Reflect

The next several days will be spent at the foot of Jesus’ cross. Make sure you have enough time, and a quiet place to focus. Rest in the compassionate presence of God, who loves you and gives His life for you. Softly, slowly speak or sing the words to the following old hymn:

And Can It Be That I Should Gain?

Charles Wesley

And can it be that I should gain

An interest in the Savior’s blood?

Died He for me, who caused His pain?

For me, who Him to death pursued?

Amazing love! how can it be

That Thou, my God, shouldst die for me?


He left His Father’s throne above,

So free, so infinite His grace!

Emptied Himself of all but love,

And bled for Adam’s helpless race!

’Tis mercy all, immense and free,

For, O my God, it found out me.

Amazing love! how can it be

That Thou, my God, shouldst die for me?

Read

Jesus was saying, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34 NASB)

The hustle and bustle of life goes on below the crucifixion mount. Though travelers stop now and then to stare inquisitively, the bodies hanging there are a disturbing sight, and most hurry on to their business within the city.

Those who’ve come to watch the crucifixions form an eclectic group—religious leaders with righteous resolve, soldiers there to do a job, and curious onlookers who hope for some entertainment from this One rumored to possess magical powers.

There is another group, separate from the rest. One man and a handful of women huddle a short way from the center cross in stoic silence, grief covering their tear-streaked faces. Some recognize John as the follower of Jesus, his arm around an older woman who cannot take her swollen eyes from the scene before her.

Jesus, now flushed with fever, feels suffocation closing in like a vise as He gasps for breath. Raising Himself up on His feet to exhale and relieve the constriction in His chest, He is jolted by sharp pains shooting through His calves and within seconds must drop down again.

The soldiers, calloused from exposure to a thousand days like this one, look for ways to occupy the time. Sporadic laughter erupts as they entertain one another with coarse jokes. Those in charge of the Crucifixion flank the three crosses. They must stay to the end, making sure no one takes a body down before proof of death.

One of them notices the pile of clothing on the ground at Jesus’ feet. Calling to the others, he asks how they want to divide it. They examine each piece, shaking their heads. Not much worth having this time—bloody stains have ruined most of it. Someone must have removed the head covering during the scourging, for it alone appears unsoiled.

The captain quickly claims it for himself while the others haggle over the rest. One takes the worn sandals, another the girdle, and a third the robe. The only thing left is the inner tunic. It is so saturated with blood that one cannot see the original color. Someone suggests they divide it into four parts—the only fair way to dispose of the fifth piece of clothing, worthless though it might be.

Trying to find a good place to tear it, they soon realize there are no seams. Turning it over and over, they are amazed. Superstitious and fearful of the strange garment, no one wants to bother with it. They pass the crusty cloth around, finally deciding its fate through a guessing game with their fingers. The winner tosses the seamless tunic aside.

Above the revelry the three condemned to die hang silently, save an occasional groan or cry from one of the robbers. Jesus does not make a sound. The soldiers look them over, and satisfied that death is not imminent, take their positions once again.

“Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.” Those near the cross are startled by the voice of the One hanging in the center. What a strange thing to say. Who tugs at Jesus’ heartstrings this moment? Cold and calculating soldiers who have no idea that He may one day save their souls? Stony-hearted priests and elders who’ve made an idol of their rules and abandoned the living God? Passersby whose lives are so empty they find diversion in the horror of a crucifixion?

Some draw closer as if they hope to hear Him a little better. It is difficult to read the expression on Jesus’ face after having uttered His first words from the cross. A gentle anguish seems to cloud His eyes. Seven times Jesus will find the fortitude to lift Himself and speak cryptic words as He hangs from the cross. But this first utterance reflects a depth of compassion beyond human understanding.

Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.

In the unseen realm, God the Father gently nods His head, and angels’ hearts break at such amazing love.

Respond

Close your eyes to experience this moment at the cross. See the soldiers laugh and joke as they divide Jesus’ clothes. Smell the sweat in the air as the morning sun burns down. Hear the rumble of conversation among the high priests. Look at Jesus hanging there. See His eyes on you. Hear Him say, “Father, forgive,” for every act of sin, rebellion, apathy, or disobedience you have ever committed or will commit.

Read the following verse, very slowly: “God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8 NASB). Worship God and thank Him. Write a prayer based on this truth.

A Prayer

Dearest Savior, I hear Your voice breaking through the heat of a summer morning and the busyness of my days. I am back there—standing at Your feet with heartless soldiers and hardhearted priests. I, too, have sealed Your fate with my sins and am in desperate need of compassion. So tenderly You offer forgiveness to them . . . to the world . . . to me. Your voice descends like a gentle rain on the desert of my heart until I am soft and pliable in Your nail-pierced hands.

Reprinted by permission. Contemplating the Cross: a Forty Day Pilgrimage of Prayer, Tricia McCary Rhodes, 2004, Thomas Nelson, Inc., Nashville, Tennessee. All rights reserved. Copying or using this material without written permission from the publisher is strictly prohibited and in direct violation of copyright law.

<< Back to the Soul at Rest Home Page

Copyright © 2004 Tricia McCary Rhodes