But may I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world. (Galatians 6:14)
Jesus walked toward crucifixion. He accepted his day of agony knowing it bought an eternity of joy for millions. In his mind, he held the image of a sea of worshipers before his Father’s throne—and he opened his hand for the nails.
My crucifixion doesn’t include nails and a cross. The things of the world are crucifiers to me. My crown of thorns is imperfect health. My forty-nine lashes are injured relationships. My cross is a sacrifice of temporary pleasures. As incomparable as those are to what Jesus suffered, they are, nevertheless, my crucifixion.
My suffering is nothing like Christ’s, and neither will my glory be like his, but one thing is the same. I must respond as he did. He didn’t preoccupy himself with escape. He kept moving toward Jerusalem, even though he knew the cross waited.
What about me? Do I accept my mild crucifixion, or do I panic and scramble away? Embracing suffering is not popular theology—at least it’s not popular with me. But, rather than run away, I must, like Jesus, keep my mind filled with the glory ahead, through every current hardship.
By the time I showed up on the earth, the work of paying for sin’s debt was complete. There was nothing left for me to do except bind myself to what Jesus finished. That’s why I begged forgiveness, swore allegiance, and was baptized in water—to unite myself to the work of Jesus. There’s only one thing more I can do out of gratitude. Mimic his life. He gave up temporal distractions so he could grow God’s kingdom. That’s my role model.
I want to grasp the depth of what Jesus did for me. His sacrifice was too terrible for a mere shallow appreciation. And the only way into that knowledge is if I accept my mild crucifixion.
Prayer: Jesus, help learn about your love through my brief trials.