Brett Favre redeemed himself on Sunday Night Football. Though a growing number of fans began muttering that Brett "looked like he ought to be quarterbacking a tractor on his farm," that all changed as Greg Lewis caught Brett's pass and landed both feet in the end zone, giving Greg his first touchdown ever—and Minnesota a walk-off win.
Redemption is like that. When your personal value erodes, it dunks you in grace and declares you "valuable."
Michael Vick, an NFL quarterback who found after-prison work in Philadelphia, also found redemption in simply being on the field for the national anthem. "My mother would have been proud," he proclaimed. Michael's mother died while he was in prison, and Michael, who has been vilified by dog-lovers around the world, has begun to experience personal redemption on the gridiron.
Redemption is like that. It finds you when you're down and turns you right-side-up. Right out there in front of everyone.
The roster of the redeemed is long, filled with the names of the famous, the infamous, the respected and the unknown. It includes murderers like David the son of Jesse and Moses the son of Jochabed. Bill Clinton says his name is there; Tammy Faye's name is listed in italics; and you'll find the sinner Richard Duerksen near the end of the "Ds."
Redemption is like that. It adds up all the minuses of our lives, soaks them in Christ's blood and then hangs ‘em out like victory flags.
Fanny Crosby was so redeemed that she wrote a poem about it. "Redeemed, how I love to proclaim it,"1 she scribbled one morning during her prayer time. She wrote stanza after stanza, each one a blimp-sized billboard proclaiming freedom beside the Devil's toll-road. Meet her in the supermarket, and she'd tell you about the poem and the God who redeemed her. Meet her at church, and she'd be humming just loud enough for you to want to listen.
Redemption is like that. When you let it catch you, you want everyone to learn the tune and sing along.
Redemption has many faces. Like when a co-worker does something incredibly stupid, something that makes everyone have to work harder, something that makes everyone say nasty things behind the co-worker's back. Redemption happens when you feel your friend's pain and search for a way to raise him into a place of honor in the office. Caring for others—as God cares for you—makes you part of the redemption experience.
Redemption's like when Mom put a cold cloth on your skinned knee—even though she told you not to ride your trike on the gravel.
Redemption's like when you lose your temper at your spouse, and can hardly wait to say, "I'm sorry."
Redemption's like when I choose to do something I know is unhealthy (or maybe even less than good, or even significantly bad) and then I sense the Holy Spirit drawing me toward repentance so God can perform His all-time favorite act of forgiveness.
Redemption is like when the ship's captain heard about Grace, left the sea and printed a Good News pamphlet, and spread it from New England to Timbuktu.
Redemption is like that. It challenges you to redeem others.
Dick Dureksen is the official "storyteller" for Maranatha Volunteers International. Readers may contact the author at dduerksen@maranatha.org.
1. Crosby, Fanny. "Redeemed, How I Love to Proclaim It." Lyrics. Songs of Redeeming Love. John J. Hood, 1882.
