There are times that I can look at the cross, the resurrection, the whole passion through some very distanced eyes of theological reflection, the magnitude of the impact across time and humanity, and the results of transforming power to people across the ages. I have to stop. I need to be still. I must connect the dots between my mind, my heart, indeed my very soul to embrace the wonder of the whole thing.
I try to look through the human eyes of the people there, including Jesus himself. For example, Mary, the mother of Jesus is there. Yes, Mary was visited by an
angel. Yes, Mary knew Jesus was different from the other boys as he dialoged with the religious elders in the temple. Yes, Yes, Mary was warned about this day. But there he is, her SON. She is his mother. All the theology in the world doesn’t take away having her heart twisted by the sight before her… her son dying before her eyes… his blood dripping to the ground… the agony of indescribable pain… his silence when beaten and gentleness when speaking to even those considered his enemies.
Or, Jesus himself… It hurt to have the primitive nails driven through his flesh. The lashes he received stung….. The loneliness in the midst of the crowd; no one could say “I understand!” with any integrity. Yes, Jesus is God, but he is also the son of Mary.
When I’ve allowed my heart to wander through the people in the crowd and even the person on the cross itself, it is then that I fall to my knees humbled and overwhelmingly grateful and mutter to myself – “For me. Thank you.”
The depth of my brokenness at the foot of the cross is what amplifies my shout at the empty tomb “He is Risen!” To know the profound joy of the resurrection, be sure to stop and meditate at the foot of the cross for a while.
Don’t rush through this season. Slow down. Go back as often as you must until your heart cries “For me. Thank you.”