PASTOR RICK'S BLOG  

Apr 2

The Day My Life Changed by Barbara Duerksen

The Day My Life Was Changed
As a young child, I heard of how He was called the Son of God, of how an angel spoke to Mary, a virgin, and told her she would bring forth a male child. I heard of how Scholars followed a star and found this child. I heard the story of angels, who brought news to shepherds. I've been in the crowds and have heard him teach. I don't know what to make of this man. How dare he say he is the SON of God? But the way he looks at people. Is he who he claims to be? He is just a carpenter. Or is he?

I wasn't there the day he rode into the city, but I heard tale of people waving palm branches and singing, "Hosanna, Blessed is he who comes in the name of the LORD". Why are people behaving so strangely around him? Who is this man? Now, I hear them say that the Rabbis have reason to put him to death. I hear he has broken Torah, the Law. Could it be true? Why else would such a man be put to death? Maybe he isn't who they have said he is. Maybe the stories aren't true.

The morning sun rose and brought with it a heavy feeling. Something doesn't feel right, I feel troubled. The stillness is eerie as I walk alone to the city to buy oil for Passover. There are so many people in the here today. Crowds swarm with many lining the streets. The uneasiness in me grows. Something is wrong. The crowds seem restless. Some are angry; some crying. What is going on?

I try to push my way through but I'm unable to see anything aside from angry Roman soldiers and the corner of a wooden beam. Are they crucifying criminals today? They are, and they are heading my way... I don't want to see him yet unable to look away. He has been severely beaten, he must be a murderer. The soldiers have chastised him like I've never seen before. His face is swollen, bloody, bruised. He has bald spots in his hair and beard. The soldier closest to me just raised his fist to strike the man and entangled in his fingers is the hair of this man's head. As he hits the man, blood splatters. His back is almost skinless from the beating. I feel dizzy. This is certainly not the place for me. I must go now, I can't stand to watch any longer. Turning away, I begin to run, until she catches my eye. Who is she? The look in her eyes takes my breath away. The pain; the knowing. Is it his mother, weeping and wiping his spilled blood? She isn't loud, not making a scene, just weeping, cringing with every blow.

I can't stay here! I must get away! My feet moving faster than I ever dreamed they could. Everything in the city becomes a blur, a mixture of disbelief and tears. Running, but where am I? The crowds are so dense, I don't know where I am. It can't be! I didn't! Oh, but I have... I've run to the place they are hanging these men. How? Why? Why am I here? Is this real? I must be dreaming, I think. The thundering sound of hammering nails and mixture of angry and desperate screams bring me back to this reality. Why are they NAILING him to the tree? That isn't common practice. The cross is lifted and with a deafening thud drops into the whole that was dug for it. Who is this man? He turns his head and looks at me.
Those eyes, they are looking directly into my soul. Haunting yet somehow, soothing. Eyes of compassion. Compassion... EYES OF COMPASSION...I've seen those eyes. I saw them as he fed thousands of us with just one basket of food. I saw those eyes as he reached down and lifted my little brother onto his lap while teaching. Only one man has ever pierced my soul with a look. Can it be? It is ...It is Yeshua. Those eyes fixed on me. Through the blood, I see His glory, through my tears I see His pain. He is lifted up, yet no one is praising Him. The Son of God, horrifyingly beautiful. He turns His head toward the heavens, pushing the crown of thorns deeper into his head. With a loud voice he says, "Father forgive them, they don't know what they are doing." Chills dance up and down my spine as he proclaims, "IT IS FINISHED". The sky grows dark and a cold wind blows. I feel weak and fall to the ground, covering my face with my hands. Why would they kill the Son of God? I pick up the corner of my dress, to dry my eyes, is this his blood? His blood on me? What have I done? It was me, it was my sin that nailed Him to the tree. NO! I did this! "Forgive me", I plead! The ground begins to shake violently. Thundering, pounding me into the ground, I can't move, it's dark...I'm afraid...I close my eyes tightly.

When my eyes open again, the sun is shining so brightly. Where am I? Was that a dream? How did I get home? How long have I slept? The house is quiet. Was it real? The only way to be sure is to go to the tomb. Yes, I'll take flowers to the tomb. This must be where they placed him. Wait, who is that? A shining being; the stone has been rolled away. Have they stolen his body? What is he telling those women? Did that being say "He is not here, He has RISEN!" Risen?? Can it be? I follow the women at a distance, so curious as to where they are going. The gardener is approaching, maybe he knows something. That isn't a gardener, he looks like...no...it can't be! I rub my eyes and look again. Those eyes...I know those eyes. Yeshua? "They will destroy the temple and in three days it will be raised again", I remember those strange words. How can that be? She called Him 'Master'. Master? Master! It is indeed! He died and now He lives. He DIED, I watched it; He LIVES, I see Him. The stories were all true. He is who he claimed to be! The Messiah.The Passover Lamb who was sacrificed for our atonement. (c) Barbara Moss 1996

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