Would we mock, or spit, or hit, or humiliate Him? Would we beat, or whip, or pluck out His hair? Would we watch in derision as His blood poured out on the street as He walked by carrying His heavy cross? Would we hammer in the nails, cast lots for His robe, press the thorns around His head, or thrust a sword in His side? Would we do nothing to help but wash our hands and walk away? Which part is it that we would have played?
Given my past, I imagine I would have been one of the Pharisees who judged, condemned and saw to it personally that the ‘job’ was done right. From His capture in the park to His last breath on the cross, I would have wanted to make sure the man who challenged my perception of the truth was gone- for good- and for the good of all mankind. (Pat self on back for a job well done. L ) Filled with self righteousness, hypocrisy and pride, I had ‘no need’ for salvation in my youth… and then when I was brought to my knees by life’s sorrows, I finally realized my need for a Savior.
Only then I found hope- hope in a man who lived as I did in a fallen world; hope in the One who gave up everything to come as a baby, to show me how to live, and then gave up His life in a painful, humiliating way. Hope in every drop of blood that He poured out for me; hope in the torture of the cross. Real hope.
The blood and the cross may not be pretty; in fact they are gruesome, horrific, and unsightly, but I thank God for the blood that is able to cleanse me from my sin (1Jh 1:7) and that there is power in the cross (1Cor. 1:18) unto salvation. I thank the Lord that He never gave up on me and in fact, right there on the cross over 2000 years ago He said for me- and for you,
“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.” (Lk 23:34)