Marissa Henley

Encouraging weary women to hope in Christ alone

The Cross of Jesus

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Tomorrow is Good Friday.  We are studying Matthew 27 (the crucifixion) in Bible Study Fellowship this week.  So the cross of Jesus has been on my mind lately, and it’s showed me two things:

1. the cross doesn’t enter my daily thoughts very often, and 2. it really, really should.

Life is busy.  My thoughts are usually consumed with my to-do list, dinner plans, parenting challenges, and vacation daydreams.  But these last several days, as my thoughts have turned more and more to the suffering, death, and resurrection of Christ, I started making a mental list of how I’ve benefitted from Christ’s death on the cross.

I’d like to be more aware of these benefits on a daily basis, not just during Holy Week.  And so as I record them for myself, I’ll also share them with you.  I hope contemplating what Christ has done will encourage you as it has encouraged me.

 

Christ was betrayed, so I could be reconciled to God. (Romans 5:10)

Christ was taken captive, so I could be set free. (Matthew 26:50, Galatians 5:1)

Christ poured out His blood, so I could be filled with the Holy Spirit (Matthew 26:28, Romans 8:11)

Christ was falsely accused, so I could be free from the accusations of the evil one. (Matthew 26:59-60)

Christ was sacrificed, so I could be rescued. (I Peter 1:18-19)

Christ was taken outside the city gates, so I could be brought into God’s kingdom. (Matthew 27:33)

Christ was forsaken, so I could be accepted. (Matthew 27:46)

Christ was disrobed, so I could be clothed in His righteousness. (Isaiah 61:10, Matthew 27:35)

Christ became sin, so I could be made righteous. (II Corinthians 5:21)

Christ was wounded, so I could be healed. (I Peter 2:24)

Christ was mocked, so I could be welcomed. (Matthew 27:39-44)

Christ suffered, so I could be sanctified. (Hebrews 13:11-13)

Christ was condemned, so I could know no condemnation. (Romans 8:1)

Christ became like the guilty, so my guilt could be removed. (Matthew 27:37-38, Psalm 103:12)

Christ was separated from the Father, so I never will be. (Romans 8:38-39)

Christ died in the darkness, so I could walk in the light. (Matthew 27:45, John 8:12)

Christ became cursed, so I could be free from the curse. (Deuteronomy 21:22-23)

Christ was humiliated, so I could be glorified with Him. (Romans 8:17)

Christ was rejected, so I could be adopted. (Romans 8:15-16)

Christ felt the sting of death, so I could be freed from its power. (I Corinthians 15:55-57, Matthew 27:50)

Christ was punished, so I could be pardoned. (Micah 7:18)

Christ wore a crown of thorns, so I could receive the crown of life. (Matthew 27:29, James 1:12)

Christ experienced God’s wrath, so I could be spared from it. (Romans 3:25)

Christ was the perfect Passover Lamb, so I could pass from death to life. (John 1:29, Colossians 1:13)

 

John 19:30: When Jesus had received the sour wine, he said, “It is finished,” and he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.

 

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Loneliness

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I have been struggling with loneliness lately.  Some if it is the typical baseline loneliness that seems to never leave.  Some of it is circumstantial and will lessen as those circumstances change.  Some of it is the additional loneliness I experience as a cancer survivor, the feeling that very few people know what it is like to be me.

 

It seems that most (all?) women experience loneliness in varying degrees.  We long for a greater quality or quantity of friendships.  We crave the companionship of someone really “gets” us, that feeling that someone understands what our life feels like.  I am blessed with a wonderful circle of friends, but loneliness still plagues me sometimes, as it has for the past few weeks.

 

Last week as I listened to a sermon on the last few verses in Matthew, I was struck by Jesus’ promise in Matthew 28:20b:

“And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

This loneliness that I feel is meant to point me to the One who knows every detail of my life.  He knows every fear, every tear, every need.

 

My Savior enjoyed the most perfect, loneliness-free existence as a member of the Trinity.  But Christ “did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself by taking the form of a servant” (Philippians 2:6-7).  I cannot imagine the loneliness Christ must have felt as He bore His Father’s wrath on the cross and cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  (Matthew 27:46).  He endured this painful separation from His Father so that I can be brought into relationship with Him.

 

So the very Son of God can say to me, “I am with you always.”

 

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Masks

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A friend sent an email awhile ago, asking a group of women about what type of masks women wear.  I’ve been thinking about this for awhile.  I think there is the obvious mask:  the Martha-Stewart, perfectly-dressed-with-perfectly-dressed-kids, have-it-all-together mom.  When you’re wearing this mask, you don’t want anyone to see any weakness or failure as you oversee the school fundraiser while cooking a three-course meal in your spotless kitchen and patiently serving as referee for your children’s bi-weekly disagreement over which one gets to take out the trash for you.

 

I think moms also wear the “I’m so obviously overwhelmed and stressed out that you shouldn’t expect anything from me” mask.  The purpose of this mask is to make sure everyone sees your shortcomings, so no one would ever ask you to plan the school fundraiser . . . after all, you can’t even dress your entire family before leaving the house.  This mask isn’t nearly as glamorous as the first, but I know I’ve pulled it out a time or two when the perfection mask wasn’t gonna happen.

 

There are probably other masks that we wear and variations of these.  We all have our strengths and take on specific roles in our group of friends.  If you are the organized one, you don’t want anyone to see your disorganized closet.  If you are the phenomenal cook, you’d hate for anyone to know that your kids are having mac’n’cheese from the box for dinner (again).  If you are the theologian, you must have an answer for every problem, complete with at least three memorized Scripture references.  If you are the social butterfly, you hope no one ever finds out how lonely you feel most of the time.

 

In true friendships, especially in the church, I have seen a push to take off those masks.  It’s trendy to be genuine and vulnerable.  And I think we peek out from behind them with those friends we can trust.  But lately I’ve been realizing how much my mask is still on, even when I think I’m being real.

 

Truly taking off your mask does not mean laughing with your mommy-friends about how frustrated you got with your kid yesterday or how annoying your husband can be.  Taking off your mask means pouring out your heart, probably with tears, about how you have no idea what to do with that child and how scared you are about where it’s all heading.  It means admitting your marriage is on rocky ground, no matter how many times you smile and grab your husband’s hand on your way into church.  Sharing your shortcomings so that people find you approachable and witty is just trading one mask for another.

 

So my question to my sisters in Christ is, when was the last time you were real with someone?  Not fake-real, not witty-real, not I’m-down-to-earth-but-I-hope-you-still-admire-me real.  Because the bottom line is that we all need the Gospel.  We all need to be reminded on a daily basis that Christ is enough and we are not.  If we are willing to share with our friends that we aren’t measuring up, they can remind us that Christ already attained perfection on our behalf.  His perfect record has been given to us by God’s grace, so we are free to be the screw-ups that we are.

 

When I admit my ugliest failures to my friends, it is an opportunity for them to preach the Gospel to me.  And when they admit their failures to me, I can do the same for them.  It might not be pretty or fun, but it is covered in God’s grace.  That is genuine, mask-less community.

 

Now, who wants to meet me for coffee and take off some masks?

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Would you die for a criminal?

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Don’t you love those teaching moments with your kids when you realize they truly get it?  Like when Christopher was 3, and he had heard all about Jesus dying on the cross, but I was there for the moment that he realized that Jesus had risen from the dead . . . “You mean He’s ALIVE?!?  HOOORRRAAAYYY!!!”  His genuine exuberance brought tears to my eyes.

This morning, I was reading Romans 5 to the kids when we came across these verses:

Romans 5:6-8:  For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly.  For one will scarcely die for a righteous person–though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die–but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.  

I asked Christopher–and told him not to answer out loud–what he would do if a bad guy came into our house with a gun and told him that he was going to either kill him or his brother.  Who would he choose?  It would be a tough choice, wouldn’t it?  I told him that I would die for them, because they are my children, and I love them that much.  But there aren’t a lot of people I would die for.

Then I asked another question: “What if a bad guy broke into our house and stole all our stuff?  He would be our enemy, right?  And then what if another bad guy brought that bad guy in and gave you a choice.  The second bad guy would either kill you or the guy who stole all your stuff.  What do you choose?”

Christopher got excited.  He knew the answer to this one.  “The bad guy!”  he said enthusiastically, “He would definitely have to kill the bad guy, not me!”

The great thing about kids is that they rarely see where the illustration is headed until you lower the boom.

“Christopher, you are the bad guy.  That’s what these verses are saying.  We are sinners, and we were God’s enemies.  But Jesus said to the Father, ‘Kill me, not them.’  He died for us even though we were the bad guys.”

He was speechless, and I was almost in tears.  Hit with my own reminder of the unfathomable nature of the Gospel.  The crazy, true story in which the perfect, blameless Son of God dies for a bunch of wretched sinners like you and me.  The most amazing love story of all.

 

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