Today I stood at my kitchen sink, doing the mundane, daily task of washing my dishes, looking out the window watching the dark clouds roll in and the rain begin to fall. An Easter Music playlist played and, to my neighbors chagrin, I belted it out.
The mood of today seems appropriately reflective of the Easter weekend.
I gathered with my church last evening for a Good Friday service, and I will gather again tomorrow for an Easter service, and what a privilege it is to know the end of the story.
However, my thoughts, as I washed my dishes to the Glory of God, went to the people who stood at the foot of the cross, witnessing the most historic death ever to be recorded–the most impactful death.
There is Mary–mother of Jesus. As a mother myself, I cannot FATHOM what she must have been feeling. But as I have never birthed the Son of God, raised Him to manhood, and took care of His most basic needs, my imagination can only do so much.
Then there is John (you know the disciple Jesus loved?), being tasked by Jesus Himself to take care of Mary, and losing a brother, a friend, a Savior. Again, my imagination can only go so far.
But there is one individual in the scene, who I can painfully identify with. And he is so briefly mentioned in the books of Matthew and Mark. We aren’t told his name, just that he was a centurion who stood opposite Jesus, and when Jesus breathed his last he said “Truly this man was the Son of God!”
And here my imagination runs wild with understanding. A man who actively took part in placing Jesus on the tree. Caught up with the energy of the crowd, “crucify, crucify!” Mocking, jeering, disbelieving.
Only to come to the sudden and startling realization as Jesus drew His last breath that he’d just taken part in crucifying the Son of God, the Savior of the world.
I can only imagine how his Saturday must have felt. Did his heart stay sunk in the pit of his stomach? Did he lose sleep? Pace the floor beside his bed questioning how he, how they all, could have been so blind?
Maybe it’s the creative writer in me, but I imagine Jesus on the cross meeting this centurions gaze headlong, allowing him to feel the full force of this sacrifice, to the see the depths of love in His eyes, and breathing His last, gazing back to the sky as He gives up His life for this centurion, for every person standing there at the foot of the cross, and for every person from time before and time yet to come.
I relate to this centurion most of all. And I think if we’re honest, we all do. We get caught up with culture. We get caught up with the noise of our time. We get caught up with entertainment. We get caught up with our own problems and discomforts.
We forget the weight of His sacrifice. We forget how much He’s done for us. We forget the depth and breadth of His unfathomable love for us.
But this Easter weekend, I ask you all to meet Jesus’ gaze.
Maybe you’re meeting it for the first time, coming to see your sin for what it is, and seeing His precious blood cover it all. The heavens rejoice when even one soul is saved!
But maybe, like me, you’ve met Jesus, walked with Jesus, but you need to come once more–to remember what and who He died for, and to open both hands, yet again, and ask the Lord to help you let go of the things of this world and to focus on eternal things. Maybe you need to lay down your idols–anything or anyone who has your worship instead of the One, True King.
Mark 15:37-39
Jesus let out a loud cry and breathed his last.
Then the curtain of the temple was torn in two
from top to bottom.
When the centurion, who was standing opposite him,
saw the way he breathed his last, he said,
“Truly this man was the Son of God.”
Truly, indeed. Happy Easter!
What are some things you’re reflecting on this Easter weekend?
Olive & Moor 