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
 

He Turned and Looked At Me

I followed Him to Cal'vry
Along a rugged road,
I joined the crowd that thronged Him
As He bore His heavy load.
I saw His wounded, bleeding form
Nailed to a cruel tree.
I wondered why He suffered so,
And what His crime could be.

And then, He turned and looked at me
With eyes that pierced my soul,
So tender and forgiving,
As near His Cross I stole.
That gaze of Love and Sorrow said,
"I bear all this for thee."
Such love my heart had never known;
To think He'd die for me.

I knelt that day at Cal'vry,
Beneath that rugged Tree.
I felt the cleansing blood-drops
Bringing Peace and Joy to me.
I thought my grieving heart would break;
To think for me He'd die.
That hour I knew my life belonged
To Christ, The Crucified.

And then, He turned and looked at me
With eyes that pierced my soul,
So tender and forgiving
As near His Cross I stole.
That gaze of Love and Sorrow said,
I bear all this for thee."
Such love my heart had never known,
To think, "He'd die for me."

Never in all of Time has there been a blacker darkness than the long, empty hours following the cruel death and hasty, but reverent, burial of the blood-stained, tortured body of Jesus. To the little band of believers, his death was an unbelievable shock and grief. They hadn't expected this to happen even though He had told them several times. It was not conceivable that He Who had become the center of their lives, their hopes and dreams, should die such a shameful death. And ashamed as they were to admit it, their grief was mixed with fear for their own lives. After all , everyone knew they were His disciples. What now? What will happen to them? Where will they go? What will they do? For them, life itself is now meaningless. Slowly, one by one, or two or three, they drifted back, drawn together by grief, shame, in need of direction, and loneliness ,for without Him, having known Him so well , they would always be alone .

Somehow, they survived, drawing a little comfort from each other , until that morning.. ...THAT morning. Women who had been His devoted followers ,showing courage they, His disciples had lacked, had gone to give Him a more fitting burial. They came here, bursting in like mad-women with a crazy story, jumbled, incoherent. What are they saying??  Empty tomb. His body gone....something about angels...go tell....WHAT??? No, this is impossible...grief has effected their sanity. Yet , look at them! Look how their faces are aglow with wonder and joy, how their eyes sparkle, listen to the lilt and laughter in their voices.  They are saying that HE IS ALIVE AND HAS APPEARED AND SPOKEN TO THEM!!!! Oh that it were possible, that these precious women were bringing such unbelievable tidings Suddenly they are all thrown into confusion.

Here are two disciples who live in Emmaus out-of- breath having run all the way back telling them a stranger had overtaken them on the way home and had explained things to them in a strangely familiar way They invited Him in and as they sat to eat, the Stranger assumed the role of host, took the bread, blessed, broke it, handed it to them....and disappeared!.

IT WAS HIM...oh, yes, they were sure, it was Him alright. Then Peter stumbles in, his face a mixed-up picture of shock, joy, belief, strength. What did he say??  He has seen HIM ? Time has run together, they hang in some balance as if waiting for something, they know not what. As if all at the same time they all took a deep breath and before they could exhale...

THERE HE IS.. THERE HE STANDS RIGHT

IN THEIR MIDST. Who let Him in? The door is still locked. Suddenly, their knees turn to water, they begin to tremble, their hearts seem about to explode, their minds refuse to function clearly. He smiles that little smile of His they all knew so well, a gentle smile, a little tease tucked in the corner and He opens His mouth to speak. Involuntarily, with one accord, their eyes held by that familiar gaze, they all fall to their knees in worship before Him. Unable to grasp the truth, afraid to believe what must be too good to be true, they wait . Tenderly, He reaches out His hands to them, palm up showing them the scarred flesh...flesh somehow miraculously healed as were the scars on His forehead.

He spoke one word... "Peace". And they remembered how many times He had said that same word in just this same way, , and peace falls over the room, filling each heart with that sweet, quiet , trusting stillness He always instilled with His Presence.

"Come, touch me, handle me and see for yourself that I AM real and not a ghost." He stands there, inviting their amazed, joyful reassurance , reacquainting themselves with this One Who was dead and is alive again.  And their joy knows no bounds . Their crazy world has righted itself, their confusion is ended, their fear has gone, their Master has returned from that place where no one has ever returned. JESUS OF NAZARETH, SON OF MARY, SON OF GOD, FRIEND ABOVE ALL FRIENDS, HAS CONQUERED DEATH AND RETURNED BRINGING ETERNAL LIFE WITH HIM TO ALL WHO BELIEVE. Because He lives, night turns to day. mourning turns to joy, despair to hope, fear to courage, weakness to strength, turmoil to peace, defeat to victory.  No, the world will never be the same again.