Wondrous Cross

When I survey the wondrous cross

On which the Prince of glory died,

My richest gain I count but loss,

And pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbit it, Lord, that I should boast,

Save in the death of Christ, my God;

All the vain things that charm me most--

I sacrifice them to His blood.

See, from His head, His hands, His feet,

Sorrow and love flow mingled down;

Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,

Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

Were the whole realm of nature mine,

That were a present far too small:

Love so amazing, so divine,

Demands my soul, my life, my all.

-Isaac Watts

According to Dictionary.com, survey means "look carefully and thoroughly at (someone or something)." It's not a hurried glance. It's not a hasty, "Yep, I believe Jesus died for me." This old hymn implies wonder. Awe. Lingering. A deep stirring of the soul. A reaching out to grasp the reality of this incredible love expressed in sacrifice.

Sometimes the busyness of "living the life" consumes us. The universe-shaking event that makes it all possible becomes almost cliché. And yet it's only as we kneel at that rough, blood-stained tree that Christianity gains true meaning and power.

When was the last time you surveyed the wondrous cross?