Our Joy, His Cost
It’s been a wild month for me in ministry. I’ve seen God working in ways that are truly unbelievable and awe-inspiring. In the last four weeks alone, I’ve had a ringside seat to four women accepting Christ, three of whom will be baptized at our church this Sunday. My heart is rejoicing for them.
It’s been a gift to watch God work in surprising ways in and through these women. One such way happened when one of these women came into the church where I work on a weekday morning, having never before set foot in the building. We’d never met or even heard of one another prior. When we sat down to talk, she said to me, “Something told me to come here and I can’t explain why. Maybe you can help?”
Seriously. It was the best. We talked for some time about the gospel, and she knew immediately that God was calling her to surrender her life to Christ. The way God is drawing people to himself is beyond exciting to see.
It’s been equally wild to see the way these women’s lives have already been transformed since their decision to follow Jesus just a few short weeks ago. There’s been a new sense of belonging and peace, and a revived joy for living for each one of them. One woman has even experienced healing from addiction. The sudden arrival of these things mark their stories like a glowing line in the timeline of their lives. Then and now are in stark contrast. I’m in tears thinking about them as I write this. God is so very good.
I was reading in Luke 19 the other day the story of Jesus entering Jerusalem. This passage is the famous scene so often celebrated on Palm Sunday, where Jesus enters the city on a colt while those around him are praising and rejoicing. What stood out to me this time in the reading was Jesus’ reaction to seeing Jerusalem.
As Jesus approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said, “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace—but now it is hidden from your eyes.” (Luke 19:41-42).
There’s a lot in the context of passage we won’t really get into today in terms of Jesus predicting the fate to come for Jerusalem at the hands of Rome. It’s fascinating stuff and I recommend digging into it. But what I was really struck by this time around is the clear depiction of the heart of Jesus.
Think about it: he is on his way into the city where he knows his death awaits him. He’s being celebrated by people he knows will betray him in a few short days. And what does he do? He weeps for them. He weeps because they can’t see him for who he is, the bringer of hope and salvation. He weeps for them on the horizon of their very personal rejection as the shadow of the cross quickly descends.
As I consider the testimonies of the women soon to be baptized, and as I consider that of my own, I’m floored at the cost of it all for Jesus.
The joy in every single one of our testimonies has to go through the suffering on the cross to get there. Each one of our testimonies is riddled with rejection and heartbreak for the God who loves us so much he died for us. I imagine this rejection to be just as painful for Jesus post-crucifixion as it is pre. Maybe even more so. But God’s love for us is demonstrated in this, while we were still sinners Christ died for us (Romans 3:23).
My own story echoes this clearly. Several years ago my boyfriend and I found ourselves pregnant. Both of us knew better — we knew Jesus (though we weren’t following him). We knew we were living lives outside of God’s plan, not just in this area but in most. In fact, the day we got pregnant was the day we decided between parting ways and being together for the long haul. It certainly wasn’t ideal for starting a family.
We did the whole shotgun wedding thing, mostly to appease our parents, and we started attending church because that’s what good parents did. We kept one foot planted in two different worlds and lived a double life for quite some time. Yet, God still pursued us.
It was through the birth of our daughter that we began to wrestle with deeper things, and it was through our care for her and our other children born soon after that God eventually got ahold of both our hearts. My husband and I finally began to walk out our faith. In doing so, God pulled our family and our floundering marriage out of the muck and mire, and put us on a rock. I will celebrate this until the day that I die. I do so especially when I see God doing the same for others, like the women mentioned earlier. Their victory reminds me of his goodness in my own life.
But what is hitting different for me this time is the perspective of trying to count the cost of my life’s redemption. Imagine Jesus’ perspective of my life at that time: He died an excruciating death on a cross; one that was preceded by torture and rejection. And I had the audacity to sit front and center in his church pretending to follow to him. My past and present behaviors equaling rejection of both him and his precepts — the very same rejection that caused him to weep over Jerusalem.
Yet amidst this hurtful defiance, God was actively weaving the fruit of my rebellion into a child that would be so deeply loved not only by her parents, but by God himself. And this child would become the very thing he uses to convince me of his goodness just a few years later.
It’d be a little like me punching you in the gut over and over again, and you looking back at me and saying, “that last punch you threw — that’s the one I’m going to use to make you realize how much I love you.”
The cost of my redemption is this: first, a peaceful and perfect savior rejected and killed on a cross. Next, a risen king enduring my repeated injury and insult while he waited for me wake up and recognize him. I’m so thankful I’m not asleep anymore. I’m in awe of that kind of love.
So as I head to celebrate the lives changed during baptisms this Sunday, I’m remembering the cost of each and every one of them. I don’t mean to color the celebration gray by any means, but to feel it fully. Because this is the reason for our joy: the old life is gone, and its cost is one we will never have to pay. Our gratitude will always equal our understanding of the cost.
The psalmist writes, “Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.” (Psalm 51:12). I’m grateful today to remember where I was and who I am no longer. I’m in awe of a God who loves me that much.
