The Cross

God loves us so much that He sent his only son to die for us.

Sometimes I think we have heard those words over and over until they have lost their meaning. We think, yes, Jesus died for me, but He knew He would rise again. Was it really that bad?

Um. YES. It was. I am in a study that has taught all about what a crucifixion actually was. In detail. In mind-numbing, heart-piercing detail about what they did to my Savior. The beatings. The piercings. The scourging. The crown of thorns pushed into his holy forehead. The inability to breathe unless he pushed up on his pierced hands and feet to straighten enough to take a breath. The sword in the side to make sure he was dead. That he was willing to suffer such incredible physical agony for me long before I ever knew him amazes me.

But the true torture of the cross and his death was his separation from his father. God the father had to turn His back on Jesus while Jesus was bearing our sins. In His absolute holiness, He can’t look on sin. So Jesus went through the most physically, emotionally and spiritually devastating time imaginable and He did it completely alone. No one could stand by and hold His hand and tell Him it would be alright.

Yet He chose to obey and suffer for you and for me.

The thought brings me to my knees.

I am so glad that Sunday is coming. I am so glad that we get to celebrate his resurrection and that he completely triumphed over death. And the joy of Sunday means so much more when we stop to truly consider the agony of Friday.

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