Harbinger of Forgiveness

Today I prayed for Jasen. It’s been two years of this ache. A quiet tension stretched thin. As the words rose from my mouth I started to cry deep tears. The kind when something sacred breaks open.  

As I sat with the silence, I felt the wickedness of my own heart. The hatred and anger that had rooted itself became louder. I saw the standard of righteousness, and where I fall short. 

For two years, the more I hated him, the more I hated myself. The angrier I became towards him, the more the anger turned inward. I saw the mirror in my callow heart. I was not so different from him.

Some months ago I watched Passion of the Christ over and over. One scene kept arresting me: Barabbas. A guilty man set free. Christ, silent and beaten, meeting his gaze not with hatred, but with compassion. No justice demanded. Just love. I would weep every time; feeling the distance of that mercy, and my own heart towards a guilty man set free. 

Today I wrung out my own heart like a cloth, and I pleaded. Begging the Lord to be slow to anger towards him. To meet him not with wrath but with grace. To love him. 

The more I wanted this for him, I realized the more I wanted this for myself. 

I felt what the Lord was modeling in that moment with Barabbas. In Barabbas, I saw myself. And in Christ, I saw the freedom I could not earn. The love and compassion I did not deserve. 
The more I laid myself down, the more I came alive.