saturday morning

“How Jesus die on cross?  How?”

In three year old language, how means why.  He’s asked the question a thousand times–in the car, in his bed, sitting at the table with breakfast.  Each time he asks I give him more the same old answer, but even so, he keeps on asking.  Grace never ceases to amaze him.

“Because He loves you so so much.”

I don’t understand it either.  The kids are outside doing Saturday Things.  Dad cleans out the garage before the weather grows cold.  The cats are chasing leaves up and down the driveway.  I’m listening inside with my son, wondering where to cast my vote for today.

“Why Jesus die on cross?  Why?”

Now wait–this question is new.  What is he saying?  In three year old language, if how means why, then does why mean how?  Has a connection just formed somewhere deep in his brain, as faith grows roots somewhere deep in his heart?  Does the answer still apply?

“How Jesus get off cross? How?”

And then another.  There are more questions than my thoughts can keep up with. The dryer runs downstairs.  My boy and I chew on generic Cheez-its together.  How did Jesus get off the cross?  Nicodemus and Joseph?  I pick up another orange cracker and go with it.

“His friends helped Him down.”

How does one move from death to life?  He could have come down from the cross.  And yet because He didn’t–for God so loved–He couldn’t get off the cross by Himself. Before there was Calvary He showed us in Bethany. A dead man lives with the help of his Friend.

“Oh…Huh”,  the boy says.

He’s satisfied there.

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