Image credit: https://zinzendorf.com/content/ecce-homo/
In the Alte Pinakothek art museum in Munich is a painting by Domenico Feti titled Ecce Homo—“Behold the Man.” Christ stands crowned with thorns, gazing upon the viewer as if searching the soul. Beneath the painting are the Latin words: “Ego pro te haec passus sum; tu vero, quid fecisti pro me?” (‘I have done this for you; what have you done for Me?’)
Those words linger. They press on the conscience. And every time I think of that painting, of the suffering Saviour silently inviting me to look again, it forces me to stop and examine my life. I remember a season years ago when a very similar question pierced me. I thought, “I have loved Jesus for a long time… but have I ever truly done anything for Him?” And the honest answer was a painful no. And in that moment, I realized that my life matters for something far bigger than myself. From that day, I made a vow in my heart unto God: “Lord, whatever You ask, wherever You lead—I’ll do it.”
And oh, did God hear those words. He received them, and He acted on them far beyond anything I expected. He took my sincere, small prayer, tested it, proved it, and honored it. He lifted me and carried me into places I never imagined I would walk—speaking His name in corners of the world I had only read about, far beyond the familiar roads of my home in the United States.
And in every one of those places, I have found Jesus to be faithful, good, and His presence astonishingly near. Looking back, I am overwhelmed at how boldly He has opened doors and how gently He has guided me through them. That simple surrender, “Lord, I will do whatever You ask," became the very prayer He delighted to answer.
But let me be painfully honest with you, obedience has not always been easy. There are moments when much within me longs for the easy life. Something inside of me would gladly choose to be back living in a beautiful house near a warm beach, driving a shiny Audi, entertaining friends for dinner, and spending a life perfectly curated for my comfort.
Oh, how much I loathe that part of me.
Because after years of serving Christ in the United States and around the world, and now living on a foreign field, I am still stunned by how loudly those desires can rise, how real they can feel. Comfort always calls. But it always promises more than it can give.
Yet something changes every time my feet touch these Salvadoran streets, and my eyes meet the faces around me. Something deep in my heart breaks. I see men, women, and youth walking in profound spiritual darkness—stumbling through life, lonely, hurting, empty, chasing hope but never finding it—far from God. I think about how close every person is to eternity… one breath, one heartbeat… and how many stand on the edge not knowing the God who loves them.
That thought terrifies me. It arrests my heart’s attention. It cuts me to the core.
Because this life, comfortable or uncomfortable, easy or sacrificial, is nothing more than a vapor. A vanishing fog. Here for a moment and then quickly gone. And when the mist of this life fades away, eternity is the only thing left.
So, when I get those unwanted longings, I think about eternity. I fear standing before the Lord Jesus with empty hands and nothing to give. I desire crowns to lay at the feet of my wonderful Lord, who wore a crown of thorns for me.
When I finally reach that Celestial City, I really long to meet the thousands, maybe even millions, whose lives somehow intersected with mine, and whom God, in His mercy, allowed me to touch in their journey toward eternal salvation. The Holy Bible calls them my family: my eternal brothers and sisters. And I want to embrace them so much, worship and serve the Lord Jesus with them, and listen to their stories of God’s grace that saved each one.
So, when my flesh whispers, “Take it easy. Let someone else do the work. Let someone else sacrifice,” I return to the truth: eternity is near, judgment is real, the harvest is urgent, and Christ is worthy.
And I return to that question beneath the painting: Christ has done this for you—what will you do for Him?
And because my heart needs reminders, and perhaps yours too, I often return to the words that have steadied me for years. One of them is a hymn written by Frances R. Havergal in 1858, "I Gave My Life for Thee."
Those words linger. They press on the conscience. And every time I think of that painting, of the suffering Saviour silently inviting me to look again, it forces me to stop and examine my life. I remember a season years ago when a very similar question pierced me. I thought, “I have loved Jesus for a long time… but have I ever truly done anything for Him?” And the honest answer was a painful no. And in that moment, I realized that my life matters for something far bigger than myself. From that day, I made a vow in my heart unto God: “Lord, whatever You ask, wherever You lead—I’ll do it.”
And oh, did God hear those words. He received them, and He acted on them far beyond anything I expected. He took my sincere, small prayer, tested it, proved it, and honored it. He lifted me and carried me into places I never imagined I would walk—speaking His name in corners of the world I had only read about, far beyond the familiar roads of my home in the United States.
And in every one of those places, I have found Jesus to be faithful, good, and His presence astonishingly near. Looking back, I am overwhelmed at how boldly He has opened doors and how gently He has guided me through them. That simple surrender, “Lord, I will do whatever You ask," became the very prayer He delighted to answer.
But let me be painfully honest with you, obedience has not always been easy. There are moments when much within me longs for the easy life. Something inside of me would gladly choose to be back living in a beautiful house near a warm beach, driving a shiny Audi, entertaining friends for dinner, and spending a life perfectly curated for my comfort.
Oh, how much I loathe that part of me.
Because after years of serving Christ in the United States and around the world, and now living on a foreign field, I am still stunned by how loudly those desires can rise, how real they can feel. Comfort always calls. But it always promises more than it can give.
Yet something changes every time my feet touch these Salvadoran streets, and my eyes meet the faces around me. Something deep in my heart breaks. I see men, women, and youth walking in profound spiritual darkness—stumbling through life, lonely, hurting, empty, chasing hope but never finding it—far from God. I think about how close every person is to eternity… one breath, one heartbeat… and how many stand on the edge not knowing the God who loves them.
That thought terrifies me. It arrests my heart’s attention. It cuts me to the core.
Because this life, comfortable or uncomfortable, easy or sacrificial, is nothing more than a vapor. A vanishing fog. Here for a moment and then quickly gone. And when the mist of this life fades away, eternity is the only thing left.
So, when I get those unwanted longings, I think about eternity. I fear standing before the Lord Jesus with empty hands and nothing to give. I desire crowns to lay at the feet of my wonderful Lord, who wore a crown of thorns for me.
When I finally reach that Celestial City, I really long to meet the thousands, maybe even millions, whose lives somehow intersected with mine, and whom God, in His mercy, allowed me to touch in their journey toward eternal salvation. The Holy Bible calls them my family: my eternal brothers and sisters. And I want to embrace them so much, worship and serve the Lord Jesus with them, and listen to their stories of God’s grace that saved each one.
So, when my flesh whispers, “Take it easy. Let someone else do the work. Let someone else sacrifice,” I return to the truth: eternity is near, judgment is real, the harvest is urgent, and Christ is worthy.
And I return to that question beneath the painting: Christ has done this for you—what will you do for Him?
And because my heart needs reminders, and perhaps yours too, I often return to the words that have steadied me for years. One of them is a hymn written by Frances R. Havergal in 1858, "I Gave My Life for Thee."
I gave My life for thee,
My precious blood I shed,
That thou might’st ransomed be,
And quickened from the dead;
I gave, I gave My life for thee,
What hast thou given for Me?
I gave, I gave My life for thee,
What hast thou given for Me?
My Father’s house of light,
My glory-circled throne,
I left for earthly night,
For wanderings sad and lone;
I left, I left it all for thee,
Hast thou left aught for Me?
I left, I left it all for thee,
Hast thou left aught for Me?
I suffered much for thee,
More than thy tongue can tell,
Of bitterest agony,
To rescue thee from hell;
I’ve borne, I’ve borne it all for thee,
What hast thou borne for Me?
I’ve borne, I’ve borne it all for thee,
What hast thou borne for Me?
And I have brought to thee,
Down from My home above,
Salvation full and free,
My pardon and My love;
I bring, I bring rich gifts to thee,
What hast thou brought to Me?
I bring, I bring rich gifts to thee,
What hast thou brought to Me?
My precious blood I shed,
That thou might’st ransomed be,
And quickened from the dead;
I gave, I gave My life for thee,
What hast thou given for Me?
I gave, I gave My life for thee,
What hast thou given for Me?
My Father’s house of light,
My glory-circled throne,
I left for earthly night,
For wanderings sad and lone;
I left, I left it all for thee,
Hast thou left aught for Me?
I left, I left it all for thee,
Hast thou left aught for Me?
I suffered much for thee,
More than thy tongue can tell,
Of bitterest agony,
To rescue thee from hell;
I’ve borne, I’ve borne it all for thee,
What hast thou borne for Me?
I’ve borne, I’ve borne it all for thee,
What hast thou borne for Me?
And I have brought to thee,
Down from My home above,
Salvation full and free,
My pardon and My love;
I bring, I bring rich gifts to thee,
What hast thou brought to Me?
I bring, I bring rich gifts to thee,
What hast thou brought to Me?
