It’s a little past eleven o'clock this morning and Jesus of Nazareth has been hanging from the cross for more than two hours now. This morning as been filled with many strange, yet thoroughly predicted events. Some of us have simply gone about as if it were just another day, but for him it was the beginning of a new covenant. I've only been awake for about six hour now but the thought of how his day started much earlier (for he’s been up all night) has flowed in and out of my thoughts several times already.
What started out as an after-dinner prayer session in the garden has now come full circle through one mock trial after another. Not a defender or friend found anywhere at this point, only those wanting to persecute and punish him for the vicious crime of love. Alone again, just as he was last night while praying so earnestly as the blood and sweat poured through his skin.
Many of us can tell someone exactly where we were when the news of 911 reached us, or what we were doing when we heard President Kennedy had been shot, or what our reaction was to hearing that the wall dividing Germany finally fell - but how many of us will pause long enough to recount the events of this day in history. Where were you on this day - today?
Before seven o'clock this morning he had already been held up to the crowds awaiting outside the ruler's chamber, only to be denied recognition in exchange for the release of Barabbas, (a known killer and thief) the first man to be saved by this Saviour. At that same time this morning Dale and I watched the sun rise over the shoreline of a beautiful and serene lake in an area of Alabama appropriately named "All Good" and my heart was being drawn nearer to his. A Good Friday indeed!
Already he’s endured unimaginably cruel whippings, and beatings to the point layer upon layer of skin has been stripped from his body. He's suffered through shameless acts of disgrace before rulers, priest, and judges of this world throughout the night, yet he's maintained his dignity – he's stayed true to himself and his purpose. Unlike most of us, he never resend his position or calling, he never cowards down to appeasement, he simply continues to march in cadence with the beat of a warrior's drum.
By seven-thirty he's been sentenced to death - I was fixing pancakes and bacon for breakfast, while she checks her email and does some on-line banking. He's facing not a normal execution, but rather a vile and cruel one set aside for the worst of all criminals – the hideous Roman crucifix. I imagine it takes quite a bit of time as the guards select just the right cross from the pile of readied lumber outside the wood-worker's shop for which to hang a son of a carpenter claiming deity. They want to insure the heaviest and largest would be thrown across his shoulders, yet the weight of the wood is the least of the load he bears this morning.
The executioners meticulously see to it that his punishment is carried out so completely in every way. Despite being tired, hurt, and dazed, he simply relies on the strength of his purpose to keep moving forward – to his point of destiny. No sleep for over twenty-four hours , beaten down, blood flowing profusely from the stripes upon his body. His face is battered and swollen from the closed-fist beatings he's taken as a cloth is wrapped around his eyes (supposedly to hide the identity of his attackers), yet he knows each one. Dried spit now stains his cheeks as a robe of ridicule is placed over his shoulders. There is no one with him 'cept the Father. All the while this morning around this time I go about loading and unloading the dishwasher trying to wrap my heart around this scene playing out in my mind.
By eight o'clock he's staggering and stumbling through the streets and across the rocky pathway finally giving in to accept the assistance of a man from Africa whom we know only as Simeon. A bonding takes place that will change lives forever in this fateful appointment as they walk upward to a place and time that history is yet to forget. Eight- thirty rings in with the sickening sounds of the first spike being driven through skin, muscle, veins, and then wood.
This morning it once again resounds in my mind - CLANG - goes the hammer to the nail, as the blood splatters over the garment of the soldier holding it steady against his wrist and hand. His feet are over-lapped and held in place as the third and final spike is driven with tremendous force by the swinging of the heavy hammer. I'm now alone with my thoughts of him as Dale goes about her house-cleaning chores, pausing only long enough to stop by the desk for a hug every now and then. CLANG goes the sound in my mind – CLANG as my body shivers at the sound.
By nine o'clock the cross is raised into place on a hillside sadly called “Place of a Skull” and the bidding begins immediately for his garments, a testimony to the fact that even these deniers knew the importance of the moment – the man. Once in the upright position the blood begins to pour freely from his forehead where the jagged edges of the weather-hardened thorns have pushed through his now fragile layers of skin.
With little earthly life left in him he still finds the mercy to voice forgiveness to a repentant thief hanging beside him. His mother and Mary Magdalene have just finished leading a group of women who love and adore him unlike no other to a hillside just a short distance away to pray to God for mercy to be shown for the one they call Master – friend. I pause from this writing also long enough to pray to him – for the one that is on the cross this morning also sits at the right hand of the Father.
Mid-day approaches and the focus on this torturous death has been temporarily shifted when the sun disappears into the darken skies, the earth shakes violently, and the sound of the thick veil of the temple is deafening as it's being torn end to end capturing the attention of all those giving witness. Suddenly everyone recaptures their focus as the man hanging from the cross shouts (not whispers) - “Father, I entrust my spirit into your hands.” My Bible says, “and with those words he took his last breath.”
This next part doesn't come from my Bible, but I know it to be just as true - I believe all natural laws were broken and all theories of physics were tossed out the window as time stood still this afternoon to mark the historic reunion of the Creator and his creations. Time stands still again today as I recognize once again the significance of this event on a personal level.
As I write this item the song You are my king (Amazing love) by the group called Newsboys plays repeatedly. I've loved the lyrics of this song since my friend Tom Coleman first played it for me several years ago, and when I sense a need to refocus I simply play it as I am this morning, over and over, and over.
I’m forgiven because You were forsaken
I’m accepted, You were condemned
I’m alive and well, Your Spirit is within me
Because You died and rose again
Amazing love, how can it be
That You, my King, should die for me?
Amazing love, I know it’s true
It’s my joy to honor You
In all I do, to honor You
You are my King
You are my King
Jesus, You are my King
You are my King
On this day, the one we call “Good Friday” here in this beautiful place I call home I'm reminded of just how much an honor it is to praise and serve Him with our words and actions. Just a few short days from now the tomb will be emptied as the rock is rolled away and the sound of trumpets will shout He Lives. Yet, on this historically celebrated day around noontime I will stop whatever I'm doing and give observance for the reason that time stood still some two thousand years ago.
I invite you to join me in saying in one accord - Jesus, you are my king!
Amazing love indeed...... I pray Easter-like blessings on each of you this weekend. doug
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