So Big, So Small. (A post which is less about my life and more about Jesus.)

Have you ever had a morning where you’re just quietly minding your own business, collecting your thoughts as you sip your coffee, when slowly and steadily, the weight of the day starts to descend on you? It’s not sudden. Just a steady stream of tasks that flow into your brain and settle there, getting more crowded and heavier by the minute. Things you didn’t have to worry about until after the weekend. Things you forgot about until right now. Colleagues you need to email. Lesson plans you need to write. The package you need to mail. The play rehearsal you need to follow up on. The phone company you need to call. Groceries you need to buy. The paper you need to outline. Yesterday’s laundry you need to fold—okay, and you still need to take it out of the dryer, because you haven’t looked at it since you started that project 18 hours ago, and you’re not even sure if it’s dry, if you’re really confessing.  And then before you know it, it’s 7:48 on a Monday morning and you’re already behind.

This was one of those mornings for me.  And as I sat at my table, with an ever-growing sense of inadequacy overtaking the comforting flavor of my coffee, my world of burdens felt so big. And I felt so small. And the panic grew, and I definitely didn’t have time to be doing anything “extra,” like reading my Bible or writing a blogpost. But from somewhere under the pile of unchecked boxes and fear of failure, I heard a gentle voice telling me that there’s nothing “extra” about reading the Bible. And so I did, and that’s how God reminded me that he is very big. And my world is very small. And if I would just stop trying to run it, I might be able to enjoy things like my coffee, my colleagues, my students, and you know, being alive. 

Here’s what happened:

I read Matthew 27. Some of you might know exactly what that means just from the reference, but if you haven’t participated in a Bible drill in a while, I’ll save you the page flipping. Matthew 27 relates the account of Jesus’ crucifixion. You know, the story of how the God of the universe is tortured and murdered and suffers the punishment of every single sinner in history so that He can reclaim and heal and cleanse every single one because He passionately desires to have them in His family. No big deal. And as I read these verses for probably the thousandth time, I was struck by just the universe-sized bigness of the whole thing. In one moment, as Jesus cried out for one last time, He literally fixed the entire universe.

I am a visual person. If you tell me something, I might get it eventually, but if you draw me a picture, that will stick. Matthew 27:51 is one of my favorite visuals in all of scripture: “And behold, the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom.” If you don’t remember, that was the curtain that separated God from the people. That was the symbol of our unworthiness to approach the holiness of God. It was a big deal. That unworthiness and shame have literally separated us from our Creator for all of history up until this point. This was the curtain that said, “Get your act together, and then we can talk.” And it was TORN. From top to bottom. Like, starting at the top. YOU GUYS. God. ripped. that. curtain. Actively and intentionally, God tore that curtain in two, irrevocably removing the separation between us and Him, and now we get to know Him intimately forever.

I’m sorry. What else could possibly matter? Christ’s death has eliminated my unworthiness and has brought me into his family, and I get to call the God of the universe my Father and I get to spend my entire life knowing him? And then eternity, later on? This is all that matters. This is SO BIG. And the tasks of my week and the reality of my own weakness are just so small.

If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, this theme might seem familiar. I’m somehow always learning about the sufficiency of Christ, and his inexplicable love and care for me.  But today, it’s happening again. And it has been a day-altering reminder for me.

It doesn’t change a thing, ultimately. Life is still busy, and it’s still hard, and it’s still painful, and I might not get everything done, and I might fail in one of my jobs this semester. But there are bigger things.

“Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ.” Philippians 3:8.