That Rock

It’s just an ordinary rock. You could rinse it, scrub it, and polish with all your might, and it wouldn’t look any prettier than it looks right now, right there, sitting on my desktop.

I picked it up on my first trip to Israel, when we paused on the Mount of Olives to hear a teaching about the events that transpired in that place 2000 years ago. Luke 37 tells us that as Jesus was descending the Mount of Olives on His way back toward Jerusalem, the multitude felt so stirred by the mighty works they’d seen Him do, that they couldn’t help but praise Him.

Their rejoicing brought the ire of the Pharisees (that seems to always be the case with Pharisees). Hearing, “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the LORD!’ Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!” the sour-faced ones demanded that Jesus rebuke His disciples. But Jesus spoke words that caused me to reach down and select a plain, rough rock from the selection at my feet:

“I tell you that if these should keep silent, the stones would immediately cry out.”

It’s just an ordinary rock. You could set it on a red velvet pedestal and shine a big light on it, and it would still be ugly. But it works something beautiful in me. For whenever my eyes catch sight of that insignificant stone, I remember that it’s my privilege, my joy, my right to praise the One who hung on Calvary for me.

I won’t be replaced by a rock.