Amy Linnea

“Abba, Father,” He cried out, “everything is possible for you. Please take this cup of suffering away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine.” Mark 14:36

Oh, Jesus, I see you.

I am near.

A face in the crowd.

I see your aching eyes.

I see what’s left of your precious body clinging to that horrid cross.

I’ve been a witness all day.

Your death is so real.

I cannot bear to look.

To think You are doing all of this for us.

For me.

What was it like to walk around this earth, knowing how your death would ultimately end?

How did your heart keep from worrying?

How did you keep your mind on the last supper, not worried to death anticipating the agony you knew was soon to come?

And even last month, how were you not overcome with preoccupation?

What did you do when fear and the temptation of avoidance entered your thoughts?

I know you are human with all the thoughts that flood our minds.

Yet you did not sin.

Teach me.

How did it feel when your best friends fell asleep that night, not watching your back or comforting you?

How about when your friend betrayed you in the garden?

I know you expected that, but it must have still disappointed you.

How did you deal with feeling alone during this time?

Teach me.

What was it like when the soldiers mocked you?

Didn’t you long to put them in their place?

That must have been difficult.

Teach me.

You let them taunt you, wetting your face with their spit.

What was it like to have your body whipped to the point of near death?

I cannot even imagine.

Or when they thrust the crown into your precious head?

The thorns went so deep.

I could hear the soldiers laughing, mocking your royal self after they “decorated” you.

I’m so sorry.

When they paraded you around in front of the cruel crowds, half naked and badly bleeding, it was unspeakable.

What were you thinking?

Was it hard not to speak in front of Pilot?

Was it difficult not to call down the angels to deliver you?

How did you stumble along the winding path, bearing the weight of the cross upon your weary body?

When they nailed your hands and feet, how in the world did you deal with that agony?

How did the unspeakable weight of the world’s sins feel on your shoulders?

You had never felt sin before.

Was that feeling of separation from God even worse than the physical pain, hard as that is to imagine?

How were you still filled with compassion for the lost while bearing unspeakable pain on the cross?

Teach me.

Every time I think about what You have done for us, I am brought to silence.

There are no words.

Except thank you.

Thank you for leaving heaven to give Your life for us here on earth.

You needed nothing, yet You gave it all up for us.

You came.

Willingly.

And now You are dying in place of us for our sins.

All of our sins.

All for us.

For me.

All because of love.

Your love for us.

For me.

I look once again at You, my precious Lord, dying on the cross.

Your breathing is slow.

Wait.

You are speaking.

Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.

You’re right.

They don’t know.

They couldn’t possibly do what they have done to you, knowing who you are.

Whose you are.

But I do.

Your body is still.

The sky is dark, almost like night.

My eyes are lowered in humility.

My tears fall onto the ground wetting the earth.

You were selfless until your last breath, which prayed for the lost.

How did You manage this cruel death, emotionally and physically?

Because of love.

Because of life.

Eternal life.

Because of the promise of life eternally with You.

Us with You.

Forever.

You gave your life for us.

May we in return live each day for You, reminded of Your selfless love, which died upon the cross securing our spots in heaven forever with You.

Photos by Jacob Meyer, Matthew Henry, phil thep & Austin Thesing on Unsplash