Good Friday, the day that Jesus was betrayed by Judas and given over “with a kiss”. The day that Jesus endured such brutality, such wrath. The venom that spewed from the mouths of the religious, the hatred so fueled with detest. For one man that did nothing of refute. It’s appalling to think on.
Having lost my son suddenly not long ago, I awoke to the thought of Mary, Jesus’ mother. How she had held this little life within her womb as I had mine. How not knowing at the time the horrific pain he’d one day undergo had to have felt. How painful that it must have been for her to watch, I can only imagine.
I can relate to having to watch him go through pains we have no control over because my son had his own, some of which I caused but could do nothing about. We can’t make someone forgive, we can only do everything to make things right. But her pain of helplessness while watching him die had to be immeasurable.
Oh how I wish I’d been there for my boy. You think, wasn’t there more I could have done? Why couldn’t I have had more time? Where are you in those hours, God?! Why don’t You help? Or doesn’t He? I don’t think a mother out there could endure such a pain without God’s help.
You may not have actually experienced it first hand. But if you’ve met Jesus you’ve had revelation of it, for sure. It’s what gets us through our own suffering to a degree. Knowing the pain He went through for us to not have to, that makes us grow more in love each day. At least the more we abide, fully reliant on Him, remembering the day and why.