Straight From the Heart

My Savior, My Son

"In birth, Jesus became my son and I his mother. In death, he becomes my savior and through him I too can call God 'Father.'"

"What have they done to him?" I cry, unable to tear my eyes from his mutilated face. His lips are a bloody pulp, one eye is swollen completely shut, and his back is ripped to raw shreds — the work of a Roman whip. On his head, thrust far down, is a cruel crown of three-inch Judean thorns. A discarded robe of royal purple is carelessly thrown about his shoulders, making the mockery complete.

Motioning for the crowd to be silent, Pilate says, "Here is your King."

At that the mob goes mad. "Crucify him!" they scream, "Crucify him!"

"Shall I crucify your king?" he asks.

As with one voice they shout, "We have no king but Caesar."

Seeing he cannot prevail, Pilate yields to their will and orders Jesus put to death. We watch in stunned disbelief as the soldiers lead him away.

Numbly we follow them up the Via Dolorosa, and out the city gates to a skull- shaped hill called Golgotha. There they crucify him. They strip him and nail him to a cross. As the executioner swings his heavy hammer, I turn away in revulsion, burying my face in John's chest while spasms of grief rack my tortured soul.

John covers my head with his arms, but there is no way to shut out the madness. Shouted orders from the soldiers mingle with the tortured screams of the condemned and are joined in the fearful din by the grief-stricken wails of family and friends.

Worst of all are the taunts of the religious leaders. "He saved others," they sneer. "Let him save himself if he is the Christ of God, the Chosen One."

Others mock him saying, "You who are going to destroy the temple and
build it in three days, come down from the cross and save yourself!...Let this Christ, this King of Israel, come down now from the cross, that we may see and believe."

Such cruelty, such hatred, I have never seen. It is as if hell itself has erupted and is spewing its poisonous venom over the earth. Then, in the midst of that cesspool of hatred, I hear the sound of love!

"Father..."

His voice is raspy, hardly recognizable at all.

"Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."

His words are no more than a ragged whisper, but there is no mistaking them. To my knowledge, no one but Jesus dares call God "Father."

Like a magnet his voice draws me. Turning my face from John's chest I look full at my firstborn son. When I do, the sword of which Simeon spoke pierces my soul anew. My grief and sorrow are unbearable, yet there is something else too. An wordless hope, an inner conviction too intangible to be defined, yet too real to be denied.

Somehow I know that he is not a helpless captive, but a willing sacrifice. In a way I cannot explain, I truly understand that his execution is not simply a miscarriage of human justice, but the just decree of a holy God. For this reason was he born. He is the Lamb of God, doing what he came to do, suffering for the sins of the world.

Caiaphas, Pilate, the Roman soldiers, even the bloodthirsty mob, are not his executioners. They are mere instruments in the hand of God. This crucifixion is God's doing — a terrible but vital part of His eternal plan.

Knowing this does not make my grief any less, but it does give me the strength to bear it. Now I want to encourage Jesus. I want to let him know I understand what he is doing, that I support him.

Breaking away from John, I run to the foot of the cross where he can see me. Looking down his gaze finds me, and for a moment we hold each other with our eyes. I feel John put his arm around me, but I cannot tear my eyes away from Jesus.

"Dear woman," he says, and there is so much love, so much compassion in his words, I think my heart will break. How can he think of me at a time like this, I ask myself. Then his eyes shift to John, and he says, "here is your son." And to John he says, "Here is your mother."

Something must have passed between them then, some unspoken message perhaps, because John takes my arm and leads me away. I don't want to go; I can't bear to leave Jesus to die alone. Yet I know I can't stay. Jesus wants me to go. He wants to spare me the pain of watching him die, and I cannot deny him this final act of kindness.

The sky is growing dark as I descend from golgotha and turn toward the Jerusalem. John lets me lean on him as he leads me toward the home of my sister. A good thing too, for I am nearly blind with grief. Now that Simeon's sword has finally been revealed I find it is much worse than I could ever have imagined.

Still, I draw some small comfort from the knowledge that this is part of God's eternal plan. Turning to John I say, "In birth, Jesus became my son and I his mother. In death, he becomes my savior and, unworthy sinner though I am, I can now become a child of God. Through him I too can call God 'Father.'"

This is Richard Exley straight from the heart.

If you know someone who would enjoy receiving the weekly Straight From the Heart inspirational message please send me their e-mail address at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. .

Richard will be speaking at a Men's Retreat for Pastor Sam Mayo and the men of First Assembly of God in Rockford, IL, November 12th and 13th. He will be speaking both morning and evening at First Assembly on Sunday November 14th. For additional information please call the church at (815) 877-8000.

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