We recently sang the hymn It Is Well at our Sunday gathering. I began singing with this cynical paraphrase running through my mind:
Sometimes life gets nasty. But no worries, God. It’s all good.
Satan might chase me around, and I might lose my job or get in a car accident.
But don’t worry, God. It’s all good. I can take it.
Then these words rang out and hit me like the spray from a fire hose:
Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.
What does it actually mean for it to be well with my soul? I’m fallen, and broken, and as much as I might be able to survive a few trials in life, without Christ my soul is not well.
This hymn isn’t a battle cry to reassure God that I’m OK and get myself all amped up to handle the trial-filled week ahead of me.
No—it’s the overwhelmed gasp of surrender and gratitude of my soul realizing that Christ has made me whole. Wow, God, you died to make me well. You defeated death on my behalf! Horatio Spafford couldn’t even pen this verse without stopping for a sigh of bliss:
My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
Have you taken this concept to heart lately? You no longer bear the burden and punishment for your sin. That is huge.