Surely he has borne our infirmities and carried our diseases….—Isaiah 53:4
Amid the dead, dry jeers of the crowd and the hollow clank of Roman armor, we arrive.
Not this hill, Lord. Not this scene.
If I must look, I want to gaze up at Him from below as one of the crowd. Given the choice, I will join those shout “Crucify him!” only let me distance myself from His suffering. But God lifts me up until I hang eye to eye with Him—myself a thief suspended on a neighboring cross.
My Lord’s chest shudders with the agony of breath; a sluggish breeze stirs a tangle of hair not yet matted to His brow. Fresh rivulets of red pour from new wounds in His wrists. I smell the stench of cheap wine and the salt odor of dying sweat.
O God, I cannot bear it—how can I endure the sight of Your suffering?
“Do you love me?” Jesus’ eyes implore.
“Jesus, you know I love You.”
Is this, then, the price of love? I know instantly that it is.
When God Walks Away excerpt