I just returned from something I terribly needed. Today I had to turn in a take-home final, and on my way back I was walking through the Church of God campground that lies between campus and my apartment. It was in this moment, surrounded by His wonderful creation that I was reminded.
As I walked, I noticed the trail I was leaving behind in the snow. I thought of snow, winter, and Christmastime. I thought of memories of Christmas past. I thought of the pain of Christmas now that it is tainted by my father who chose a life seperate from my mother. I thought of suffering. I thought of the cliche that Christ has been where I am. I was reminded that, though Jesus never dealt with the divorce of Joseph and Mary, it was on the cross that he experienced all of my pain, all of my sufferings, all of my sin, all of my shit.
(If that word offended you, then you are not focusing on the point of this entry.)
I don't understand how Christ being beaten, mocked, and hung on a piece of wood can cleanse me of all that is wrong in my life. I don't have to understand. I just have to know. And in that knowing, I rejoice.
Today I encountered the suffering Christ. It was ugly. It was beautiful. It's funny how often in Christianity those two collide