Warning: This post may be graphic.
God, if You were a man standing before me right now (forgive me), I would rip at Your clothes & beat You & try to kill You. What do You want with me? I want to swear, kick & scream at You... and then what? Would You send me to hell for my irreverence? Or would You find compassion in Your heart to stay? Would You still want to save me? Would You walk away & tell me I was just being childish? Would You smite me? Would You say anything? Or would You wait till I was spent? God, if You were a man here with me now, I would cling to You... in rage.
I'm tired of responses like “Remember Job", Give it to God" or "Lay your burdens at the foot of the cross”. What does that even mean? I'm not content to stand there & gaze up at Christ. No, I want to climb His bloody body & beat Him all the more, even as He hangs there in agony. I want to tear at His flesh limb from limb & sink my fingers into His deep & seeping wounds. I want to scream in triumphant rage as He screams out in pain & gasps for breath... and I wouldn't stop till His last.
Surely these aren't the words of a Spirit filled Christian... Would I not always treat Father, Son & Spirit with the utmost respect? Would I not always feel compassion at the abuse & crucifixion of Jesus? I always thought I should...
The “passion” of this Holy week is often told from a sort of watered down, doe eyed perspective- the women wept & mourned kind, quiet Jesus, the victim of a wrongful death at the hands of murderous Jews. Of course my response should also be one of horror, infinite sadness & ultimately, profound thankfulness. But on the contrary, the crucifixion reveals to me precisely the lack of compassion I have within... It reveals my lack of interest in being a disciple, even my disbelief in what Christ has actually done for me. For the 1st time in my life, I want Him to feel all of my hurt & loneliness & pain on that cross. I want Him to suffer because of what I've suffered. And whats crazy is He was willing to do just that before I ever came along. He knew I would need this- and He submitted himself to my rage because no one else could take it. Each wound inflicted on His body may as well have been from my hand... and if by His stripes I am healed, His utter brokenness was necessary for my wholeness. I can't deny the sense of satisfaction I get from knowing this.
In the same way, my own utter brokenness is also necessary for my wholeness. Could it be that the suffering of Jesus, of God in the flesh, actually reveals the depth (& potential for redemption) of the suffering I've experienced in life? Could the force of my rage at His supposed “good pleasure” (that brought me into existence) actually serve to uncover His profoundly unfailing love for me? If He hadn't suffered & died such a horrible death as a human being, where would I be? I think I would still be raging... beating at the air... unable to connect... unable to find resolution.
His story is my story. He wanted to love & be loved in return & what did he get? He was falsely accused, despised, beaten & killed by the objects of His affection. But He had a power I don't- its a power I can only receive by clinging to Him, even if I cling in rage. Its the power to forgive, to love, to remain. As I tear into Him, I somehow begin to see myself more clearly... His Blood is my blood... so many wounds... so much blood. My suffering not only becomes His & dies with Him; but His resurrection will become my own.