Grace

Recently I’ve been seeing a lot in the news about Zimbabwe- there are the usual stories about out-of-control inflation, the corrupt activities of Mugabe and his government, and the difficulties of day-to-day life. The things that have caught my eye the most, however, are the stories of torture- people beaten, humiliated and even killed for their political activities, for exercising freedom of speech; for reporting what goes on in a country where the media is state-controlled.

“Jesus died on the cross for my sins”

Read it again. And once more. If you’re like me, this phrase has become just another statement, a truth condensed into mere words. I read the story again today, a story I have read countless times, that, like a movie you watch over and over, becomes so familiar you stop paying attention because you know what happens in the end. It was only when I started thinking about torture and human rights abuses in Zimbabwe that I started to think, to really imagine, Jesus’ death.

As I read modern-day stories about Zimbabweans being lashed and beaten, raped, subjected to electrical torture- I think of Jesus being whipped, of the crown of thorns being pushed into his head, of being nailed, naked and bleeding on the cross.

When I read about torture and death in Zimbabwe I am filled with grief and anger- emotions that go deeper than when I read similar stories about other countries, because I am a Zimbabwean. When, as a Christian, I read about the torture and death of Jesus, my saviour, how much more should I be touched, grief-filled, angered…and all this willingly, for us, for me. Yet so often do I reduce his death to a mere fact in my mind, not praising, loving, thanking, giving to him as he did and does for me?

“Thank you” is not enough.


It’s something to think about this Easter.