Friday, April 6

Cross Walk

Finally Pilate handed him over to them to be crucified. So the soldiers took charge of Jesus. Carrying his own cross, he went out to the place of the Skull (which in Aramaic is called Golgotha). --John 19:16-17 (NIV)

It was already past our usual dinner time, and my stomach grumbled loudly in protest. Less than a mile from home, I was forced to stop at a red light. More than a dozen pedestrians occupied the cross walk. Normally, I wouldn't have given them a second glance, but there was something unusual about this bunch. Six or seven of them were wearing what appeared to be wearing costumes, and the group was led by a man wearing nothing but a loin cloth and a pair of sandals. He carried a cross.

At first I thought, "What a bunch of weirdos." Immediately ashamed of my attitude, I tried reasoning to myself that what I just witnessed was merely a stunt, a showy display, and not even an authentic one at that. Still, I couldn't escape the nagging feeling that I had been too quick to dismiss a visible reminder of God's love.

How many of those who witnessed Christ's Passion thought the same thing I did? Were they frustrated that a man carrying a cross through town was cluttering up the traffic, interfering with their Passover celebration? What thoughts crossed their minds as they watched a man, bloodied and beaten beyond recognition, trudge up to Golgotha? Did they dismiss and disdain him as easily as I had?

As I reflect on the magnitude and mystery of the Easter miracle, I pray for a renewal of my heart. I don't want to be unaffected by the outpouring of God's love, or complacent in my response to him.


Reflecting Pool

What sort of feelings are stirred in your heart at Easter?
Why do you think it's so difficult to stay enthusiastic about God's love?

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