As it is written:
“See, I lay in Zion a stone that causes men to stumble and a rock that makes them fall, and the one who trusts in him will never be put to shame.” Rom. 9:33
My daughter Ashley and I set out to defeat Cathedral Peak in Yosemite. We camped at the base and started before daylight the next morning. As we roped up and donned our rock shoes, the granite tower seemed to lean over us and say, “So your back. You’d think the prior defeat was enough. Okay little people, bring it on.”
We climbed through the raw sun and howling wind. There was fear, trouble, tears, and elation. We made the top as the sun hung, by its butterscotch fingers, over the edge of the horizon. Then came the long walk down in the dark. We lost our way and bruised our feet trying to hike in thin rock-climbing shoes. This was 14 years ago, and still my toes suffer injury. Poor Ashley was stretched beyond teenage limits. Of my climbing adventures, Cathedral Peak represents my meanest tragedy and my greatest victory.
Now God puts another stone in my path: Jesus. The crucifixion of the King of the universe speaks of love so loudly it becomes a monolith in my path. There are only two choices for how I encounter this rock. I can lie down on the rock and embrace it; or I can try to run through it and be shattered. Every time I attempt to skirt around, I find myself right back on the path in front of it. It is a weird trick of film editing; whenever I sidestep, the film loops and I am back in front of the rock again. I am forced to choose: embrace or shatter.
How could transparent me ever hope to break-up solid Jesus? It is a ridiculous thought, so I chose to embrace the rock. I lie on it and feel its joy penetrate my being. Here is comfort, here is foundation, here is immovable promise. However, here also is my stone altar, and I find I am the sacrifice. The rock died for me, and now demands I die for him.
And so, this rock becomes my meanest tragedy and my greatest victory.
Prayer: Rock-solid Jesus, I choose to die and live with you.
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