Crimson

I saw myself in the pages of Matthew and Mark, Luke and John today.

I am one of them — crimson-stained and in need of a Savior.

And so I pray and I confess:

Lord Jesus,

I am the innkeeper,
with crowded Heart-Rooms that push you to corner stables out back.

I am the Pharisee,
quick to point out specks in eyes while ignoring planks in mine.

I am a frightened passenger,
too scared of the waves to step out of the boat.

I am a mourner at Lazarus’ grave,
with heart seething as I wait for you.

I am a palm-waver,
shouting “Hosanna” one day then leading you to the cross the next.

I am your disciple,
asleep on the job as you sweat blood in a garden.

I am Pilate,
daily handing you over to be crucified.

I am Peter,
talking big, but warming myself by the fire as I look for a way to save my own hide.

I am a bystander on the road,
watching you carry a cross but too prideful to carry mine.

I am a criminal on the cross next to you,
deserving justice while you — the innocent one — suffer.

Yet I, robed in crimson, have the nerve to speak to you, robed in white. I don’t even ask for it; I demand it:

“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” (Luke 23:42)

How dare I?

Yet, you look over your right shoulder,
and you see me in the mess I’ve made.
Blood and grace flow mingled down, crossing your forehead and over lips that speak Truth into places no one else knows.

And still. … Still you say to me:

“You will be with me in paradise.”

And I’m left breathless.

I deserve justice, but receive grace. I am a wretch, yet you call me your treasure. My sins were as scarlet, but they shall be white as snow.

The beautiful irony of our faith buckles my knees, Lord Jesus. And with this lump in my throat, all I can do is shake my head and choke out thanks and try to tell You again how much You mean to me.

I’m alive with the hope of a brand-new day.*
All because of You.
All because of You, Jesus.

Each Wednesday, I “Walk With Him” over at Ann’s. She invites us to post about spiritual practices that draw us nearer to His heart. This week, we open our prayer closets and invite you to pray with us. Will you join Ann over there?

Photo: Communion set. A birthday gift from my husband.
We stand in awe of Christ’s gift — body and blood, shed for us.