I don’t know you, don’t know your name or much about you really. But one of your friends shared with me about what you said at school recently, that God is dead and you killed Him.
I’ve thought about those words a bit, and what I would say if I had the opportunity to sit down and talk with you. I’m quite a bit older than you, but I know that even by junior high, life can offer plenty of pain and difficulty. In the middle of junk, it’s easy to feel like God is distant—dead even.
But I know a little about death too. Mostly what I know is how my own heart was ugly and broken and dead. Might seem curious to say that since I could still walk around and play basketball and do algebra and play the piano, but there was absolutely no spark of real life inside. And dead people don’t get better with time and effort.
And what happened to me is something quite crazy to imagine. Right in the middle of my own junk, when my heart was full of selfishness and arrogance and deadness, God broke in and gave me new life. Real life for the first time. And it wasn’t because I had something I could offer Him or do for Him. It was because of events in history—something that happened 2000 years ago.
It was a universal problem actually, people with rebellion and ugliness and deadness inside, and—this may be hard to swallow but stick with me—God, the real God who made this world full of photosynthesis and the nervous system and black holes and symphonies, He not only made everything and everyone but He had every right to just let us pursue our course straight into eternal destruction.
But instead He did an absolutely astounding thing. Breathtaking. Stunning.
He sent His own, His only Son straight into the mess. You know of Jesus—but have you ever read the firsthand accounts of those who walked next to Him on dusty Palestinian roads or sat with Him in a little fishing boat and saw and heard what God Himself was like when He actually put on human skin?
If you believed God was real and alive, you might think He would be harsh and insensitive, turning away people who don’t measure up, with no time of day for the likes of you. But turns out that isn’t right all. Jesus saw the people nobody else cared about. He hung out with crooks and mess ups. And if someone came to Him, broken, sick, knowing their whole life was screwed up and they couldn’t do a thing to fix it and He was their only hope—well, He would take time not just to heal their sickness or rescue them from their demons, but to actually work resuscitating life into their dead hearts.
You’d think that would make Him a hero, but in fact it earned Him the utter hatred and venom of the religious leaders of the day.
In the end, they killed Him for it. But He’s God of course, so they couldn’t have touched a fingernail of His if He didn’t allow it. So why on earth did He let them hang Him up on a cross like a criminal so He could slowly asphyxiate to death? The most shocking thing of all. Because Jesus’ whole purpose in coming to earth was not just healing and loving the handful of people right there for a few years. He came to save dead people like you and me for all eternity.
And to do that, He chose to die in our place. Take the hit that was coming to me for all the hateful junk in my dead heart. In a way, I could say what you said—God died, and I was the one who killed Him.
Best news of all though, and you can take it from me or get the confirming testimony of over 500 eyewitnesses, Jesus did not stay dead. He crushed the enemy by His own death, and no graveyard was strong enough to hold Him in. He’s alive, my friend, and He would welcome you—not if you get your act together or have something impressive to offer Him—He would welcome you if you simply came as you are to Him as He is.
He died to give us life and cover over the ugliness of our dead hearts. How I pray that you would give Him a chance to do just that.
Wishing you every good thing,
Amy
Amy
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