Last week, the blood drive bus came to my college campus. My first thought was that the Red Cross had made a mistake. Don’t get me wrong now; I think blood drives are an awesome way to give back to those who are in serious need. And if continuing to circulate typhoid vaccinations through my own arteries didn’t disqualify me, I’d be first in line. But I mean, I know some folks who have some rather crazy stuff running through their veins. And no, I’m not referring to their blood type. At any rate, the Red Cross seemed to be taking quite a gamble.
As I sat in the cafeteria, watching folks file in and out of a separate room, a tad bit paler as they left than when they’d first walked in, I started thinking about blood types. I listed out the various kinds, pulling out biology factoids that had been in storage for some time. I reminisced on how I had learned as a kid that O type was the best because it “got along” with the other types fairly well in terms of blood transfusions, and red cells, and such. I think I had referred to it as the “obedient blood” because of this
peace piece of knowledge. Yes, when you’re home schooled you come up with some quirky ways to remember stuff like this.
But then it hit me that there’s a lot more to the blood in my veins that I realize. There’s war in my blood, as Mr. Foreman puts it. There’s passion for justice, there’s fire, and a heck of a lot of discontent with the way things run sometimes. Blood is the most concrete thing I can point to that contains life. There’s raw essence within it that not only is delivering oxygen, it’s pumping desires and demands through our very souls. I don’t want to get so grand and poetic that what I’m trying to say becomes irrelevant or romanticized, but as I sat there, and as I write this out, I am just struck by the fact that when I asked Christ to renovate my heart, he poured out that life-giving blood.
The blood of Jesus is not something that should merely be poured out over us. It should be pounding through our veins. And with it, the character and life of Christ himself. His dreams and desires for Kingdom issues to be resolved demand to be heeded. And his passion to love every lowly sinner was not only extended to me, but it should now influence me, too.
I don’t know how well the blood of a Savior (who owned his polarizing nature) would “get along” with other types. I guess that’s a personal matter. But suddenly I realized that giving blood could be considered something pretty spiritual. But at the risk of polluting the supply or poisoning my fellow man, I now might be unable to give for good.