Ravi Zacharias told a story tonight that I want to remember, so I'm choosing to write it out here. Here's the story according to Ravi......
There was a man eating with friends at a restaurant in Mumbai on the day the horrific trauma occurred. I guess he was Indian, but also English and spoke with a perfect English accent. As he and his friends sat eating, they thought they heard fireworks. But soon they realized it was gunfire, and all of them dove under the table. Every single one of his friends eating with him was shot to death in the attacks. Only this English Indian man survived.
When he was being interviewed, the reporter asked him why he thought he alone survived. His response was that he was covered in blood belonging to someone else, and was probably assumed to be dead.
Ravi meant that story to strike a profound note in our hearts, and for me it certainly did. If you think on the meaning of Christmas, how Christ came to Earth, and you realize that His journey would lead from a manger to a cross, it suddenly hits you.
We can be covered in His blood. And in a sense we become as dead men. But it is through being covered by that blood that we find life beyond this one.
I guess if you didn't practically get born in a church pew like me, that sounds rather gory and disgusting, rather morbid and sick. But it isn't meant to be. While I've never been covered in actual blood belonging to another, I can imagine the symbolic meaning in this idea. Just so you don't think I go to some wacked out church that actually paints blood on attendees. That's not at all what I mean. But the story hits me somewhere deep inside. I'm safe and my soul will always have life because Someone decided to cover me with His blood. I can't begin to really comprehend that. But it strikes me deeply, and I want to remember this story.