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Have you ever seen the show, M*A*S*H*? At Lifest, Reggie Dabbs told us about a M*A*S*H* unit. Because of the vast number of wounded, they had to color code the victims of war. Yellow was good. If you had a yellow card put on you, it meant that your injury was not serious. You were given an injection for the pain, and could wait for further treatment. Blue was good. If you had a blue card put on you, it meant that your injuries were serious, but if they operated on you right away, they could save you. Red was bad. If you had a red card, it meant that there was nothing they could do. They just put you to sleep with an injection of morphine, and that was it. It was tough business. The doctor looked at one such hopeless case and told the nurse to red-tag him. The soldier knew what was happening. He grabbed the nurse and told her to say good-bye to his wife and his children and his father and mother. Tears were flowing like sweat at a soccer game, and the nurse couldn’t bear to put a red tag on this young man. She placed a blue tag on him instead. Months later, a general came to inspect the camp. He had some serious questions as he looked over the charts. Why was this soldier given a blue tag instead of a red one? Who switched the tags? No one dared to say anything, until the brave nurse finally spoke up and said she did. Then the general ran over to her and hugged her and cried out, “thank you, thank you for what you did, that was my son, and today he is alive because of you.”

Jesus, He took our red tags, tags of sin and shame and disobedience and pride and selfishness and cruelty and...

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