Day Fourteen

Mindful Anticipation

As I've been thinking about Jesus' last days on Earth, lots of thoughts have been vying for my attention - like the fact that he was about 33 years old when his work here was finished. Did it feel like there was so much left to do? Did he feel like he didn't have enough time? Did he want more? He was God so he knew what awaited him. He was man so he must have felt human emotions. Was he apprehensive? Was he afraid? We're told he asked for "the cup to be removed." It wasn't his first choice. As man, did it feel like too much? The burden he was asked to bear - was it too heavy? He knew he was going to die but he also knew all the circumstances surrounding his death. He knew one of his closest friends would be the one to identify him. A person who had walked with him, served with him, shared life with him. A person whom Jesus loved. Did it break his heart to find out that he was no more valuable to this man than coins? Did it tear him up that his closest "brothers" didn't come to his defense? What had he done to deserve such treatment? Did he try to make sense of the senseless?

I think about the things that might have been going through his head. Well, I guess I think about the things that would be going through MY head. I wouldn't have a lot of love floating around in my heart. The warm feelings would be long gone. There would be anger, bitterness, betrayal. There would be an attitude of, "Fine then. If this is how you repay my love - save yourselves. I'm done with you." A verse, mentioned in Luke, stops me in my tracks. Before a lot of the betrayal had happened, but not before Jesus KNEW it would happen...Jesus stopped. He looked out over the city. He thought about its occupants. He probably thought about me. He knew the hatred that exists in the hearts of man. He knew the cruel torture they were going to inflict on him. He knew they would strip him, tear his flesh, humiliate him. He knew it would be painful...excruciatingly painful. The very people of this city would ultimately kill him but when he looked over the city these things are not what captured his thoughts. The people are what captivated him. When he thought about all they would lose, all they would suffer...he cried. He cried for their pain. For my pain. He cried for the times I would reject him. For the separation I would feel when I put up walls. For the aching heart I would have from keeping him out of my life. I think these are things that were on his mind. Out of an act of obedience to his Father and a heart of devotion for me, he urged the donkey forward, he heard the cries of "Hosanna," he gathered with his followers in the upper room, he ate with them, he prayed, he went without fighting when his friend kissed his cheek. He would very shortly die for that friend. For those guards that tortured him. For those Jews who turned on him. For me. It is a love that is too big to comprehend. I can write about it. I can try to think about it but my brain is not big enough to hold all the implications. It doesn't work fast enough to sort through all that Jesus' death means. I just know it means life for me.