Complaint

There is a song by Relient K that has the chorus:

Life could you be a little softer to me.
Life could you be more gentle to me.
Yeah I know this is a selfish plea,
Because Christ sacrificed his flesh
On the cross for me

I wrote about some of my recent Tourette's issues earlier.  I scheduled an appointment to see her on the one day I had off.  They confirmed over the phone that I had that appointment.  Yesterday, I found out the office messed up the scheduling.  I've been calling the office all day (Monday), and the receptionist assured me that she would call back by 5pm.  She didn't.  Now I'm dealing with TS symptoms and trying to study for finals.  If things continue as the are, I won't have any medication for finals and will take them with unabated TS symptoms.  At times like this, I'm really tempted to complain.  Why do I have to deal with all this?  I don't feel like I deserve this.  Yeah, I know I'm  selfish, but sometimes it would be nice if life were a little easier.  Why can't life's troubles pass over me?

Confession

And then I remembered that it's Lent, and more than that- Holy Week.  I remember my brokenness, and I'm filled with shame.  Just yesterday I was sitting in Palm Sunday service feeling sorry for myself because my pew was empty.  All the feelings of loneliness and frustration in not being able to find a church came back to me.  I was sitting in the House of God, and I felt so alone.  I was supposed to be worshiping God, but I couldn't get over my own self-absorption.  How shameful.  I  don't deserve your love or goodness.  Just pass me by.  Don't even look at me.  Pass over me.

Comprehension

Death passed over the early believers, the ones that had faith in Yahweh's promise.  But Yahweh didn't meet them.  Their only interaction with Him was on a mountain.  Twice-made carved stone.  A veiled, radiant face.  A cloud by day, a fire by night.  A tent.  The Holy-Holiest room into which one person with a rope around his ankle barely dared to tread once a year.

Death passes over us believers as well, the ones that have faith in Yahweh's promise.  While Death flies overhead, Christ is the sacrificial lamb.  We stay huddled in our tents and eat the bread and drink the wine, his body and blood.  Christ is our High Priest, but He is not the priest looking at us with disgust and disdain and taking the other side of the road and leaving us to die.  No, he stopped for us, and he let us kill him.  Why?  He could have let us perish, but He didn't.  He did not pass over us.  I do not understand.  Such knowledge is too wonderful for me.  It is high; I cannot attain it.