My Security

NOTE: This is a post I put on Facebook several years ago. Since my current Sunday School class has just finished a series on salvation and doubt, I thought it would be appropriate to re-post. Hope it’s an encouragement.

Have you ever been in a church service where your spirit was just really in tune with God’s? Where the songs, the testimonies, the message, everything spoke directly to you and you were open to whatever God had to say? Those are the times that I catch a glimpse of God’s amazing glory and love, and I thrill to realize that He is my King and my Father! I often imagine, at those special times, that His hands are on my shoulders. I feel the gentle, firm, familiar pressure made dear to me by my earthly daddy. That touch tells me that my God is with me, that He has claimed me as His own, that He is so much wiser and stronger than I am, that He understands my childish foolishness as well as my good intentions and is offering His guidance, and that He delights in me, His little girl. I reach up for His hand and hold His fingers as I sing out with all my heart, rejoicing in the intimacy we share.

   But then, as God’s Word continues to be spoken and sung, I glimpse my own sin. My eyes are opened to the petty temptations that I continuously give in to, over and over again. Little things that shouldn’t tempt me, little things I constantly pray for victory over, little things I choose to keep doing even though I hate them and know that they displease my Father. I discover that I am proud of the good things I do. I begin to realize that so many of the deeds I boast in are worthless, because I did them to bring attention to me and not to my God. And I despise and abhor my wicked heart.

Ashamed, my hand crawls off my shoulder and the thoughts creep in to my head. God, what is this illusion of intimacy I’ve created between You and me? Are Your hands really on me? You can’t really be delighting in me—I’m not delightful! What do you see in me that made You choose me? I’m less than worthless; I continually despise Your love and grace! You told Moses that You couldn’t be with the Israelites in the desert because their constant sin would cause You to destroy them! What makes me think that You would be with me?

My shame is overwhelmed by a sense of panic and I grab at my shoulder, groping for a sign of my Father’s presence and love. My fingers make tentative contact with His, and I reach up to clasp His hand, as if by grabbing I can make Him stay with me forever.

It’s at that moment that my finger sinks into the warmth of His wrist—and a sense of security washes over me: I have found His scar. The one He got when the nail pierced His flesh two thousand years ago. It’s still there.

His scar is my peace with God. Just as Aaron interceded for the Israelites when they sinned against Jehovah’s holiness, just as his offering stopped God’s wrath from destroying the people, so my Savior’s scar shows that God’s wrath has already been poured out against my sin. The full force of His holy anger fell, blow after blow, on Christ’s offering of His own body. Now, when God’s anger is stirred against my repeated rebellion, Jesus Christ holds up His hands, and His scar stops the Father’s wrath from destroying me.

His scar is still there. Even in His glorified body, He still bears the effects of my sin. When I have been with Him in Heaven for ten thousand thousand years and this whole life seems like a misty glimpse of a foggy dream, I will never be allowed to forget what my God has done for me. Every time I look at my Lord, I will see the scar and remember. The Father can never turn His wrath against me because Jesus’s hands have been permanently marred; when He shows His Father the scar, God sees my name engraved in it. His scar declares that I am innocent, free, forgiven.

His scar is my security.


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