There He stood.
Arms and back lacerated. Blood flowing from every inch of his body.
Yeshua, disfigured. Unidentifiable.
Struggling with every last ounce of strength and determination to sustain the jagged wooden beams across his back. His face, torn and blood splotched, briefly lifted. His eyes, nearly blinded by the blood dripping down from thorns, strained to make out the shape of a craggy hill. Finally, Golgotha was growing nearer.
Just a few... more... steps.
Just a few... more... steps.
His arms, soaked with sweat and blood, clung to the cross as His precious instrument of redemption- His only way to save us.
Half-dried blood clung to his face, hair, and what was left of His scraggly beard. Tears stung his swollen eyes as he recognized the bitter taste of blood even in his teeth. He looks to the sky, and dreads that moment.
The moment He will feel the full weight of it- the inconceivable burden. All of the rage, the disease, the depravity, the loneliness, the ache of humanity. The wrath of God contained in his one body. He would drink the cup.
The thought brings a new wave of anguish over his throbbing heart, the mental trauma more fierce than even the pain of his gaping wounds. The horror of crucifixion hangs over him. His humanity dreads the savage darkness taunting him, as he takes one step after another. And yet He looks into the angry and frightened faces around Him, lost lambs in need of the Shepherd. This is why He is here. He closes His eyes and sees them, this raging sea of humanity. Even in his misery, compassion floods his being as he keeps on...step by step... to Golgotha.
My Father... He breathes. Help me make it all the way. Not my will, but yours be done.
The prayer is enough to sustain Him the rest of the way. He lurches forward as he stumbles over stones he cannot see on the way up. Leather and metal shards rip through his back again as he is commanded to get up. Yet it is love, not lashes, that compel Him to get on his feet, to carry the cross all the way. Jeers and mockery fill his ears as he struggles again to lift the beam.
Just three more steps... now, two... just one. He sighs, utterly exhausted. It’s almost done. Just a few more hours... He drops the beams and musters his last ounce of strength to complete the final stage of the redemption plan. He collapses. All goes black for a moment. Demonic faces haunt him. Exhaustion assails him.
Oh God, give me strength to finish the mission.
Strength comes. Yeshua comes to, as saliva splatters his face. Brash insults fall on his ears as he inhales the foul stench of the centurion's breath. It's all He can do to crawl... inch by inch... to the cross. He desperately gropes to feel the wooden beams beneath Him. The blood and sweat cloud his vision. He feels the jagged surface graze his arm.
Here it is. It's almost finished.
He breathes deeply for strength, and knows that soon breath will be impossible to find.
Almost relieved, He attempts to lay His body down across the beams. But a sudden brutal kick sends him sprawling. He tortuously picks his body up to lay it down again. One limb at a time, he settles himself onto the wood. He is ready. His arms stretch out, palms open to receive the nails.
He is too exhausted to even flinch as the nails pierce his hands and feet. Deeper and deeper the nails are driven, the hammers pound. He squeezes his eyes shut. He sees the faces again. The faces of the guilty. The ones He audaciously loves. His inner eyes gaze in wonder on the faces of the redeemed, the faces of children who would become the righteousness of God because He was about to become sin itself.... They are worth it. Just a few more hours.
He moans as he is raised up. For six hours his legs and shoulders excruciatingly take turns between hoisting himself up, and gasping for air.... The One who breathed life into Adam's nostrils now fought for breath. The darkness is overwhelming; the heaviness is suffocating him. His body is breaking. He surrenders His heart to be broken too.
Vulnerable to the ones He created, He gives one last passionate cry. The intermittent rising and falling of his chest finally slows. He relinquishes the fight. He is still.
It is finished.
I offered my back to those who beat me, my cheeks to those who pulled out my beard; I did not hide my face from mocking and spitting. . .He was led like a lamb to the slaughter . . For he was cut off from the land of the living; for the transgression of my people he was stricken . . .After the suffering of His soul, He will see the light of life and be satisfied. . .my righteous servant will justify many, and He will bear their iniquities . . . because He poured out His life unto death. . .and made intercession for the transgressors.
Isaiah 50 and 53
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