With Nail and Hammer,

I recently wrote an email to a couple friends (and coworkers) apologizing for the painful venting conversation I had had with them. At the end of the email, before my name I wrote “With nail and hammer,”.

With Nail and Hammer.  Why did I write that. I looked at the phrase. The pause seemed forever and a moment. In that eternal moment, I could see the nail in my left hand and the hammer in my right hand. The tip of the nail pressed against the skin of the hand then it slid up just over the wrist a second before my right hand delivered the blow to the head of the nail. For my sin. My sin. MINE. For the pain filled careless words of a hurting man (ME), a man sinned against (ME), flailing emotionally in anger (ME) and in so doing, sinning against another. Now their sin becomes my sin and with my sin, I sin. Me. I held the nail and the hammer.

Springing into my mind came the phrase. With Nail and Hammer. He did not need the nails to hold him there. His love held him there. In Himself, he had the capacity to stop the swing of the hammer. He had the capacity to stop the nail piecing the skin. Even after the nails had done their work of piercing His skin, He had the capacity to remove the nails. But. He. Did. Not. No, His love held him there.

That same phrase sprang again. This time as an invitation. Will I also receive the nail. Will I also swing the hammer myself while somehow willing the nail to wait to receive the hammer. Will I allow myself to daily, deny myself, take up my cross and follow him. Following him to the nails. Following him to the hammer.

Allowing someone else’s sin to be what nails me to the tree. And will my love for them refuse to exercise the capacity I may have to stop the suffering I receive from them. Will I carry the consequence of their sin. Certainly I canNOT do what HE did for me. Surely, I cannot carry another’s sin. Surely NOT. It is not needed. He has done it. And yet…

Does. He. Live. In. Me.

With Nail and Hammer,

Juri