A few years later the opportunity arose to turn those prayer journals into a book that might lead others on their own journey to Calvary. Never before had I faced a more difficult writing assignment, nor have I since. Day after day I sat at my computer as the agony of the Cross consumed my heart. Trying over and over again to delve the grim depths of Christ's final moments became, for me, a personal crucifixion.

I saw the humility of the Lord as Jewish leaders jabbed and spat upon Him, and I was undone at my pride. I surveyed the torture inflicted on His body in the scourging alone, and was disconcerted by the weakness of my resolve. I watched the courage of Mary, His mother and John, His friend, and was ashamed at my nonchalance. I saw the cup from which Jesus yearned to be delivered, and glimpsed for perhaps a second the wretchedness of my own depravity swirling in its depths.

With every day, my depression grew and at times I could do nothing but weep, and wait upon God for strength to write once again. Even now the memories flood my heart with a familiar ache. What relief I felt the day I completed my final editing of the manuscript and sent it off.

A few days later my editor called to express concern over the final chapter on the Resurrection, which I'd written rather hurriedly. He encouraged me to re-visit the subject, suggesting that the exhilaration of that event simply did not come through in my writing. He wondered if perhaps my own journey through the pain of the Cross had kept me from experiencing the radical joy of the Resurrection.

He was right. As I began to contemplate those moments and the people to whom the risen Christ appeared, a wonderful thing happened. The great weight of the crucifixion lifted, and it seemed as if life was seeping back into my veins once again. I felt a little like Mary, who must have danced through the streets crying out to anyone who would listen: I have seen the Lord. I began to grasp that the galling glory of Christ's death takes on breathtaking hues when viewed through the shimmering prism of resurrection.

Imagine for a moment ...Long has earth lain captive under the curse of death. The glory with which God intended to cover her orb seems forever hidden from view. Men and women, once created in His image to shine forth like a glorious beacon, bear instead the image of the earthy -- depraved and driven by self-love and sin. Groaning under the weight of this evil darkness, all of creation cries out for relief. Arrogant demons flaunt their freedom, wallowing in the hopelessness that permeates the ranks of humanity. It seems as if Satan, stretching forth the tentacles of his limited power, holds the whole world in his grip.

At no time is this more keenly felt than as Christ's body is left to rot in earth's most desolate tomb. Those who had staked their future on His promise of life now seem of all people, most to be pitied. And yet ...all is not as it seems. While disheartened followers grieve and Pharisees breathe sighs of relief, the Spirit of Christ moves throughout the cosmos, crashing through Hades' gates to proclaim victory over sin and death. In the pit of hell, fallen angels rage at the Son of God who lives after all.(Taken from my book, Contemplating the Cross).

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A Prayer

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