The story of Jesus’ death is not a new story to most of us. We’ve heard it so many times in so many ways. Whether you first heard it at a church, or saw a version of it at the movies, or heard someone tell you the story through your television. Perhaps you just heard it again this week as Christians, Disciples of Christ, celebrated Easter. I’m not going to retell it here, but I would like to share the part of His story that means the most to me.
You see, at that moment, after all the beatings, the ridicule, the mocking’s, the crown, the nails, and His last breath had been drawn He died, and the veil that separated man from God in the temple was ripped from top to bottom. In the book of Matthew chapter 27, verse 51 it says, “At that moment, the Temple curtain was ripped in two, top to bottom…” (MSG)
The veil, or the Temple curtain, was just no ordinary curtain that perhaps covers the windows of your house, but this curtain was at least forty-five feet tall, and four inches thick. It was there because God cannot look at sin, or at those who have sinned. Only the high priest, and only once a year, could go through a long list of rituals that would consider him clean could go around the curtain into the “Holy of Holies” into the presence of God, and offer a sacrifice to God for the forgiveness of sin.
I don’t know about you, but I would hate to walk around all year with unforgiven sin. Knowing me the very day my sins were forgiven I would probably sin again, and say, “Oh man! Now I have to wait another year?” At that moment when the curtain was torn from top to bottom, by God, it now meant that Jesus, who was without sin, became my high priest, and through His death on the cross I now can enter the presence of God any moment I want to, or knowing me, need to.
That’s my favorite part of the story of Jesus’ death, but when the curtain ripped that wasn’t the end of Jesus’ story…three days later He made a curtain call.
This past week, during a team meeting for my trip to Zambia, one of the members shared that she keeps a journal, but not just any journal. She went on to share how at the end of every day she writes down in this journal where and how God showed up. The name of this journal is, “Only God”.
I have mentioned this philosophy in a couple of blogs of “helping without hurting”. I wanted to share a little more about it.
When I travel somewhere, seldom will you ever hear the words come out of my mouth, “Oh gees, I forgot something.” I was never in the Boy Scouts, but my parents taught me well how to be prepared, how to be resourceful, and how to improvise. On one camping trip the truck’s fuel pump went out. Dad poured gas from the boat into a can and climbed above the truck’s engine so he could pour gas manually into the carburetor. He told my mother, “If it runs, step on it and keep it moving.” Something he said later he regretted as it was the scariest ride of his life.
brady, mark a. 