Our pack meets at a local church, and the room we meet in happens to have a picture of Jesus on the wall behind the flag.
Last week, after the boys finished saying the pledge of allegiance, one boy said, “Mr. Jeff, I didn’t really say the pledge, I was looking at the man with twigs on his head.”
For those who have been around church-life for a while, it’s hard to imagine how anyone could not know about Jesus and the cross.
Isn’t everyone familiar with the Story?
Judas betraying. Peter denying. The rooster crowing. The crowd screaming. The soldiers nailing. The disciples hiding. The women weeping. Jesus dying.
We devote the Holy Week to remembering, to recounting the Story once again.
The thorns on His head. The stripes on His back. The holes in His hands. The holes in His feet. The sword though His side.
This Easter I want to do more than remember His sacrifice. I want to remember that there are some — no, there are many — who don’t know Him. He’s a man with twigs on his head.
And the reason God gives me breath is not to work hard so I can buy a nice house and wear nice clothes and drive a nice car. If I am on this earth, it’s because there are people in my neighborhood who have never heard that the Light has come.
Lord, bring to my path those I can tell your Story to. May I live to tell how your Story has changed mine.
Is there someone you can tell the Story to this week?