I Killed Jesus

I killed Jesus – but he wouldn't stay dead. Then he forgave me, said I could be born again into his family (as his Father's child), and spend eternity with him and all the other losers he saves. I told him I didn't deserve such a glorious gift after all the things I'd done. And he just smiled and said, "Yeah, I know."

Such mercy and grace was so overwhelming that it killed me – but Jesus wouldn't let me stay dead. I am still shaken by the touch of such undeserved love. I stagger and babble like a drunken fool who thinks he's dancing and praising God – and the Holy Spirit keeps encouraging the foolishness, and telling God that I am.

The sheer devastatingly Divine JOY of it all can make me weep with delight. He is alive, and I tremble at the prospect of meeting him face-to-face. Some things are so good they're scary. It is a terrible thing to fall into the hands of a loving God – a terrible good. I am humbled and hushed, and hopeful that he'll have me ready when the time comes. Even so, come, Lord Jesus.