I’m writing this with an overwhelming feeling of numbness. I can only imagine what I look like to an outsider; I imagine I look like I’ve witnessed a great tragedy. And in a way I guess I have.
Its Good friday today. The Friday before Easter. I’ve never put too much thought into what that means to be quite honest. Over the years it’s become a brief afterthought, something only some people celebrate. So when Lindsey came to us asking if we would watch The Passion of the Christ in preparation for Easter (a tradition of hers), we were all on board.
I’ve never seen it before, so my thought was why not it’ll I’ve heard good things about it. I was not prepared. We set ourselves up in the common area of our hostel, hooked up the projector and speaker, and shut off the lights. And ended up witnessing the greatest tragedies and victory to ever occur.
There were moments that made me laugh, moments that made me wonder. There were times where I felt the rush of anger and indignation run through my body. And then came a soul crushing sorrow and confusion about WHY? Why would this happen, why did it need to, why would someone love me enough to go through all that pain and suffering. Its incomprehensible but I suppose that’s the point. Because I’m really not capable of that kind of love nor am I deserving.
But I hope that I never forget the sound of the hammer hitting the nail through His flesh, His ragged breathing, the pain that went further and deeper than even a reenactment can provide. I want to always remember that in the midst of it he prayed for his persecutors, begged for their forgiveness.
At this point I don’t know how to say all the thoughts running through my head anymore. Its been awhile since I’ve cried that hard, so I’m going to go and grab some advil for the giant headache I now have and try and head to bed.
Have a Happy Easter, and may we truly celebrate the freedom we have been gifted at such a price.
