"The Grace of the First Step" - 02/27/2026

In this Lenten season, I find myself thinking about how much our spiritual lives resemble a snowy afternoon right here in Minot. You know that polite deadlock we sometimes get into at a four-way stop, or how quickly a white-out can steal our vision on the highway? So often, our hearts get stuck in those same kinds of "waiting rooms," holding onto peace until everything feels just right. This week, I want to invite you to come and stand with me at the foot of the cross. We are going to listen to Jesus’ first words there—a beautiful, quiet reminder that God’s grace doesn't wait for our permission or our perfect timing. It is a love that moves first, reaching out to find us before we even have the words to ask for the way home.

Scripture

"Two other men, both criminals, were also led out with him to be executed. When they came to the place called the Skull, they crucified him there, along with the criminals—one on his right, the other on his left. Jesus said, 'Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.' And they divided up his clothes by casting lots."
- Luke 23:32–34 (NIV)

Refleciton
The hill of the Skull is a place of profound dissonance. It is a landscape defined by the rhythmic strike of hammers, the coarse laughter of soldiers, and the heavy silence of a sky preparing to darken. In the center of this chaos, a choice is made that defies the gravity of human logic. It is the moment where the cycle of hurt is not merely paused, but completely rewritten.

In the human experience, there is a tendency to dwell in the waiting room of the soul. It is a place where one sits and waits for the "after" to arrive. One promises to find peace after an apology is offered. One promises to extend a hand after the debt is acknowledged. This waiting creates a spiritual deadlock, much like travelers at a frozen intersection, each waiting for the other to take the definitive first step. Yet, to stay in this waiting room is to hand the keys of one’s inner sanctuary to the very hands that caused the wound.

Upon the cross, the first word spoken is not a reaction, but a divine initiative. Jesus does not wait for the Roman centurion to realize his error. He does not wait for the crowd to cease their mocking or for the nails to be removed. While the pain is at its most acute, he speaks a word of release. This is the essence of 은혜 (eun-hye, grace). It is the love that is already at the door before the knock is even considered. It is a grace that goes before, making a path through the wilderness before the traveler even realizes they have lost their way.

There is a particular kind of blindness that descends upon the human spirit, not unlike the white-out of a prairie winter. In such moments, visibility vanishes, and one strikes out not from malice, but from a total loss of direction. To witness the struggle of another through this lens is to see their wounding actions as products of their own internal darkness. Forgiveness, then, becomes an act of spiritual sight. It is the refusal to be pulled into the dark alongside the one who is lost.

To forgive is to engage in a holy absorption. Just as a photographic sensor remains open to gather light in a dim room, the heart of the Crucified remains open to absorb the cost of the world’s brokenness. He does not pass the invoice back to the offender. He pays the price in his own flesh, ensuring that the debt does not move forward to the next generation. This act of bearing the weight allows the light to return to the world. As the Lenten season unfolds, the invitation is to leave the waiting room behind and step into the sunlight of a grace that has already said "yes" to us, long before we thought to ask.


Prayer
Gentle Savior, You who move toward us while we are yet far off, soften the rigid places within our hearts. When we are tempted to wait for an apology before we find our peace, remind us of Your first word upon the cross. Teach us the courage of absorption and the strength of the first step. May we live this day in the warmth of Your prevenient love, releasing what we have held so that we may be held by You. Amen.