If you’ve ever been to our house, then perhaps you’ll remember the color of our front door. It’s the color of dried blood. This is an old English tradition begun in village churches and carried over to homes. The red door was to symbolize the Passover and to serve as a reminder that we enter our true home, the Church, by the blood of Jesus, and that we are under His protection.
By His blood, we are marked as His and sealed as His. His blood is what keeps the Destroyer away. His blood is what causes the Angel of Death to pass by our house on his mission of death. Don’t be deceived.
When I look around my city and neighborhood, I wonder how many of the houses contain the dead. In how many of the homes is there someone dead? Dead in sin, yet walking about, spiritually corrupt and empty. I imagine at times that I can hear wailing coming from these houses.
For fifteen hundred years, the Israelites remembered and kept the Passover. But when the Lamb of God (the true Paschal Lamb) came, they rejected Him. The Jews were expecting the Messiah to attack the Roman occupiers and to liberate them... but Jesus attacked their self-satisfied religious institutions and leaders instead, because they had forgotten the Promise. His aim was and is to offer freedom from the Law and its penalty of death, through reconciliation with the Father by giving His indwelling Spirit.
For two thousand more years the Israelites have watched, waited, and observed the memory, without believing the Promise, without being set free. In my own heart, have I too watched, and observed the memory, while rejecting the Promise? Rejecting true freedom? Have I forgotten that the red color of my door is not paint, but the Lamb’s blood? Have I forgotten that I am not saved from death by my victory, but by my surrender?
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.
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