Never Tired of the Cross

I never tire of the cross.

The instruction of my father and mother centered on it.  The Christian schools I attended taught it.  It is preached twice every Sunday.  It is mentioned in every prayer.

But I never tire of the cross.

Calvary: scene of reproach, anguish, and punishment.  Calvary: the Son of God plunged into hellish agony, pressed under the wrath of God against sin.  Calvary: the Mediator of the covenant, suspended between heaven and earth on the accursed tree.

Every page of Scripture testifies to it.  Men of old prophesied concerning it.  The Word of God hinges upon it.  Millions of sermons have proclaimed it.  Persecutors have thrown saints to the lions, burned Christians at the stake, and tortured God’s people because of their love for the cross.

The cross!  The Lamb of God, radiating brilliantly in all His glory!  The cross!  Perfect submission to the Father.  The cross!  Redemption for all God’s people.

I never tire of speaking about the cross.

The cross is my refuge when life is hard.  When I receive the call that my son has been killed in a head-on collision, I look to the cross. When I suffer betrayal at the hand of him whom I trusted, when I am forsaken of friends, when I am mocked by the cruelest of foes, then I cling to that tree upon which my Savior died.    I may not understand the path of suffering I tread, but I know this: that same path always leads me to Calvary, where I find comfort and hope.

When I sin, and I think there is no hope for me, then I flee to the cross.  When I am mired in the quicksand of a terrible addiction, then I crawl to the cross for deliverance.  When I am burdened by the everyday weight of my transgressions, and I hardly dare approach the throne in prayer, then I fall down on my knees at Calvary.

I never tire of the cross.

I am bathed in Calvary’s blood.  I am clothed in the robes of Christ’s righteousness, innocent before the Judge of heaven and earth.  Jesus has satisfied God’s wrath against my iniquities.

Someday, when I pass over Jordan, I will see Jesus.  I will behold the Lamb who was slain from the foundation of the world.  And I will marvel.  Oh, will I marvel!  Forever will I, with the elect of all ages, bask in the beauty and splendor of God’s glory.  I shall forever adore the One Who died so that I might live.

No.  I never tire of the cross.

-Ryan Barnhill

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