I hate it. I really do. I absolutely hate the story of the cross.
Today is Good Friday. Today is the day we celebrate a story that I absolutely hate. What an oxymoron.
This story. This true, true story--- it tears at my heart and pains me in ways I can't explain.
Each year, as the day approaches and I know the story will be read and retold, I can feel myself wanting to run away and hide. Like a child, I want to cover my ears, stick my head under my pillow, and never hear the horrible story again. I hate it.
This past Monday morning, I was stunned by my visceral response when I remembered this was Holy week. No! I could feel the cringe in my body and soul. No! I don't want to read that part of the story. The very mention of the topic and I can feel the sorrow, the pain, the suffering, and the tears welling up.
We call this day "good". And, with all my heart, I believe and I know it IS indeed good--- so very good. But, also, I can barely stand it.
It feels like reliving trauma or painful memories of my past. Why must we, Lord?!
Friday morning---this morning---we all enter the sanctuary and take our comfy seats. The pastor reads the story out of Mark. The parishioner reads from the Gospel of John. We sing some songs. They tell the story and share the truth of that day. All morning, I can barely stand it. I want to weep. I want to wail. Everything in me wants to scream! Why must I hear again what my best friend---the man I love with all my heart---went through!? Honestly, hearing the trauma and suffering is almost too much. Even as I type this... I barely have words. The heaviness of heart feels profoundly weighty.
Forgive them, for they know not what they do.
These words haunt me today. These words tag along at my back, touch my cheek, and whisper deep into my heart. I know I don't have a clue what I do! I don't even get it. All my rebellion. All my selfishness. All my pride and self-loathing. Forgive me, Lord, for I don't know what I do!
I found myself in Romans 7 earlier this week, frustrated with myself and my faithlessness. "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do, I do not do. But, what I hate, I do." (Romans 7:15)
I know that He pronounced it finished on that day. He said it was finished that Good, very good, Friday.
For this, I am utterly undone. My soul feels gratitude beyond words. It is finished. All my rebellion. Covered, finished. All my selfishness. Finished and payed for. All my pride and self-loathing. Carried, covered, payed for, and finished.
Forgive me, Lord, for I don't know what I do!
This story. This horrible story is the very center and foundation of all I know and all I absolutely need. The result of that trauma--- my friend's horrific death and painful sacrifice---is the source of all that is good and right in my life. All of it.
So, yes, I loath it... I really do. I am grieving today.
But, I know and I remember, it very, very good.
"Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith. For the joy set before him, he endured the cross, scorning it's shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God" (Hebrews 12:2)
