Then Jesus told his disciples,

"If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. or whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. or what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul? For the Son of Man is going to come with his angels in the glory of His Father, and then he will repay each person according to what he has done. Truly, I say to you, there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom."

If you want to follow Jesus, the route is self-denial. The path is suffering. To attain the eternal, we must sacrifice the immediate. We do this not because we're ascetic masochists. We do this because we believe the Psalmist that Jesus is better than life (Psalm 63:3). Can you taste it? In the morning, in the noon time, in the evening, is the divine taste of Christ on our tongue? Do we open our mouths before our Bibles to collect sustenance? Truly the promises drip from the ends of verses like honey from the comb. It is a sweetness that does not produce decay, only depth. It teaches us of a delight this world does not know how to satisfy. It only faintly remembers the sweetness that once alighted its soil and sand, somewhere between Tigris and Golgotha. Will we believe the echoes from Perfection once planted? Will we listen to the chorus that beckons from the stars after each sun-down? Will we be drawn to repent as the sun blazes to make visible beauty beyond what our closed-eyes can imagine? This is always our choice. Will we become increasingly sensitive to our sin, inching towards God by hanging on to the hem of Jesus' robe; Or will we deny our need, scorn the shame of need, and forget being dragged through the dirt? Will we choose pleasant pastures of grass fields to energetically eat and store? We are not destined to be cows. Don't settle to be one.

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Jesus will come clothed in electric white dipped in blood woven in the skies, no longer adorning the mocking majestic purple supplied by Rome. Emanating beauty and splendor from his pores, it will be like seeing a man made of diamonds, except it will produce terror, not want. He will come as the blessing, the gift, the sight-for-sore-eyes, the treasure, the Savior to some; but to most, he will be their greatest nightmare, their doubts-realized, the preacher's-lies-turned-true, the one who appoints to Hell. He will spit the majority out with disgust.

Keep me, Lord.

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Father,

Would you strengthen my grip on eternity with you? Would you pry my hands from pleasure in this life? Wash me with your forgiving blood this morning. Remind me of the cost of this breath, and breath eternal. As I sink my heels into the depths of your sovereign, unending majesty, let it prove to be a spring board into radical Christ-like love and grace: a dying to self until I live with you. This life is vapor; life with you is the Pacific.

Lead me in the way everlasting.

Your son,

Sanghyo