Sacrifice

Image credit: Pickawood on Unsplash

I was staying in a beautiful house. Immaculate, its high ceilings and multiple floors exhibited great wealth. I was grateful for the hospitality. It was a sacrifice for them to open their home to me. Their welcome was heartfelt, but I could tell.

The first evening there, I laid in bed, and wondered whether I would one day own a place like this. I wondered whether I would ever want to. I became convinced that I would eventually get bored of it. I'd have given all this time and effort, my heart even, accumulating wealth in order to acquire such a magnificent place, and fill the rooms and walls and bookcases with lots and lots of stuff.

I shuddered under the covers of my bed, horrified at the thought that I would struggle to get to that level of fortune, and finally settle to enjoy the luxury I had earned, only to realise that it meant very little to me. That I'm still me.

For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world, yet lose his soul?

How distraught I would feel in that moment, not only because of the clinging dissatisfaction, and the sense that all my effort has been a waste, but also because I have believed a lie rather than believed my God. I would be so sorry. I am so sorry.

I really appreciated that house. It really relieved my suffering to live with familiar people, and to be looked after for a time. I approached my exams with an optimism I might not have had, if not for their encouraging words and positive outlook on things. I want to serve like they did. It would force a perspective into my mind that was more outward-focused. It would force out my bitterness. Mourning is a legitimate response to injustice and suffering. But there's a fine line between mourning and bitterness. I think self-sacrifice would stop me crossing that line.

...but whoever loses their life for me and for the gospel will save it. For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world, and lose his soul?

SI