Have you read the 2300 pages of the newly passed health care bill? I haven't either. But as one report summarized the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act that the president signed this week, it is "the most sweeping expansion of government social policy in more than 40 years, and perhaps the most polarizing." Regardless of your personal convictions about the new health care law, most all of us are agreed that its protracted debate certainly did not bring out the best in civil discourse, did it? And I wonder if all of this is a harbinger of days to come, the grinding gridlock of political process and national governance that in a time of economic (or any other) crisis could unexpectedly veer this nation down a pathway long predicted but hardly anticipated. But never mind that notion right now.

Because in the 2300 plus pages of this new law, is there a single word about "soul care?" Health care aplenty, of course. But what about that care that in the big picture matters most? Oh, it's true-we don't look to government to mandate the realm of the spiritual. But in all the noisy debate over the care of the body, isn't it essential that we seek the care of the heart and soul, too?

So consider this insurance policy that provides not only national, but global coverage: "Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst" (I Timothy 1:15). Soul care insurance for every man, woman and child that inhabit this planet. Signed into universal law—not by the 22 pens the president used to affix his signature this week—but by the crimson of the divine signature on that cross remembered next week throughout the Christian world. It was a Good Friday for the human race, but it was a dark and awful Friday for the incarnate God who offered up his life to become the signatory of an insurance policy—health (spiritual) and life (eternal)—for "whosoever believeth in him." How could the terms of his policy be simpler? Trust the God of the universe with your life ("I ask you please to take charge of my life and lead me for the rest of my life"), ask him to be your Savior and Lord ("Forgive my sinful ways and give to me the peace of your loving acceptance)—and the very big print of the policy declares you not only have his friendship now, you can bank on his saving gift that one day will throw wide the doors to his home forever and ever. Amen.

In spite of the rancorous debate over health care, why would any clear-thinking human being reject the provisions of this policy for soul care?