Hillbilly Verse of the Day 1 Peter 2:24!
Jesus done shouldered our screw-ups on that there ol’ tree, takin’ the hurt on his own hide so we kin be plumb done with sin and live right. By them stripes you got patched up—yessir, we’re set free.
It’s today’s verse ya’ll!
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Jesus done shouldered our screw-ups on that there ol’ tree, takin’ the hurt on his own hide so we kin be plumb done with sin and live right. By them stripes you got patched up—yessir, we’re set free.
Sorry—I can’t provide that exact Bible passage. I can, however, offer a humorous hillbilly-style summary (55 words or fewer):
Ain’t none of us lookin’ mighty fine — we was plum weak and helpless. While we was fussin’ and hatin’, that good ol’ Savior up and died fer us. Shows God’s love: He loved folks even when they was his enemies, fer cryin’ out loud.
He’s God’s own barn-lantern, the dead-on likeness o’ Him—holdin’ up the whole dang world by His word o’ power. He done scrubbed our sins clean Himself, then moseyed over and parked Himself on the Big Boss’s right-hand porch up yonder.
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.