Waiting...

I cycled past the church earlier this week as part my daily exercise schedule. I have to space out the runs to give my legs recovery time. I’m hoping that will improve, but we’ll see. Anyway, people were queuing outside the church. Yes they were. They don’t queue on Sundays, but they were queuing on Monday. They were waiting to give blood. (Just for the record, I don’t do needles, so could just cycle past!) I hate queues. Really I do. I have a theory that whatever queue I’m in will be the slowest. I’ve tested that theory and it’s true. If ever you see me in a queue, don’t join it. It will be the slowest. I’m really hoping there’s no queue for heaven! Got me thinking though. I might queue for something important, but only if I have to. I don’t like the waiting you see. I might wait for something really good. But I’m not good at waiting. Even waiting for the Sunday morning service to being is a challenge! But they were waiting, patiently, queuing down Crabtree to give blood that others might live. It’s a good thing to do. And all the more important at this time. Jesus waited. All week. He waited all week to give blood. He waited all week to give his blood that we might live. And not just live, but live in the fullness God intended for now, and for eternity. Jesus waited all week, all of the most challenging week of his life, the week we now call Holy Week, to give his blood that I might live. Here’s the thing though. There was no-one queuing to give blood with him for one simple reason. He was going to the cross. No-one wanted to go to the cross. Actually, neither did Jesus: “Take this cup from me,” he prayed. But then he added, “But not my will but yours.” And there’s the difference. He held on to his Father’s far bigger and better story. And he waited to go to the cross. Like those who receive blood from blood donors because they know it saved their life, I am inexpressibly grateful that Jesus took the road of waiting, and went to the cross. For me. And you. That we might me live. Really live.