For much of my life, I felt like an underdog, misunderstood and underestimated, always battling others’ perceptions, and trying to prove them wrong. Sometimes I was successful, other times I was not. At some point, I stopped keeping score. The thrill of surprising people was no longer worth the effort. I needed something more.
When Jesus rode into Jerusalem to the cries of “Hosanna,” He was coming for the underdogs. He came for the sick, not the healthy; for the weak, not the strong; for sinners, not the pious. He came for those whose souls were hungry and thirsty. He came for the underdogs.
He came for me.
Jesus is my Hero because He didn’t care what others were saying about me. He didn’t evaluate me by my intelligence, appearance, socio-economic status, race, or any other earthly criteria. He didn’t just accept me for who I was, He wanted me just as I was. He knew what His grace could do for me, within me, and through me. He knows exactly what it feels like to be an underdog; He too was underestimated and misunderstood. He also knew that with just a touch, I would become a masterpiece of ever-increasing glory.
I love Him because He first loved me, the underdog.
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