Today we organized a day camp for the kids of Trestle Tree. We split up into four teams and the kids played football, made crafts, fought over plastic bats....
I spent my day with the red team. A team of delinquents, really. We were the trouble makers, the rowdy ones. By the end of the day I was covered in sweat and melted face paint. But we played hard and I pray that some day, if not today, each of those kids realizes how deeply I want them to believe... even though I lost my temper once or twice.
Walking into the cafeteria for lunch today, I overheard my co-leader Dan talking to a five year old girl on our team. He was explaining the gospel in words she could understand. Speaking of how Jesus took the punishment for us because he loves us. And that taking the punishment meant that he had to die for us.
A few minutes later, Dan and I found the little girl weeping unconsolably. I scooped her up and carried her outside where Dan took her from me, explaining that she was upset because Jesus had died for her. I can't explain exactly where her tears came from - they could have been joyful because of his love, but they seemed like deep sadness, guilt even. Guilt because she caused the death of someone who did not deserve it.She sat on my lap during lunch and I was able to ask her a few questions. I asked her why she was sad and she explained that she wanted Jesus with her. I was excited to tell her he's coming back, and she was excited to hear it. She didn't realize that not only did Jesus die, but he also lived. (And yes, I now realize this was the perfect time to insert, "But He lives in our hearts..."Dang. I'm still learning).
Anyway, that got me thinking....
How often do I tell the wonderful news of the gospel without telling the second part of the story? The part this precious girl couldn't grasp. The part where He defeated death, resurrected, ascended, and promised his return.
When you ask a child about Jesus, chances are he'll say, "Jesus really cares about us. He died on the cross to save us from our sins." That is beautiful truth, but if you're listening closely there is a huge problem with those words. The sentence leaves us with a dead God.
Maybe, we are so used to telling the story that we forget sometimes it doesn't make sense. And that's how you get a five year old girl weeping over a Man she never got to meet. But I think this runs deeper than this little girl's tears. I think it plays out in everyone's life. I know it plays out in mine.
I often live my life stuck on the darkness of the crucifixion, burdened with guilt. I live my life on Saturday, forgetting that Sunday is coming and with it the ultimate victory. The ultimate grace. It constantly surprises me how hard it is to live under grace. To accept the Lord's sacrifice and truly live in the freedom of it. But... that's how we worship, I suppose.
