There Will Be Blood

For those who don't know, I used to have a dog named Jordan.  He was a Miniature Pinscher and I loved him dearly.  I would post a photo of him here, but I don't have any electronic copies available.

I don't know why, but my mind took me to his part of Memory Forest tonight, and I recalled something that I had not thought of in a while.

Jordan was mischievous, and that was good most of the time.  It made for fun play, and it was one of the things I miss most about him.  However, when he would go on walks, his penchant for shenanigans would sometimes get the better of him.  For instance, like all cartoon (and real life) dogs, he loved bones.  There were a few times when Jordan would find a stray bone that probably found its way out of a neighbor's garbage container.  He would quickly snatch it up into his mouth and immediately strut straight for home.

When we got back home he would stand still with the bone in his mouth, waiting patiently for me to open the front door so he could have his way with it inside.  But the thought of all the bacteria on a bone whose origins were wholly unknown to me made me wary of allowing this.  Though part of me did want to give in and let Jordan experience what must have been a foretaste of his perception of heaven, I cared too much to risk something bad happening to him.  So, I would carefully try to take the bone from his mouth.

Little did I know, he was incredibly passionate about bones.  The first time I tried to pry it from his little jaws, I reached down slowly and he immediately let go of the bone and bit my hand, breaking the skin and drawing a faint dot of blood.  I was shocked (and in pain) since I had never felt nor seen him bite anything with such unbridled angst before.  Still, he dropped the bone and my mission was accomplished.  (After that time, I opted to use either my shoe or a stick to pry bones from his teeth instead of using my bare hand.)

It occurred to me that there is an enemy in whose jaws I was once caught up in.  My plight was helpless, and I could do as much as a bone could in a dog's mouth to break free.

For he has rescued us... - Colossians 1:13

But there was a hero that came to my rescue.  He extended his bare hand towards the enemy's jaws.  This presented an opportunity that the enemy could not let pass by, so he clamped down on that hand with all his might, and drew blood in the process.  However, in doing so he was consequently required to let me go.

My hero had given me freedom and life at the cost of his very own blood.  He took my place in the enemy's jaws.

I look beyond the empty cross
forgetting what my life has cost
and wipe away the crimson stains
and dull the nails that still remain...

Yet, here I am, freed and made alive, mimicking what the enemy had done.  I cling to dirty, harmful, inferior objects as if they were better, and when I see that pierced hand draw near to take them away, for my good, I snap at it.  I cannot seem to shake myself free from loving all that I should hate, from thinking my desires better than his.  I realize that I cannot deny my part in his murder.  I am imbued with horrible guilt.

But I, too, must also let go of the very things that demand my demise and destruction whenever I strike his loving hand.  And with the order of things now turned upside down, victory, not defeat, is tasted every time this process must occur.  Life, not death, is brought forth.  Light, not darkness, gains further territory.  Each and every time I am somehow absolved and freed (again) from the death that once had me clenched in its jaws.

I bite.  I let go.  He is bitten.  I am freed.

But he was pierced for our transgressions,
       he was crushed for our iniquities;
       the punishment that brought us peace was upon him,
       and by his wounds we are healed.  - Isaiah 53:5