There has been no other interest in my life. There have been minor surges, brief potholes and uplifts, but nothing has functioned like the kerosene of the Holy Spirit on the spark in my heart; nothing has blasted away the walls of granite and opened the seams of gold like the dynamite of His living Word.
From the moment, only aged seven, when I saw the Lord hanging on that Cross (‘this is how much I love you’, he said, and opened his arms wide, and died) and realised that the great error of every person, and the initial error of rebellion that was in all of our hearts, was put right by that death: from that moment I knew in a simple way that the offensive effrontery of every ‘I’ in the world, every ego-ridden proclamation, every tyrant carelessly crushing the lives of others, either by mass genocide or merely by verbal abuse and exploitation – that this was literally crossed out, and made a nonsense of, by Jesus’ death on the Cross. If the Lord of glory, if the darling of heaven, if the conceiver of all life and the answer to all mysteries was prepared to go to that rugged and bitter death, then not only must I accept His substitution, but I must indeed be His witness, even to the ends of the earth.
So that is why, in the words of my sister giving testimony some nine months ago now, it has always been Jesus, it always will be Jesus, and forever He will be the Lord of my heart. It’s all about the Lamb who was slain, the Lion of Judah and the meek, suffering Lamb. No words speak louder than that Death. His words were glorious, His words were addictive, His words were diamonds: but His death was radiant, His death was nourishing, His death was water for our souls. Where Christ’s teaching is the signal that here is something special, something above mere mortals, it was his death and then his resurrection that promises that we shall live, even though we shall die.