Not everybody liked Jesus. That could be the understatement of millennia. He was not born into a prominent wealthy family, nor a powerful military family. He was born in a stable and slept on some hay, with farm animals all around. It took wise men to see his potential at the time. Isaiah 53 is a prophecy all about how Jesus would be "despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief..."
Insecurity has troubled me most of my life. Plenty of it has roots in my childhood, and branches have sprung from my own sins. I got a look at a passage in the court report on my mother's endeavors to return me and my little sister home from foster care. One social worker had written something like I "had an odor, and was an outcast among the other children." I can see how that was true. Painful, but true.
I can appreciate Jesus having been "despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief..."
I love verse 5 the most: "But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed."
Maybe there's hope for me, and I'm not so beyond salvage. Maybe worldy acclaim and "the praise of man" doesn't matter. Maybe it's God's love for me that matters. Maybe I'm in His hands, and I'll be alright.
Insecurity has troubled me most of my life. Plenty of it has roots in my childhood, and branches have sprung from my own sins. I got a look at a passage in the court report on my mother's endeavors to return me and my little sister home from foster care. One social worker had written something like I "had an odor, and was an outcast among the other children." I can see how that was true. Painful, but true.
I can appreciate Jesus having been "despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief..."
I love verse 5 the most: "But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed."
Maybe there's hope for me, and I'm not so beyond salvage. Maybe worldy acclaim and "the praise of man" doesn't matter. Maybe it's God's love for me that matters. Maybe I'm in His hands, and I'll be alright.
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