I have been offered rest

The One Who Knows

For we do not have a high priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses, but One who has been tempted in all things as we are, yet without sin. Therefore let us draw near with confidence to the throne of grace, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. –Hebrews 4:15-16, NKJV

My daughter and I clashed this weekend. That’s unusual. Don’t get me wrong, I get snappy and my kids aren’t perfect, but we don’t act like a couple of numbskull rams on a regular basis. But Saturday…well, we both hit a physical and emotional wall and things turned ugly. And then we cried, snuggled up together and let all the draining events of the past month stir up the healing tears.

That scene smacked my memory this morning as I read through this passage in Hebrews. Jesus knew exhaustion. He can sympathize with my weakness. Obviously, He wouldn’t have responded the way I did…but He knows the heaviness of a weary body. He knows the overwhelming tide of an enormous job.

Consider some of the major events of Christ’s life that we have recorded:

Crowds. Always, it seems, there was a crowd. Waiting. Watching. Demanding.

Illness. They brought them in droves, the lame, the blind, the deaf, the crazed, the dying. In every corner and every crowd, there were people crying out for healing.

Unbelief. Jesus could not open His mouth without some high-minded, super-educated guy challenging His authority. What gives you the right to forgive? What do you mean we’re slaves—we’ve never been slaves! You’re God’s Son? Ha! We knew your father—he was a lowly carpenter, and we know that your parents weren’t married when your mother conceived.

Weariness. At one point, we see Jesus deep in sleep on a boat while a storm claws at the ship. That’s some kind of tired. Throughout the gospels, He is seen often withdrawing for a time. For prayer. For rest.

Jesus knows my weaknesses. Not just from a screen-view of my life, but from experience. He’s lived them. He can sympathize with them. So, I can come to Him knowing His grace and mercy, as well as His sympathetic heart, will give me the help I need.

I simply need to remember to come.

I Have an Anchor

I Have an Anchor: A Joint Post


I Have an Anchor – A Joint Post

We have this hope – like a sure and firm anchor of the soul – that enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain. Jesus has entered there on our behalf as a forerunner, because He has become a “high priest forever in the order of Melchizedek.” Hebrews 6:19

From Susan:

It was a room so holy it could only be entered once a year.  The high priest did so trembling, carrying blood from the animal he had sacrificed for his own sins and those of the people.  If he didn’t get it right, he’d be struck dead as he passed behind the curtain of the Holy of Holies, the place where God Himself dwelt.  So why did a mere man take the chance?

The answer is in Hebrews 9:7.  Inside the Holy of Holies, the high priest offered the blood “for the sins of the people committed in ignorance.”  So once a year, all their sins – not just the ones they could think of and offer a sacrifice to atone for – but all of them, were covered.

This is what Jesus did for me.  He covered all my sins, not just one day out of 365, but every day, for all of eternity.  And that hope is my anchor.  Storms of life may toss me, make me sea sick, fill my mouth and nose with salt water, but I know my sins are forgiven and a better life is waiting for me.  On calmer days, I may just be pushed by the tides of busyness, every-day stress and distractions, but even still my hope anchor holds firm.  None of it can move me from my center – my forgiveness, my sure hope of a better future.

From Jen:

People speak of hope as if it were a wish upon a star. A flimsy, far-off desire that is more impossible than probable. Heaven would be that, if it were not for this once-for-all sacrifice of Christ.

Biblical hope is not this fairy-may kind of wish. It is being sure of what is not seen because of the promise of God. This hope is sure. It is solid. This is the kind of hope that leaves all known comforts behind. The kind that counts everything else as loss in order to cling to its promise.

Hope in anything else may be like chasing rainbows, but hope in Christ? It is the anchor in life and in death. An anchor that, come storms and high seas, will not fail.