I’ve tried to make it a practice of reading the account of Christ’s death, burial, and resurrection from one of the gospels every Sunday before church.  It doesn’t happen every week, but it’s always worth it when I can.  This practice started after last Easter when I mentioned to my Pastor how much more real Easter was to me that year.  He understood.  He had been in a similar frame of mind not that many years ago when his beloved wife died suddenly leaving him a single father of seven.  But he said something that really stuck with me, he said almost in passing that really, every Sunday is a celebration of Christ’s resurrection.  My mind was very simple at that time and that thought of celebrating what Christ did for me EVERY Sunday was a profound thought to me…still is.  But to celebrate Christ’s resurrection, you have to grieve His death.

So, that’s the story behind why I started making this a habit.  I have since read each account many times and yet, each time I am deeply moved and often see something new.  God’s Word is truly living and active…amazing!  I’m posting this now because I believe it’s very appropriate on Good Friday, but it actually happened last Sunday.

Last Sunday I had time before my kids woke up to read in the book of Luke the account of Christ’s sacrifice.  I have always heard and believed that it was MY sin that nailed Him to the cross, but have also been admittedly sickened by all the brutality and utter disregard of my Lord before the actual crucifixion.  But on Sunday as I was once again reading through it, my ugliness without Christ was brought home like never before.  All of a sudden I saw myself in the picture that was being painted with the words before me.

For every time I pretend like God can’t see me and I do what I want to do instead, I am the soldiers who blindfolded, mocked, and struck my Jesus.

Every time I fear man more than I fear my God, I am Pilate, afraid to stand up for truth.

Every time I question His provision or His leading, I question who He is and I am the chief priests and scribes.

Every time I say He is the King of my heart but actually put my own desires first, I am Herod and his soldiers mocking my Lord.

Every time I offer a sacrifice with a heart that is not sincere, I am the soldiers offering Jesus sour wine.

I know there are more that I could come up with, but honestly, these are heavy enough.  I deserved ALL of that pain and punishment.  All of it.  But my Jesus looked on me, covered in my filthy sin, and loved me.  That completely blows me away.  Such heaviness and grief today…but, Sunday’s coming!  Oh hallelujah!  Sunday is coming!

“But He was pierced for our rebellion, crushed for our sins. 

He was beaten so we could be whole.

  He was whipped so we could be healed.”  Isaiah 53:5