The thought struck me this week, I am literally walking in the promise that God gave a middle-eastern man thousands of years ago… blessed to be a blessing.
The torch was lit. It carried forward—generation after generation—and was made realized in the person, Jesus, Immanuel—God with us.
And it’s only through that Man, Jesus, who rode into a valley all those years ago, on a donkey colt. No valiant war horse for my King as He entered into Jerusalem to mere days later be crowned with thorns and enthroned on a wooden tree. The way to my life was His death. He carried every wayward thought, selfish word, and thoughtless action with Him as He climbed up that wretched tree for me. He did that so light could go out… no longer confined to the sacred Temple Mount, but carried closely by every image-bearer who also took up their cross and found their life through His. Those of us who have taken our deepest darknesses to the foot of the cross, buried them in His tomb, and have now found it to be empty—bearing no grip on us anymore. Free.
His life gives me life. Two thousand years later, His hope carried forward. His Spirit lingering in the souls of those who rest their hope in Him. Generation after generation. Nation after nation. To me. To you.
Light in darkness.
Peace in disarray.
Order in chaos.
I have hope.