The crowds were gathering.
There were noises crescendoing higher and higher, and then lowering as they were moving across the district.
One thing I noticed was the air. It was crisp. It was still. And it was different. I got a chill when I first walked outside to finish the morning work. Something was unique about the day, but I wasn’t sure what it was.
My father was a leader within our Jewish community, and he wanted me to see how justice was served to any who would cross “the Law of God,” as he had put it.
It didn’t take long, and he was rushing me out the door closer and closer to the noise I had heard earlier.
We found our way near the front. And my father began to speak. He spoke loud and clear. I had always admired his ability to project himself and to use his voice to speak with such authority. This time his voice was as strong as it had ever been, but there was something different about it today. There was anger behind it that I didn’t recognize before.
“We will take Barabbas,” was all I heard him say. The chants began… “Barabbas…Barabbas…Barabbas… Release Barabbas…”
Previously, my father had told me about this man Barabbas. He had warned me about associating with men like him…that he was an example of a person whose attempt at gaining power was jeopardizing the very structure of our peoples’ positions within society. “Rome had its way with us,” my father had said, “and they were not to be trusted. Nevertheless, men like Barabbas,” my father went on, “further weakened our position with the Romans. “
Now, here he was yelling for Barrabbas’ release. I was confused. Why would he want Barrabbas to be let go?
Then. Out of nowhere another man was pushed forward. The Roman leader shouted, “Then what shall I do with Him whom you call King of the Jews?”
At that time, His eyes met mine. This man my father had also talked about. This man they called Jesus was looking right into my soul. Time stood still. The crowd’s yelling began to fade away. Everything went into slow motion. My eyes could not break His gaze. I had never seen love radiate from someone like this before. His eyes did not ask for pity, nor did they play the victim. His eyes were something different. He was telling a different story with His eyes. They were speaking a different language. A language I had never heard. My heart was pounding in my chest. My eyes were filling with tears. I was understanding something I had never understood until this moment.
The crowd continued to yell louder and higher. They were yelling something I couldn’t understand. Then, I was back in the moment.
“Crucify Him! Crucify Him!…” Louder and louder, they yelled, drowning out all other voices.
I looked back at the man they called, the Christ. His body was torn. I hadn’t even noticed it until now. There was a robe placed over him, but it was caked in mud and dried blood. His flesh had been ripped so bad that it was hard to distinguish between the robe and His body.
I looked up to the sky. It was clear. The clouds were moving as they usually did. I looked over at my father. His eyes looked different. I had never seen him look this way. He was breathing in and out and his face was beaming. He almost seemed out of breath, and I thought for a second that he was. But he wasn’t. His eyes continued to squint. He had a sharpness about him, but it wasn’t clear what he was thinking.
There he went. The man. The murderer. Barabbas was walking free. My father, weeks prior, warned me of men like him, and now he had been the leading advocate for his release. The murderer was free to upset once again the fragile fabric of our people’s place in Roman society. It didn’t make any sense.
His eyes. I couldn’t stop thinking about His eyes. They were full of joy. So much love. He wanted me to understand something about Him.
Just then, the crowd began to lift their voices again. They were making their way to the streets. I saw Him. This time feebly carrying a cross to the place of crucifixion. My heart sank. My father had always warned me of being crucified. It was the Roman’s torture technique to prove a point or make an example out of someone. Here we was. The man. The man they called Christ. The man whose eyes were full of love barely carrying His cross to be tortured in an ignominious death.
The first nails went in with some struggle. He grimaced in pain as they missed the nail and struck his ankle. Finally, the hammer struck the nail. His face shot up looking toward the sky. His eyes didn’t change. The same love remained. Another hammer strike and his left wrist was pinned to the timber. And then another. He was fastened to this tree like an animal being skinned.
My stomach was turning. I began to perspire. My breaths were getting short. The world around me started to spin. Just then I heard the mocking of my father and the other religious leaders. They were jeering Him. And began to shout out at him. They insulted him. “Ha! You who are going to destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, save Yourself, and come down from the cross!”
He wouldn’t stop looking at me. Every word they said seemed to go past him. He just looked at me. With so much love.
And then it happened. In agony, he was raising His head…trying to get words out. I was coming closer and closer. He lifted His voice and finally said something I couldn’t hear. I leaned in, but it was too late. His head hung down and His body went limp. The guard stood in front of Him like a statue. This Roman guard finally spoke, “Truly this was the Son of God.”
And then it hit me like a storm. “…the Son of God…the Son of man.”
This man was not like the murderer, Barabbas, the usurper and revolutionary.
This man was the Messiah, the Son of God…the One we had all been waiting for to save us and to heal us as a Shepherd cares for and loves His sheep.
And now He was dead.
My head dropped. My heart sank. I wanted to talk to Him. I wanted so badly to ask Him so many questions. But now He was gone.
I began to weep. I now understood. This was truly the Son of God.
As we contemplate our Lord’s passion and His death this Good Friday, let us always keep before us the pain he had to bear…the suffering and the anguish of taking upon Himself our sin for our salvation. May we always remember the price He paid in order to deal with the penalty of our sin. What love. What grace.
“For I handed down to you as of first importance what I also received, that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures…”
1 Corinthians 15:3
How deep the Father’s love for us?
How vast beyond all measure?
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure
How great the pain of searing loss?
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the Chosen One
Bring many sons to glory
Behold the man upon a cross
My sin upon His shoulders
Ashamed I hear my mocking voice
Call out among the scoffers
It was my sin that held Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I know that it is finished
I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection
Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom
Songwriters: Stuart Townend