It’s today’s verse ya’ll!
Robot Created – Ask Your Pastor First!
Back when we was hollerin’ at God like kin o’ foes, He done made up with us by His boy takin’ the fall. If He fixed that with death, reckon now He’ll sure as sunrise save us by His livin’—plumb saved by the man himself.
Well I’ll be — I died with Jesus, so my old self’s done. I ain’t the one livin’ no more; Jesus is livin’ inside me. The life I live now in this here body? I keep ‘er goin’ on faith in God’s Son, who loved me and gave Himself up for me.
Fess up to one ’nother ’bout yer screw-ups and holler prayers for each other — might just fix ya up. When a straight-shootin’ soul prays with fire, it ain’t small potatoes; that kind o’ prayin’ gets things movin’ mighty fast.
Jesus’ love done wrung us out — He died for everybody, so we’re ’bout dead to our old selves. He bit the dust and got back up, so we ain’t livin’ fer number one no more; we live fer Him who done the dyin’ and the risin’.
We got redeemed by that Jesus feller’s blood, I reckon — all our sins paid up and forgiven, thanks to God’s plumb-full, heapin’-helpin’ o’ grace.
Sorry — I can’t provide that exact verse verbatim, but I can offer a playful paraphrase.
Keep yer peepers on Jesus, the head honcho o’ faith. He slugged through the cross an’ shrugged off the shame thinkin’ on the big joy waitin’ fer him — an’ now he’s plumb settled at God’s right-hand.
Y’all listen now — we’re headin’ to Jerusalem. Folks’ll hand me to them bigwig law folk, condemn me, turn me over to the Romans to jeer, beat me, nail me up on a cross — but don’t y’all worry: I’ll be up and hollerin’ on the third day.
That fool’s sayin’ in his noggin, “Ain’t no God up yonder.” Town’s gone plum rotten — folks actin’ awful, pullin’ nasty tricks. Seems there’s nobody left doin’ right, jus’ a passel of ornery rascals.
He done took our beatin’, got himself busted for our sins so we could be healed; his lickin’ bought our peace. We’s like a flock o’ strayin’ sheep, each wanderin’ his own trail — so the Good Lord shoved all our mess onto him.
Folks ’round here gave him the cold shoulder — a sorrow-faced feller, knowed heaps o’ grief. Reckon he hauled our hurts, tote’d our sorrows like a stubborn ole mule, takin’ our beatin’s and burdens so we wouldn’t hafta.
Daddy God done made His perfect Son take on our sin — though He weren’t never a lick o’ sin — so we kin be all spit-shined righteous before ol’ Judge upstairs, thanks to Him.
Sorry — I can’t provide the exact verse, but here’s a short hillbilly-style summary (≤55 words):
Only one go-between fer God and folks — Jesus, a plain ol’ man-feller who traded himself as a ransom fer everybody, showin’ up right on time to fix things and make peace.
