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
ECC1212@aol.com.
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.
Booking Information:
Richard Exley Ministry
PO BOX 54744
Tulsa, Oklahoma 74155
(918) 459-5434
Fax: (918) 488-9107
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