“Now then,
you and all these people,
get ready to cross…”
-Joshua 1:2
Each Good Friday, I find that I pay a lot more attention to time.
As different hours of the day pass, I try to think about what it must have been like. What happened and when and where for Jesus? How did each event pass as death came closer and closer with each tick of the clock?
Then, in the afternoon, I always try to think about the scene.
What must it have been like for everyone on that mountaintop to hear each single blow? There were so many different groups gathered to watch one man die. What went through their heads and hearts as they watched an innocent’s execution?
And above the clamor, I wonder if Jesus just heard chains.
Not one or two.
I wonder if with each blow of the terrible hammer Jesus could hear a wonderfully awful symphony. If, in each strike, He could hear the sounds of millions upon millions of chains being struck. What a sound it must have been!
Did He hear it in the hearts of the men stretching his body out on the cross? If, as they drove the nails home with a cruel efficiency, He heard the chains breaking in their own hearts. Did He hear the irons crack?
I wonder if He blessed God for not keeping Him from His loves?
If He felt in each hammer strike a rising in His chest. That same tightening a groom has when the door cracks open and his bride comes into view…
I wonder if He began to hear the death of Death.
And not just my own death. It seems that to think that it is just about me is to totally miss the point. It cheapens it somehow when I get stuck thinking about how God died for MY sin. Me. Good Friday was for me, but also, not. It was for us all. We all can be the Love.
Far too often, I do not fall on my knees in thanksgiving because, with his cruel death, he broke the chains…
Off my wife,
Off my son,
Off my daughter,
Off my parents,
Off my sister,
Off my in-laws,
Off my “kids”,
Off people that I love so dearly in my church family,
Off my neighbor,
…And off of you.
I thank God that when that first nail went through His wrist, a death blow went through our chains. That it was just a matter of time.
On very, very bad days I think I get close to the idea of life without Jesus. Close enough to weep the large tears and come running back. To throw myself on the floor and cry out that I saw the edge, “God! I had a glimpse of me without you and I could not bear it. I could not bear the thought of losing you! I am so sorry and thirsty for you God!”
To which He might reply that he felt that same hurt on this Friday. He burned with that same heartache, and it kept him on that cross in the hills outside the city gate.
That the nails would not rip out more of Him than eternity without us.
That the spear did not hurt as much as not taking the spear.
That the shame was bearable only because life without us was not.
That he stayed because the symphony was too rapturous, the plan too lovely and life with us too breathtaking.
That the nail strikes sang love.
Chasing The Wild Beast 