Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven,
whose sin is covered.
Blessed is the man against whom the Lord counts no iniquity,
and in whose spirit there is no deceit.
Psalm 32: 1-2
Ever since the first pre-Christmas blizzard covered our state with snow, I’ve been waiting for it to melt. Of course, I never imagined the white stuff would stick around until a few weeks before Easter, but it did. By the time it disappeared, I was ready for green grass, green fields, and green leaves on the trees.
In my eagerness, I forgot one important thing. When the snow melts, there’s a whole lot of ugly to live through before the green carpet of spring is rolled out. For a few weeks, the grass is brown and matted, and the tree limbs are a dull, monotonous gray.
But worse than gray and brown are the sins of winter, gradually exposed as the snow melts away. Garbage litters the landscape with covert sins – the dog poo Fido’s owner didn’t bother to pick up since the snow would hide it – and overt sins – three months worth of bottles, fast food containers, old tires, and grocery sacks tossed and forgotten in the ditches.
Without snow’s soft, cold blanket, it can’t be ignored. The litter along our gravel road saddens me. Though the residents of our neighborhood didn’t make the mess, we’re anxiously waiting for our neighborhood ditch walk, to wiping away the sins of winter so spring’s beauty can return.
I’ll be stiff and sore for a few days after the walk, but compared to what Christ experienced on the road to Golgotha, my aches are nothing. But as he hangs on the cross, my sins lie exposed. I can no longer cover them with a blanket of excuses. They are the bloody crown on his head, the wounds on his back, the nails in his hands and feet.
My heart is cut in two, and I kneel at the foot of the cross. I weep outside the tomb, horrified by what my sin has wrought, humbled by the death of him who knew no sin. In the shadow of the cross, I’m confronted with my own ugliness. Even though I repent of my sins, I am powerless to conquer them. In deep sorrow and weakness, I forget one important truth.
The God of the crucifixion is also the God of the resurrection. He’s the Father who recognizes a heart broken by his suffering. He’s the Son who wipes away my sins and covers my repentant heart with his own holiness. He’s the Spirit of holiness who restores beauty and hope.
Because Christ died on the cross,
I am the blessed one whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered.
Because Christ rose again,
I am the blessed one against whom the Lord counts no iniquity,
and in whose spirit there is no deceit.
Because of Christ’s work on the cross, I am blessed and so are you.
Alleluia! He is risen!
