Deliverance by a Passover

This weekend Pastor Bill preached on the final disaster in the Egypt phase - the glorious passover.  (This is Pastor Ken's version.) His words were brilliant, connecting God's requirement for blood sacrifice then and now while standing under a literal door jamb.  He reminded me that Jesus became the lamb on the door frame. I stand under the frame, the red tree, in the house, covered. I know that my duplicity, desiring, crazy behavior requires His blood. He shed enough for me. I hate it and I couldn't live without it. Not for a minute.

That morning my youngest had told a completely unnecessary lie. She told it without thinking, with the ease used by a ballerina on toe, trained, natural, fluid. It killed me. I was so sad. Sad for her ease, her decision, or the lack of one. Angry that it happened, that it's part of our life.

And there, in church not an hour later, Bill asked, "Does anyone lie? You need this sacrifice. You need Jesus' blood. Without it..." I looked at her. Her hand was up and eyes very wide. She wondered how this happened. We marked the moment without a word.

Later in the car, I asked her when she thought the pastor had written the sermon. She considered and said, "this morning?" We talked about it and agreed it was probably Friday or so. How could he have known? How could God have known that she was going to lie and be in trouble? That she was going to lie to her mom about eggs? It just happened.

And then we knew. God knew this lie would come. This lie that doesn't honor child, mother or God. So, it was brought into the light and addressed by God's Word itself. There is forgiveness and a way out when we choose to sin, and when we sin without thinking, or choosing. And the way, is back through the door, into the house of Christ Jesus' covering.

Where we are saved from eminent death, of our own choice. Death by greed, or desire, or mistake. Inside the house, under the cover, under the tree. The red tree where our LORD provided all He had for our good and His glory.

I'm grateful for the tree, for the blood and even for the lie.