Condemn

Condemn: (v) to express complete disapproval

I am the John 3:17 of fame.

In other words, nobody really recognizes me as a top-notch scripture. But when I am perused by those who are in search of something a bit more intuitive, I await with a treasured thought or two.

Even though John 3:16 is the famous verse that tells us that “God so loved the world that He gave us His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth shall be saved,” it is actually John 3:17 that explains how the gig works.

If there were only a John 3:16, God could sit up there in heaven and act like Amazon, waiting for people to call in their orders, follow the catalogue numbers, funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
punch all the right buttons and deliver them salvation.

But God’s customer service is actually much better.

That’s what John 3:17 is about. It reads this way:

“For God did not send his son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through him might be saved.”

You see, I’m not so sure I’d want to be saved if I felt condemned.

I’m not so sure the threat of condemnation would frighten me into the arms of God. After all, I have a rather independent nature, and if I only read John 3:16, I might just walk away and say, “Screw you.”

But John 3:17 lets us know that God does not condemn us–that the purpose of Jesus was to create empathy and connection.

So while the world pounds away with its John 3:16 agenda, I’m going to hang around and remind people that they’re not condemned, they’re not judged, and that Jesus came to do more than bleed.

He came to let people know that they are treasured.

 

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Clot

Clot: (n) a thick mass of coagulated liquid, especially blood

We bleed.

If punctured–if the skin is pierced–blood comes forth.

It’s red. Some people would say maroon. I’ve heard crimson and burgundy also. It’s in the red family–as we are all in the human family–which bleeds.

Here’s the amazing part–we certainly want to stop the bleeding, and we can do so with confidence. Because if we just buy some time, the bleeding stops by
forming its own clot.

It is a study of nature–the Natural Order has its problems, but also offers solutions.

Such is the case with bleeding and clotting. It’s a reassuring thought.

Yesterday I looked down at my arm and saw that I had scratched myself. The only reason I knew was some blood had erupted to the surface. It was dried and clotted.

I took some alcohol, washed it off and finally got down to the original, tiny scratch, which then threatened to bleed again. But with a few swipes of alcohol, it was encouraged to stay home.

It is greatly comforting that even though I am a creature who bleeds–spiritually, emotionally, mentally and physically–built within me is the benefit of the clot.

I probably won’t bleed to death unless the blood comes out much too quickly. Then, if I can stop the gusher, I can set healing in motion.

In many of my relationships, I have the evidence of wounds which are scabbed over.

It’s not pretty–but it’s not bleeding.

And the memory of the scab, which is later followed by the scar, reminds me of how foolish it is to jeopardize well-being in an attempt to usurp my authority.

We bleed. We clot. It is a magnificent example of self-correction.

It’s what makes me believe in a Universal Physician, who realized how we might get wounded, so placed within us the first fruits of healing.

 

 

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Bleed

Bleed: (v) to lose blood from the body

Dictionary B

Seventeen.

In the course of watching one evening of television–with a lot of channel flipping–I counted seventeen people who were shot.

All of them started to bleed.

I watched with interest.

It seemed to stain their clothing.

They appeared to be in pain, though I felt no empathy.

In one particular gun scene, ten of the seventeen were wounded with blood loss.

I watched intently.

Turning my television set off, I went into my bathroom to prepare for bed and realized I had not shaved that morning. So for some inexplicable reason, I thought it was a good idea to do so before I went to bed.

Call it clumsiness, stupidity or just a bit of “sleepy eyes,” I cut my lip with the razor.

Blood poured forth.

Not as much as you would expect to come out of a gunshot wound, but it struck terror in my soul and nearly made me frantic.

It was my blood coming out of my face with no immediate prospect for cessation.

It took me five minutes to stop the bleeding.

I looked down at discarded toilet paper covered with my red fluid and the sink stained. It was gruesome.

In actuality, I probably didn’t lose more than a tablespoon of blood–but it terrified me to see my life dribble away.

One of the things that disturbs me about entertainment is what we now consider to be entertaining.

Bleeding is bad.

Things that cause bleeding are equally as sinister.

And losing our sensitivity about a single drop of blood may be the definition of evil.

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