A man of sorrows; acquainted with grief. Isa 53:3
It's the season of the crucifixion and it's not always my favorite focus. Maybe I just prefer my Jesus seated on a rock, surrounded by children, nearly giggling as He delights in their childlike faith. Maybe I'd rather focus on the Jesus of Advent where hope comes into the world in the form of a cooing baby. Maybe I want my Jesus whisked off to Heaven with a hug from the Father saying, "Good enough! I could never make you suffer. You are innocent and you are mine. Let them fend for themselves."
I want a God who didn't have to suffer for me.
But at the same time, I want a relationship with an understanding God. When the darkness closes in and the light is hard to find, I want a God who anguished.
When it seems my will doesn't stand a chance of matching His, I want a God who said, "Not my will. Yours."
When the decisions of others have made things harder for me and my mercy is limited - I need to hear the voice from the cross, "Forgive them."
When I feel forsaken I need to hear Him say, "Yes. Been there."
And more than anything, I want to be right with the Father. Impossible in my humanity, yet I find myself justified in His suffering.
Communion always takes on a greater meaning for me this time of year. Sunday I sat there and really listened (okay, I don't always!). "This is My blood. Shed for you."
You. You. You. Shed for.......me.
The one who has a willing heart but seriously weak flesh at times.
The one who wants more than my next breath to know Him more.
The one who who more often than "Father forgive them," finds herself saying, "Father forgive......me."
And this season of Lent I can't help but come face to face with the question, "Was I worth it?"
If I listen really closely I can hear that gentle whisper from the cross, "Yes."
And you don't get that kind of answer from a God who hasn't been there.