You Don't Know the Gospel

An angel with a sword on fire.

It all starts with an angel holding a sword on fire.

In this moment, I would like you to do something: be aware of the clothes you're wearing. Feel the weight of your cotton blend shirt upon your chest, let the snugness of your jeans itch a little bit.

Then imagine all of your clothing forcibly ripped off of your body, not a shred left. You are then pushed out of your home, to walk. How do you feel? Do you feel a bit cold?

Imagine walking slowly, pathetically naked, except for the wetness of a slaughtered animal on your body. The fat rubs upon your back as you walk barefoot upon wild foliage that crunches damply beneath you. Something is dripping off your arm, it is blood, running off the dead creature, pooling at your elbow, the uncomfortable feeling tells you to rub it off, you do so, onto your stomach.

You're walking through the wilderness with the only person you have ever known, but you don't know where or how far. You see their face, riddled with shame, you know they've let you down, but you're wearing the same dead animal they are, you let them down. This new thing, this discomfort, is too much to take, so you turn around.

And then you see it, then you remember. There flies the glowing angel with the flaming sword, striking the air in all directions, keeping you permanently away from your home. It was sent by the Voice from the Sky. The Great God that brought you here and gave you another person to speak with and keep warm, has ruined things. He wasn't always a voice, He used to be a part of your daily life, delighting in your new discoveries, providing for your freedom and safety, however there is a distance now.

You stand, looking for something familiar, even a rock, behind the swing of the powerful sword. And you are tempted to try running toward the paradise of Eden, but you know IF you make it, only half of you will get there. The other half of your body will wait for death. There you are, two sad people, hoping for paradise you can not reach.

But if you had the mind of God, you wouldn't despair. He sees the futility of your thoughts and attempts, He has a plan. Out of all the forests of all the trees around the globe, He counts one special, in a place far away. Its descendents will be split open and ripped apart, shaved down by tyrants and fastened together in an odd shape, where the beams intersect, they will call it a 'cross' one day. His Son, Jesus Christ, will die on one. Not too far from that tree, grazes a herd of cattle. Men will recognize the toughness of their skin and use it to create clothing, writing materials and whips, like the one His Son will feel.

No, there is no way for you to cross past the Lord's Guardian to paradise, without dying. So His Son will do it. He will launch himself into the path of the sword, so you can cross back over into the land of Good Favor. Then He will miraculously pick Himself up off the grass, forgive you for His death and guide you both, man and woman, back to Eden, to the Home you have been missing.

This is not something you did.

This is The Gospel.

Genesis 3.

In Him,

Jean-Marc

*This reflection was inspired by the teaching of Pastor Chan Kilgore.

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