So What Then, Is My Response To The Cross?

I was at a worship event last night for Good Friday.  And there was all the expected commenting on what that Friday 2000 years ago represented.  Artistic photos of the gray-skinned, bruised arm, hanging from the cross, pierced and bloody, yet reaching out, symbolically reaching towards us in love.   Video of the hill, Golgotha, the crosses, intermittent with Jesus’ own words from scripture, “do this in remembrance of me.”   And a reminder from the pastor that “tonight is not about the celebration, but that tonight is about the struggle, the pain, the sacrifice, dwell on that tonight.”

So I dwelled.  Excruciating physical pain, agonizing heartache, blinding emotional pain.  Do we really know what these words mean?  Some of us do.  If you’ve lost someone close to you, if you’ve experienced a terrible tragedy, if you’ve fought a devastating disease, you know that type of pain.  Not on the level of our Lord, but at the depth we are capable to humanly feel the words above. 

So I sat in my pew and thought about it, and then I let that pain in.   I let myself feel the pain of loss, injustice and disease that has wreaked havoc on the lives of those around me and on my own family in the last few years.  And I let myself feel the pain anew that I had been blocking, ignoring, pretending wasn’t there for quite some time now.  I felt it as if every feeling was fresh that day.  Aching pain that crushed my chest to the point of barely breathing, I shook and sobbed, not even aware to be concerned of how I appeared to other worshippers around me.

And even as I drowned in the feelings of pain, I understood within myself, completely, that this was nothing compared to Christ’s pain & suffering, physically, and his anguish in the sacrifice he chose to make for me, for us.

And the worship pastor asked us to consider our response.  “So what then, is our response to the cross? Reflect on that as we sing.” 

My response struck me full in my tear-streaked face.  My heart pounded and I cried as it took my breath literally away.  In that instant, my pain turned to joy, but a joy so forceful and shocking that it felt more intense than the pain.  A joy so full that I cried harder and the weight of the truth of what Jesus did for us was more crushing in my chest than the pain.  I’m having trouble finding words to express the beauty, intensity and fright of this moment.  My chest aches today and my eyes well up just to think of it again.

That truth, many of you already know.  He felt more pain than we can ever imagine even in our deepest moments of ache, because he loves us more than we can ever understand, even at the depths of our ability to love.

  “He is jealous for me, loves like a hurricane, I am a tree, bending beneath the weight of His wind & mercy.” (How He Loves, David Crowder)

“His love is deep, His love is wide, and it covers us.  His love is fierce, His love is strong, it is furious.  His love is sweet, His love is wild, and it’s waking hearts to life.” (Furious, Jeremy Riddle)

These were some of the lyrics we sang, last night, of many more, all in the theme of love.  But really, do you imagine his love as a hurricane?  Swirling furiously, a love so strong to turn your world upside down, a wild love, a fierce love.  We don’t like to think about love like that.  But oh, how He loves us.  And for a few moments last night, I felt that…I felt love so fierce it crushed me, a love so strong it was painful to bear. 

And what is my response?  Joy, a joy so true that I can’t explain it…a feeling so deep that it is missed in every day happiness.  I threw myself into the depths of pain, and was rewarded a joy so wild that it swirled through me like a hurricane. 

Perhaps joy seems odd here to you.  Perhaps joy should be reserved for Easter Sunday and the celebration.  By my response to the cross is joy, joy that is from the core, the real heart of the matter.  As I dwelt on the struggle and in the pain, my heart and mind attuned to his sacrifice and love for us, the only response my body could bring forth was joy.

Christ did this for every single person in the 2000 years since the night of his death, and he did it for every single person that will be from now until he comes again.  And that makes me a very insignificant pinprick on the timeline of God’s kingdom.  Some may feel small & unimportant at this, but ironically, it brings me great comfort.  I am comforted at the idea that the losses in my life are ultimately not as significant in God’s economy as they are in my life, that things that seem insurmountable to me won’t matter at all on the tapestry being woven of the work of Christ. 

YET, He cares. He loves me and each one of us enough, that though we are just a pinprick, he made the ultimate sacrifice for ME and YOU.   We shouldn’t even matter, we are just a grain of sand in the true work of His kingdom, and yet, he loves us fiercely, like a hurricane.  Each one of us. 

Joy.  That is what I feel as I prepare for tomorrow’s celebration, and I think I will look at it in a fresh way tomorrow morning than perhaps I ever have before. 

He is not here; he is risen, just as he said.  Come and see where he lay.”  Matt 28:6

I will celebrate this miracle that is our grace, our hope and our future.  I will know that our great God lives, is alive and working as much today as he was 2000 years ago.  But my JOY will be great for the truth of his love and his pain.  And I have never been more grateful for the cross.