Road Block:

In almost every class, I have established a seat that I like sitting in for that class. It was always with friends. It was always comfortable. That is, until today. February 8th, 2005. I walked into class and was faced with the biggest obstacle to my personal agenda. Standing tall in front of my seat in that back corner of room 201 was an old, wooden, crooked, beaten, worn, solid, rugged object! To that object several 3x5 index cards were nailed with lists of personal sins, infirmities, and old wounds which had all been scribbled over with the word “CANCELED.”

As I walked into that classroom in Stairs Hall, I came face to face with the biggest obstacle to human life: the cross. What would I do with this object that had both transformed and ruined my life (according to the standards of the world)? I stood and stared for a moment, taking in this scene. It was surreal. This was the type of story that you hear about it sermons! I stood there and I stared at it.

“When I survey the wondrous cross…”

As I looked, I saw nothing that was visually attractive about it. However, I thought about everything I have been saved from spiritual, emotionally, and physically.

“On which the Prince of glory died...”

I pondered the relentless love for condemned sinners and the vehement hatred of sin that God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit must have to let The Son live, die, and break the rules of life to conquer sin and death.

“My richest gain I count but loss…”

All I had accumulated over the years, all the stuff that I have, seemed to pale in comparison to the worth that stood in front of me. This weathered symbol had become worth so much more than the “gold” of possessions.

“And pour contempt on all my pride.”

Every wasted moment on the selfish pleasures of sin and the denial that I had ever reveled in it made me hate who I have been in the past.

What would I do with this wonderful roadblock? I couldn’t move it. I didn’t want to move it. I once nailed my own personal sins, infirmities, and old wounds on that which had no visually attractive qualities. Though it was ugly, it was beautiful. Though it once brought death, it was a symbol of life to the full. My God and King no longer hung on that Roman instrument of torture and death, but rose from the ashes of death, ascended into heaven, and sits at the right hand of God the Father forever interceding for me. What once was a vile depiction of pain and shame can now only be described as wonderful.

“Oh that wonderful cross… oh the wonderful cross
Bids me come and die and find that I may truly live!
Oh the wonderful cross… oh the wonderful cross;
All who gather here by faith draw near and bless Your name.”