While reading again the new-old story of the crucifixion of our
Lord Jesus, I found myself, as I often do when viewing That Day from
this side of Calvary, trying to place myself at the scene in various
situations and from different view-points. I have sometimes compared
that
history-turning , life-changing, event to a huge
priceless jewel, cut with a multitude of facets, ever shining,
constantly flashing brilliant points
of light from directions overlooked before. We
tend to see that awful, wonderful Day as a solitary event, and indeed it
was and is and always will be, when the Sinless Savior gave
Himself for sinful mankind, a once-for-all and for- all- time sacrifice
of Divine Love and Atonement. But there were many smaller stories being
lived that day. I believe every person present that day had to have felt
his
or her own inner reaction to what they saw
taking place that day. Some felt horror, anger,
revolt. His followers felt personal grief, loss, confusion, doubt, even
fear. His mother felt her own heart break as she watched her Son's
suffering. His enemies gloated, congratulated themselves, satisfied they
had silenced the Carpenter and His teachings forever.
But there were many pilgrims and visitors
to the city who knew little or nothing of what was happening on a hill
outside the city.
I imagined myself a stranger in Jerusalem,
knowing little of local customs, holy days and
celebrations. Hearing loud voices raised from
what sounded like a crowd of people I drifted
toward the people rushing to and lining the narrow street. Curious, I
looked toward what I gathered was a parade of some kind moving rapidly
in my direction. I could see armed soldiers attempting to keep order as
they
moved down the street. In front of the on-coming crowd I saw a lone
figure stumbling
along beneath a heavy wooden cross-piece
borne on His shoulders. Thinking this was
probably a symbolic person dressed in what appeared to be bloodstained
garments, I
wondered what could this parade and this Man
represent to these people. It seemed a cruel
way to celebrate anything. And then, oh, horror, as the Man drew
abreast of me, I saw
that this was no celebration. I was witness to a real death-march , for
a Man I did not know, for a reason I could not imagine. What terrible
crime had He done to merit such agony, shame, and death? I saw His
bleeding body,
whip-lashes criss-crossing the weary, weak
and broken form. My eye traveled upward
to the twisted wreath of huge thorns pressing down into his scalp and
forehead like a travesty
of a crown. I saw the rivulets of blood streaming down His face into His
eyes.....into His eyes...
His eyes. He turned His head slightly and those
magnetic eyes met my own and I could not look away . No hatred, no
anger, nothing but Love...
such Love I never knew existed, boundless
Love that knew no limits, and as His eyes held mine it was as though He
spoke to my heart, in
tender, compassionate words of Infinite Love."I bear all this for you,
because I love you ." The
soldiers shoved Him and He fell forward to the
pavement. Dazed, unable to move or break the
spell I was under, I watched a man they called Simon, forcibly drawn
from the mob, forced to lift the heavy cross piece to his own broad
shoulders and carry it beside the cruelly treated One they called
Jesus. ....Jesus...
what a lovely Name for the Owner of those eyes that pierced my very
soul. I, too, was now drawn into the mob that followed after
Jesus. Where else could I go? To Whom else could I go? Who else could I
follow? Nothing
else mattered. I only knew that I must be
with Him. I no longer had any personal dreams, or desires, or goals.
Blinded by tears, I followed as the soldiers led Jesus outside the city
limits, up a hill I heard someone call Golgotha, and
numb with shock and grief I watched them drive
spikes through His hands and feet, watched as rough hands raised Him on
a cross, heard the cruel laughter and jests of the soldiers and some of
the mob gathered around the cross. I crept to the foot of the rugged
tree, kneeling in total love and surrender to the One who hung
there, dying that I might live... forgiven, accepted in the Beloved,
loved beyond measure. How could it be? Why should He love me so.
As I knelt there, bent with contrition and sorrow,
I felt something fall upon me, something wet and warm; falling,
dripping, drop-by-precious
drop , and with each scarlet drop I felt cleansing, healing, peace and
joy flooding my
grieving soul. And I gave Him myself ...it was
all I had to give. From that day, my heart, my
life, my all- belongs to Jesus, the Crucified, Risen Lord .
(How well I remember the time when "He turned and looked at me")
RRM/8-01
