If I go back in scripture and take a look at how many times Jesus was rejected and denied, the number, unrecorded, is probably in the tens of thousands. We know that an entire mob shouted crucify him, and we know that one closest to the fold denied him three times when the heat turned up. If we’re being honest, the one typing this message is so far in debt he’ll never climb out on his own and is as good as charred fish in the abyss of burning sulfur without the hand of Christ reaching for me below the surface.
For reasons that continue to elude me, Jesus is still in hot pursuit of my lukewarm body. The King of kings still willingly washed the feet of those who sold Him for pennies and still willingly went to the cross despite the deafening sound of rejection and ridicule. If He is truly my audience of one, where am I in the battle?
Understanding the mission is where my feet are, I went back to my little coffee shop today. I served them a hot lunch, washed a few feet and left them with a message of hope and love that will hopefully last for days to come. For those that encouraged me to do this and resist walking away, my hat is off.
