He Thought Of Me
Last night at dinner we were discussing the upcoming Easter holiday. I mentioned to the kids they would have no school on Good Friday. My daughter asked me what Good Friday was and I explained it was the day Jesus was crucified; the Friday before Easter Sunday. “Oh,” she said somberly. “That was a really sad day. Why do we call it Good Friday? What was so good about it?” It’s a fair question. We all know the “good” part came on Sunday. We get dressed up for Sunday. We bake a ham for Sunday. We color eggs for Sunday. Sunday is worth celebrating. But what was so good about Friday?
If I’m being honest, I don’t like dwelling on the details of that Friday. I remember going to the theatre to see, The Passion of the Christ, and I almost walked out during the crucifixion scene. I couldn’t stomach the brutality. I’d read about the atrocities Jesus experienced in my Bible, but they were just words on a page. Seeing them played out on the big screen was more than I could take. I squeezed my eyes shut and plugged my ears until it was over. How Jesus’ loved ones endured His death is beyond my comprehension. The gospels tell us that the women (Jesus’ mother and other close friends) were with Him until the end, watching the entire thing. I am awestruck by their strength. I’m not sure I could’ve done the same. How could they bear it? How could they witness the gruesome death of their son, their Savior, and their Teacher? Where was the good in that? They couldn’t have understood. They couldn’t have known what was coming. How did they make it through Friday without the hope of Sunday? Even more impossible to understand is how Jesus got through it.
Jesus withdrew from His friends to pray the night before He was killed. He began with, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me,” (Luke 22:42). Now that I understand. Knowing what was coming, Jesus made one last-ditch effort to request a pass on the whole death-by-crucifixion thing. Who could blame Him? It was one of the most feared and brutal forms of punishment. No one in their right mind would choose it. “Yet not my will, but yours be done,” Jesus finished. No braver words have ever been said. Jesus surrendered His desire to avoid a gruesome death and chose His Father’s good and perfect plan, and in doing so He chose you; He chose me.
As He hung from the cross, nails deep in His hands and feet, “The people stood watching, and the rulers even sneered at him. They said, ‘He saved others; let him save himself if he is God’s Messiah, the Chosen One,’” (Luke 23:35). “One of the criminals who hung there hurled insults at him: ‘Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!’” (v. 39) Could He have saved Himself? Of course. He could have called legions of angels to His aide. He could have struck down every one of His accusers. He could have proven to everyone watching, right then and there, that He was the Son of God. It may have saved some. But the only way to save you, me, and all of humanity, was to finish what He set out to do.
His death was so much more than a crucifixion, a capital punishment enforced by a corrupt Roman government. His death was so much more than the product of a friend’s betrayal, the insistent demands of an unruly crowd, and the cowardly choice of a resigned leader. His death was so much more than an unfair sentence issued to a man who’d done nothing wrong. Jesus didn’t just carry a cross and wear a crown of thorns. He carried the sin of the world and wore our shame. Jesus experienced everything we deserved. In those final moments, His heart which knew nothing of sin was shrouded in darkness. He was separated from His Father, God. For Jesus, the weight of the world was far heavier than the weight of the cross. The pain of the whips, the thorns, and the beatings are all incomparable to the pain of our disobedience, our greed, our corruption, our selfishness; every single one of our sins. The word, “good” when defined as a noun, is described as a “benefit or advantage to someone.” Jesus’s death, was without question, for the good of mankind. He knew this. It’s why He chose you. It’s why He chose me. It’s why He chose the cross.
When my daughter was three years old I was reading her our favorite Easter book, The Tale of Three Trees. In it was a picture of Jesus carrying His cross, wearing a crown of thorns on His head, and an angry mob jeering at Him as He struggled. I remember asking her, “How do you think Jesus got through such a horrible thing?” After a brief pause, she simply said, “He thought of me.” Yes, He did. Friday was good because that day Jesus did for us what we could never have done for ourselves. He bridged the chasm between us and God, making a way for us to be with Him forever. Agonizing as it was, God’s deepest desire was fulfilled that day. His love for us was exemplified in the sacrifice of His Son. He showed us how far He was willing to go to save us. There is no greater gift He could have given us. He chose you. He chose me. “Good,” doesn’t even come close to describing it.