean that positively. I may have differences with Alexander Campbell, too, but I try to assume the best about his motives and his legacy.

We all stand on the shoulders of those who have come before us. Augustine. Irenaeus. Polycarp. Aquinas. Luther. Calvin. Zwingli. Spurgeon. Campbell. Stone. Moody. Rice. These are all great men (and there are some great women as well), and we are in their debt. We should not cast them aside completely without carefully examining why they believed what they believed the way they believed. Everyone comes from somewhere.

But to return to my original thought in this post, there is a cost to following Jesus. All of the people I have mentioned thus far paid a steep price — not for their salvation — but for their faith. Their trust and obedience had a pricetag attached, and so does yours.

In the early centuries of the Church, many Roman Emperors, whose names probably mean little to you, caused the deaths of thousands of believers who would not conform to the laws of the emperor cult. Every year, the government demanded every citizen to pledge allegiance by burning incense and saying, “Caesar is lord.”

Obviously, Christians could not say this. Ironically, by not saying it, Christians were accused of not being religious enough — of even being atheistic. All irony aside, this created a big problem for Christians, as they were routinely rounded up and put to death in some of the most gruesome ways imaginable. Those who were not put to death were tortured — again in some of the most gruesome ways imaginable.

I know it sometimes feels like the tide is turning against us Christians here in America. I have read most of the same news stories you have read. I know it may feel like we’re being persecuted, but let’s please calm down. What we face is nothing compared to our ancestors. Let us not insult their memory by comparing our lot to theirs.

My grandfather was born in Guanajuato, Mexico in 1917. He came across the border into California as a migrant farm worker in the early 1930s, picking lettuce and oranges and grapes all up and down the California coast.

In 1937, he met my grandmother. They got married and had a child. They named him Paul. A couple of years later, they had another child (my mother). The family lived in Colton for a while before settling down in San Diego. My grandfather knew that having children didn’t mix well with the lifestyle of a migrant worker, so he applied for citizenship and studied plumbing.

When Paul was 11, he was diagnosed with Leukemia. He died shortly after his 13th birthday.

Three more boys were born to the family and another girl. They were a big, Catholic, Mexican family — because sometimes stereotypes are true. But my grandfather worked incredibly hard — because sometimes stereotypes are not true. He and my grandmother both became US citizens. My grandfather bought a house. My grandmother took in other people’s wash and made tortillas to sell in the neighborhood.

My grandfather’s plumbing business took off, and soon they bought a larger house. They kept their previous house and rented it out. They did this several times over the next few years. In the end, they had four rental houses and a nice home in a suburban neighborhood. They owned a restaurant for a brief period of time, but that was too much work!

In 1972, my grandfather had a massive heart attack. He died the following year. He had come to this country with nothing, and he had lived the American dream. He had married, learned a trade, started a family, owned property — if that’s not the American dream, what is?

When I was 17 I was in my grandmother’s house looking for a photo album. On the top shelf of a closet in one of the bedrooms I found a box. Inside the box I found papers, letters, a cigarette lighter, reading glasses and a salt shaker (there’s a funny story associated with that — though I did not know it at the time). This box was my grandfather’s life. After his death, the family had placed all of his belongings in the bedroom he shared with my grandmother. All of those belongings eventually were reduced down to one closet. By 1987 — not even 15 years after his death — his extraordinary life had been reduced further to one box in one closet in one room.

It made me wonder what the contents of my box would be 15 years after I die.

The sad truth is very few of us know very much at all about the history of God’s great creation, The Church. I would venture to guess that more people who sit in churches across America each Sunday know more about the founding fathers than they do about the church fathers. We know more local and national history than we know about church history. Some have even questioned why church history is important.

I would like to offer a few reasons why I think this study is important, and I’d like to begin with what should be the most obvious reason of all. We will never understand where we are unless we look back to see how we get here. Odds are there are things about the way churches do things that you really like or really hate. Have you ever stopped to wonder why we do these things in these ways? Why do some churches insist on Sunday evening services? What about adult Sunday School? Why does communion contain a tiny thimble full of grape juice? Why is a fish symbol connected to Christianity?

All of those questions have answers in the study of our history. There were probably perfectly good reasons. Some of those reasons were certainly embedded in a particular time and place and should probably be done away with. But it behooves us to investigate the reasons of those who came before us.

Speaking of that, the study of church history will introduce you to people you really should know. There are tons of celebrities in the contemporary Christian megachurch conference speaker world today. Andy Stanley. Max Lucado. Francis Chan. I see your Facebook feeds, and I hear all the man-crushes going on.

But you really should know about Augustine and St. John of the Cross and Irenaeus. You should be familiar with Martin Luther and John Wesley. Yes, Scot McKnight is great, but what about Anselm or Kierkegaard or Karl Barth? Study church history, and you might develop a man-crush on someone who has been dead for several centuries! No one is truly dead as long as someone keeps telling their story. Through a good study of church history, the dead continue to speak.

It’s been said that those who fail to learn the lessons of history are doomed to repeat past mistakes. Studying the roots of our movement should allow us to learn from the past — to discover how to adapt traditions when necessary — to see how to constructively discern between tradition and truth.

The world has no hope — none whatsoever — unless there is a God. Only God can preserve a person, a family, a group of people, a nation or any part of civilization, Without God, no one, no nation, no family, no group of people, no nation, no civilization could survive. Left to itself, culture always self-destructs.

That’s the bad news.

The good news is that God loves the world and keeps it from killing itself. Through the overwhelming gift of his Son, Jesus, God extends his love. And before Jesus left planet Earth, he launched one of God’s best ideas: The Church.

For reasons only he could know, God has chosen to accomplish his purposes through the Church. Bill Hybels has said, “The local church is the hope of the world.” You might think that’s an overstatement, but there’s at least some truth to it. For 2,000 years now, the Church has preserved and passed on the gospel, praying that people would open their hearts to receive it and their minds to contemplate the implications of it.

It seems vogue now and again to tear down the Church. Now seems to be one such time. More and more people are identifying as “spiritual but not religious” — the now-infamous category of “nones” (those who check the box labeled “none” under “religious affiliation” on surveys) is growing rapidly. People distrust organized religion. Christians in America seem to be undergoing a kind of identity crisis, seeking to understand anew what constitutes a church and how so many of these bodies have gotten off-track from pursuing the mission of God in our world.

It is an indisputable fact that the Church is far from perfect — so far one might be tempted to say it is the opposite of perfect. The Church is weak and dirty and cantankerous. In many parts of the world it may appear to be no more than a country club, a place to gather with like-minded people to have your beliefs affirmed on a consistent basis. Rather than welcoming those marginalized by society, churches often exacerbate the problem by relegating certain categories of people to a sort of permanent Junior Varsity status.

The Church might be a lot like New York City, which has been famously described as a catastrophe — but a magnificent catastrophe. Yes, we get into squabbles over the color of the carpet. Yes, we tend to shoot our own wounded. Still, with all of its problems (and they are legion), the Church is still at work, still helping build orphanages and drill wells so people can have fresh water to drink, still teaching people to read, still rescuing people from slavery. We are a catastrophe, but we are a magnificent catastrophe.

This magnificent catastrophe has a magnificent story, but, sadly, few of us know it. It’s equal parts comedy and drama, and I am going to write about it here in the coming weeks and months. Hopefully, as we are informed of the past, we will gain courage for the future.

For now, a question: Why do you think it’s become so popular for Christians to speak negatively about the Church?

You can’t make stuff like this up!

Today I have a lot to do. There are several projects that need my attention — one big possible thing with the American Bible Society that I’ll tell you more about later. Some stuff I’ve been putting off for the ScreamFree Institute. I need to call my tax guy. I have a lunch appointment. You know about days like this, don’t you?

But I’m still trying to maintain my commitment to practicing slowness. Again, not slowness in everything — but times of slowness — times of stillness even. And I really wanted to write more about this concept here because I think it is an important one that should be discussed more by Christians.

So, I dropped my kids off at school today — after washing down a mouthful of vitamins with a mouthful of coffee again. I go to the gym. Workout. And drive home — on that small and narrow road I told you about yesterday. My gas light came on, so I stopped at Kroger to get gas.

And every pump was full. Most of them had large, white vans or even larger trucks — the kind used for lawn care — in front of them. This was clearly going to take a while.

There was one pump that had a woman in a compact car in front of it. I pulled in behind her believing I had chosen well.

It was not so.

She did not know how to open her gas cap. Then she didn’t know how to work the pump. She didn’t know how to insert her debit card. She didn’t know which buttons to press. I began to wonder how in the world this woman manages to get to the gas station and home in the same day!

I’m sitting in my car screaming internally. My insides are churning. I was rolling my eyes as loudly as I could.

And then it hit me: I want this woman to hurry up so I can go and write something to help people slow down.

How’s that for hypocrisy?

I told you: you can’t make stuff like this up!

Tell me something: Do you think she was an angel? Maybe?

There is a road near my house — a small and narrow road. The speed limit is posted as 35mph, but hear this: no one — and I mean no one — drives 35 on that road. Ever. No one drives 40. Most people don’t even drive 45.

Most people I have observed drive between 45-50 on that road, even though it is clearly marked 35.

Today, for a variety of reasons, was my first day back working out in the gym in about three weeks. I took a handful of vitamins on my way out the door, washed them down with a mouthful of coffee, dropped my kids off at school and hit the weights.

And then it all hit back. Hard. I had a coughing fit, and my stomach felt like it was trying to turn inside out. I saw stars. I figured my first day back could be a short day and chose to head home a little earlier than usual. And because I wasn’t feeling particularly well, I decided to actually drive the speed limit on that small and narrow road.

Actually, that’s not really true. I decided to only drive 5mph above the speed limit on that small and narrow road. That’s the truth.

I saw the car behind me long before he flashed his lights. I saw him coming from a distance, gaining ground on me. He was probably going 50 — like most people usually do on this stretch of road. I was going 40. It’s not a huge difference, but you would think I was doing something terribly wrong. He flashed his lights. Several times. He honked his horn. He gesticulated wildly.

Because I was driving only 5mph over the posted speed limit.

It reminded me of one of the wisest things anyone ever told me. A friend’s father once told me, “Never let someone in another car drive yours. Just because they’re in a hurry, that doesn’t mean you have to drive any faster or any slower than you want to go.”

One of the companies I write for got angry at me a while back. They had expected a certain level of output from me, and I failed to meet that expectation. It was my fault, to be fair. I had gotten busy trying to finish up my book. And then everyone in my family had gotten sick with a stomach bug that hindered productivity. They told me they were expecting about 25 short pieces per month from me. I had delivered 12.

So, I told them I would make it up to them. I would devote myself to writing these short pieces until I had made up the slack. I produced 15 one week, 15 the next week and 11 the next week. That’s 41 short pieces in three weeks. Plus the 12 I had done before — that makes 53 in two months — slightly more than the 25 per month they had originally expected.

Then I took a week off. And they got angry again.

Now they want me to do 15 every week. Their reasoning is that I’ve already shown that I can do that much, so now I should do that much.

When did can become should? And when did should become must?

Last week I was on vacation. It was Spring Break for my kids, and I took them up to Tennessee. We did the aquarium and Ruby Falls and Dollywood. We had a great time. And I did no work. I didn’t answer my phone, and I didn’t answer my email.

And people got angry — like the guy in the car behind me this morning. People left me voicemails and sent emails demanding answers. But they don’t get to drive my car. Just because they’re anxious and angry and driving themselves and the people around them mad with their unreasonable and unsafe pace, that doesn’t mean I am going to drive any faster or any slower than I want to go.

Slow is the new dirty word. If you don’t believe me, try telling someone how slow they are. See how they respond. It’s like you called them a bad name or something.

But slow is something I’m trying to embrace now. Not slow all the time, but times of slowness — times of slowing. Seasons of slow.

We’ll see how this works.

So, tell me your story. Do you have times when you slow down? Why do you think we’re so afraid of being slow?

On the first day of the week, very early in the morning, the women took the spices they had prepared and went to the tomb. They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they entered, they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus. While they were wondering about this, suddenly two men in clothes that gleamed like lightning stood beside them. In their fright the women bowed down with their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he has risen! Remember how he told you, while he was still with you in Galilee: ‘The Son of Man must be delivered over to the hands of sinners, be crucified and on the third day be raised again.’” Then they remembered his words. (Luke 24:1-8)

———-

Now, brothers and sisters, I want to remind you of the gospel I preached to you, which you received and on which you have taken your stand. By this gospel you are saved, if you hold firmly to the word I preached to you. Otherwise, you have believed in vain.

For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, and then to the Twelve. After that he appeared to more than five hundred of the brothers and sisters at the same time, most of whom are still living, though some have fallen asleep.

And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins. Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ are lost.

But Christ has indeed been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For since death came through a man, the resurrection of the dead comes also through a man. For as in Adam all die, so in Christ all will be made alive. (1 Corinthians 15:1-6, 17-18, 20-22)

———-

All of Christianity is summed up in one verifiable, historical event. And this changes everything.

Jesus of Nazareth, a maverick Jewish rabbi and prophet, who claimed to be the Christ about whom scripture foretold, was arrested, condemned in an illegal trial and crucified. A soldier’s spear to his side and the blood and water that flowed from the wound confirmed that his lungs had collapsed. Days after his body had been prepared and placed in a sealed tomb, some women went back to the tomb and found the Roman seal broken, and his body (along with the guards whose lives depended on their keeping watch over it) gone.

More than 500 people claimed to have seen him alive soon after that day. Others claim to have seen him ascend into heaven. Most of these witnesses were still alive at the time of the writing of the four gospels. Were the words of this “good news” not true, one of these witnesses would have surely refuted them.

Those who committed to follow Jesus early on gained no visible benefit from following him, no wealth or power or possession. Rather, many were themselves beaten, stoned, tortured and crucified. Yet Christianity has persisted, on through history.

And because we know that this is factual, we can also know that his promises are sure.

The One who died a criminal to take our sin is alive now, preparing a place for us. And one day, we will be made alive again with him.

———-

Loving Lord, you have called us to be born again to a living hope that comes only through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. You are preparing an inheritance for me that will never be corrupted and never fade away. And yet I confess that I often put my hope in other things. Deliver me from the futility of misplaced hopes that ultimately fade from existence. Teach me the wisdom of seeking you and finding security in your unchanging character. Only your promises will stand forever, for they flow from your perfections. It is folly to trust in the uncertainties of people, possessions or position, because all of these ultimately disappoint. Instead, I choose to hope in your and pray that I will grow in the knowledge, love and trust of you. Then I will experience the security and satisfaction that come from growing conformity to the image of Christ in me. Amen.

Now it was the day of Preparation, and the next day was to be a special Sabbath. Because the Jewish leaders did not want the bodies left on the crosses during the Sabbath, they asked Pilate to have the legs broken and the bodies taken down. The soldiers therefore came and broke the legs of the first man who had been crucified with Jesus, and then those of the other. But when they came to Jesus and found that he was already dead, they did not break his legs. Instead, one of the soldiers pierced Jesus’ side with a spear, bringing a sudden flow of blood and water. The man who saw it has given testimony, and his testimony is true. He knows that he tells the truth, and he testifies so that you also may believe. These things happened so that the scripture would be fulfilled: “Not one of his bones will be broken,” and, as another scripture says, “They will look on the one they have pierced.” (John 19:31-37)

———-

Joseph of Arimathea, a prominent member of the Council, who was himself waiting for the kingdom of God, went boldly to Pilate and asked for Jesus’ body. Pilate was surprised to hear that he was already dead. Summoning the centurion, he asked him if Jesus had already died. When he learned from the centurion that it was so, he gave the body to Joseph. (Mark 15:43-45)

———-

Now Joseph was a disciple of Jesus, but secretly because he feared the Jewish leaders. With Pilate’s permission, he came and took the body away. He was accompanied by Nicodemus, the man who earlier had visited Jesus at night. Nicodemus brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about seventy-five pounds. Taking Jesus’ body, the two of them wrapped it, with the spices, in strips of linen. This was in accordance with Jewish burial customs. At the place where Jesus was crucified, there was a garden, and in the garden a new tomb, in which no one had ever been laid. Because it was the Jewish day of Preparation and since the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there. (John 19:38b-42)

———-

Tomorrow is Easter, and you probably have already allowed your mind to push past today and begin thinking of the grand celebration that will take place commemorating the resurrection of Jesus.

But wait.

Not so fast.

We would do well to remember that the people we read about in the Bible had to live this all one verse at a time. They didn’t know the end of the story as we do. They couldn’t skip ahead to the next chapter.

For them, this was Saturday. Jesus was dead and buried. The tomb was sealed shut. Hope was lying there silently in that cave.

Why should we bother thinking about Jesus’ final moments on the cross and who buried him? One answer is that there would be several false accounts that would crop up over the next several centuries, accounts which deny either the death or the resurrection of Jesus. It is essential to our faith that we affirm: Jesus was really dead. That is why they buried him.

These were not overly superstitious people; they knew when someone was dead, and they knew what to do with a dead body. You bury it.

Joseph and Nicodemus go to great personal trouble and expense to honor Jesus. Though they did not stand for him in life, they now stand for him in death, preparing his body in haste so as to get him in the tomb before sundown. They intended to go back later and remove his bones.

Of course, they never got around to that.

And everyone knew why.

———-

Lord Jesus, your death and resurrection are the very foundation of my faith, the source of my hope and purpose, the wellspring of my salvation, the assurance of my peace and the basis for my eternal life with you. I confess that I am often so quick to jump from Good Friday to Easter Sunday that I rarely contemplate what life must have been like for those earliest followers on that Holy Saturday. Yet in the quiet darkness of that day a miracle was occurring, as all the power of evil and death were being undone. Likewise, teach me that you continue to work in hidden and unseen ways which you will reveal to me in your timing. Thank you for dying. Thank you for giving yourself up on my behalf. Show me the wisdom of waiting patiently for your return. In your saving name. Amen.

It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon, for the sun stopped shining. (Luke 23:44-45a)

———-

And when Jesus had cried out again in a loud voice, he gave up his spirit.

At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook, the rocks split and the tombs broke open. The bodies of many holy people who had died were raised to life. They came out of the tombs after Jesus’ resurrection and went into the holy city and appeared to many people.

When the centurion and those with him who were guarding Jesus saw the earthquake and all that had happened, they were terrified, and exclaimed, “Surely he was the Son of God!” (Matthew 27:50-54)

———-

When all the people who had gathered to witness this sight saw what took place, they beat their breasts and went away. But all those who knew him, including the women who had followed him from Galilee, stood at a distance, watching these things. (Luke 23:48-49)

———-

But now apart from the law the righteousness of God has been made known, to which the Law and the Prophets testify. This righteousness is given through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. There is no difference between Jew and Gentile, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus. God presented Christ as a sacrifice of atonement, through the shedding of his blood — to be received by faith. He did this to demonstrate his righteousness, because in his forbearance he had left the sins committed beforehand unpunished — he did it to demonstrate his righteousness at the present time, so as to be just and the one who justifies those who have faith in Jesus. (Romans 3:21-26)

———-

For this reason Christ is the mediator of a new covenant, that those who are called may receive the promised eternal inheritance — now that he has died as a ransom to set them free from the sins committed under the first covenant. (Hebrews 9:15)

———-

It is good Friday. And there are a lot of good things about it. Rain falls at this time of year, sun shines and beautiful things grow.

So what draws us today to sit and think about an instrument of death? Is there not something better we could do with our day to enrich our lives?

Everything in the world (especially in the world of advertising) tells us that there are other things we could be doing to enhance our longevity, improve our lifestyles, increase our happiness. But the truth is, there comes a time in everyone’s life when we become painfully aware that these things do not bring what they promised.

We are all dying to live, but the allure of this life is always proven an illusion, one that either ebbs away or is ripped from our hands. Our health is compromised. A relationship fails. A loved one dies. The opportunity of a lifetime falls through. People betray us. And all of a sudden, the life we worked so hard to create is suddenly much less than we had hoped for.

The truth is, what draws us to the cross and to Jesus is something deep inside us that tells us that all that Jesus said was true. We were meant to live for more than these things, and the real currency that purchased our freedom is death. None of our achievements matter in light of what Jesus achieved on the day he died.

Ironically, through his death he provides us with the life we have always wanted but have never been able to attain on our own.

———-

Dear God, you make it so clear that none of us can save ourselves by living longer or better. If your abundant life were possible through human attainment, Jesus would not have had to die. But I know that apart from him I am incapable of truly living the life for which you created me. I cannot achieve perfection on my own. I cannot earn my salvation through clever invention or shrewd investments. I have fallen short of your goodness, your glory and your standards. My sin separates me from you, and I am in a desperate condition without the mercy and grace I find only in the cross of your Son, my Savior, Jesus Christ. I will praise you forever because in your unfailing love you had compassion on me in my helpless state. Because I trust in him, he gives me what I both need and want most: the gift of eternal life with you. In his Saving name I pray. Amen.