I looked, but there was no one to help,
    I was appalled that no one gave support;
so my own arm achieved salvation for me,
    and my own wrath sustained me.
I trampled the nations in my anger;
    in my wrath I made them drunk
    and poured their blood on the ground.”

ISAIAH 63:5-6

I know a man, let’s call him everyman, and he is a soldier.

He’s young, strong and handsome. He is the type of man who will give you the shirt off his back, or take a bullet for a friend. 

But this man has troubles, a dark cellar full of them. It is a cobweb of self-inflicted wounds: A broken marriage, hard liquor and comfort porn. He tried to ignore these troubles in veiled vapid moments of pleasure for escape, only to be awakened the next morning by the blazing bright rays of morning guilt and afternoon shame.

Outside forces don’t help, from PTSD and the gnawing pain of divorce, this soldier never stops waging battle. War is his constant state, it is unending, a platoon of unrelenting personal demons stabbing with their weapon of debilitating despair.

In time, he tried love again. This time he joined up loyalties with a field-tested female warrior who also was carrying the baggage of previous battles.  She was a fighter, fierce and ready to face the fray and jump in the foxhole with her new comrade, her man.

She wielded a weapon of unconditional love, loaded with tremendous power and a tenacious spirit. It is a love that does not give up when the first rounds of bullets are fired: anger, cursing, incrimination that keeps coming, and coming, and coming.

Humanity is nasty when it doesn’t want to be loved.

The soldier wasn’t used to this kind of commitment and kindness. The patience and mercy of a Christian woman scared him, so he ran pushing her away, hiding back in the dark corners of the cellar bound to his familiar shackles.

But she dared to go down in the dark to try to reach him, without judgment, no pointed finger of accusation, just truth. This was when the battle really began. His selfishness and self-loathing was killing him, pride was choking him around the neck and pulling down into a spiral of despair. Prideful flesh would rather die a silent lonely death, then live a new resurrected life. The old soldier will sacrifice self for others, but it just seems too much to live for Christ.

So Jesus invites his own back to their original calling and speaks into the dark, “I am crucified in Christ, and I no longer live but Christ lives in me. And this life I live in the flesh, I live by the faith of the Son of God who loved me, and gave himself for me.”

The soldier, the old fighting first “I am”, is beckoned to come die at the cross. He is to give up the battle, stop struggling and die. Die to his own sense of importance,”I am a soldier, my duty is to fight, so fight I will.”

“No,” Jesus says, “your duty is to die. Identification with me is more important than the uniform you wear, the badges on your lapel, the platoon you find your brotherhood in, the parades and ceremonies, and even the stars and stripes of the flag.”

“But Jesus, I thought you called me to honor the flag?”

“Not if you place it above me. Fight for your country, yes, but don’t worship the flag and expect spiritual merit from your service. A saint only serves the Savior, and if service to your country recieves more honor than glory for the King you have created an idol.”

So, once again, Jesus calls the soldier to die. He must learn to give up identity in being a hardened desperado. The man alone using alcohol to medicate. Can’t you hear him, “Jesus, you can save others but you can’t save me. I’m too far gone, I have sinned too much. I have seen too much. No one has suffered like me!”

With saddened but fierce eyes, Jesus queries, “No one has suffered like you? Really?”

He then turns his hand to an open palm, the red jagged scar still visible and bright, causing the mind to remember, “But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Since therefore, we have now been justified by his blood, much more we shall be saved by him from the wrath of God.”

Soldier, you are asked to come close and look. Don’t fight or argue, just look. Blood was spilled, death became him, and wrath was averted – – all the while you were his enemy, God’s enemy! Soldier, tell me, would you ever die for your enemy?

Jesus suffered wrath so his enemies would someday become “more than conquerers”, ruling and reigning alongside him. He didn’t shed his blood so you could hide in your self-pity and pain. Soldiers don’t have the market on suffering. Only the Savior does.

The man who is too bad for forgiveness is saying they are too good for God’s grace. If Jesus says he paid for the sins of the world and you say it wasn’t enough for yours, is that not the hieight of pride? 

If God says he loves you, but you still cannot love yourself, are you more important judge of the heart? Why do you allow your pain to be wieghtier than the cross of Jesus?

Soldier, lets call him everyman, stop fighting. Let somebody love you.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”