Good Friday. The one day, the only day, that I would not have wanted to be alive when Jesus walked the earth. To see what he went through - for me, and for you - would have been unbearable, I think. Especially when I search my heart and know how absolutely undeserving I am of that kind of love. Absolutely undeserving.
What can I say? He suffered. In ways beyond belief and human understanding, he suffered. The Son of God. He died. The King of Glory, died. Horribly, he died. He did it for you and He did it for me.
What kind of love is that? What kind of value does that place on each of our lives? What kind of devotion should it elicit from us in return?
I am standing here this Good Friday morning, knowing what kind of a friend I am to to Him, and to those He loves, in comparison to what kind of a friend He has been to me, and I know that on that Good Friday so long ago, someone should have died all right. But it should have been me.
“You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us." Romans 5: 6-8 NIV
"He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows... But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed." Isaiah 53: 3-5 NIV