Blood Stained Tounges

I bought a new movie. It's called, "Stranger Than Fiction," and it's by far Will Ferrel's best movie. Not his funniest, but his best. Without ruining the ending, because I hate that so much, I want to share some thoughts it put in my head.

There are two lines that I want to delve into, the first one being, "I'm supposed to knowingly face my own death?" Consider this; Jesus Christ had to face his own death. That's incredible. All I could think about throughout this entire movie was what it would be like to face my own death. How would I handle it? If I knew exactly how long I had left, if I knew that the end were approaching, how would I do it? Would I try to stop it? Would I try to live the most I could in a few short weeks? What on Earth would I do?

But this question is nothing compared to the second line. "I've Killed." It's so simple, it's so blunt, and it's so powerful. I don't know if you could say those two words without any finality; they close the book on so many things. To admit not to another, but to yourself that you are a murderer would have to be a very hard process.

So I tell you these two thoughts to help you understand the admission that I'm making right now. Ready?

I've Killed. And because I've Killed, Jesus Christ had to knowingly face his own death.

Because of my sin Jesus died. I'm no better than Charles Manson, or that guy that killed hookers. I'm just another murderer, just one more guilty conscience trying to escape justice. My own weapon wasn't a gun or a cross, but a tounge. With my mouth, with my complete lack of concern for others or their feelings, I Killed.

Jesus Christ, knowing that I Killed, knowing that my tounge was going to put him on a cross, STILL knowingly and willingly faced this fate. Understanding that I was judge, jury, executioner and perpetrator, he still walked right into death, and he did it for me. He did it to save me.

I try to keep my posts relevant to my life, which means keeping it relevant to the world around me. Life is rough right now where I live, up at Yorkland where there's trouble in paradise. It's easy to point fingers and get mad, and even when that's done you still have to admit that there's no easy way to fix things.

I write this when I do for a reason. I write it to remind myself, to remind my friends, to remind the world of the thing that is of first importance. Jesus Christ willingly died for his own murderers. Don't lose sight of that.

(jake)