I couldn't bear even the thought of it. It made my skin crawl, my stomach turn.
Who could bear the viewing of such agony?
It's hit me afresh recently ... the outrageous cruelty, the gruesome barbaric scene, the ultimate sacrifice we consider this Holy Week. And who are the eyewitnesses to this horrific crucifixion? His mother, Mary ... and 'many women were there, watching from a distance.'
All the disciples, the multitudes, the followers? The only one mentioned is John, and Jesus entrusts His mother to his care ... her children, for some reason, weren't present. Mark 6 tells us that Jesus had at least 3 brothers and 2 sisters.
Where did they disappear to? Did they flee for the hills in fear? Did they not believe He was who He said He was? How could they not be there to support their Brother, their mother?
My questions lead to more considerations. Unsettling personal ones. Hard stuff.
If I had been in town that day, how would I have demonstrated my love for the Christ I had committed to follow? What choices would I have made as He groaned in agony, bloodied and battered, spikes holding his broken body to raw and ragged wood, noontime sky turning dark and the curtain of the temple torn in two from top to bottom?
For me. For my sins.
Would I have been fully present to the Son of God in every way possible?
I'd like to think that by some kind of amazing grace I wouldn't have denied knowing Him. Or skedaddled off to ride out the sheer terror of it all in the relative comfort and safety of my home. I'm hoping I wouldn't have made haste for the hills or scurried off somewhere to bury my head in the sand.
God only knows.
sharing questions with