When I survey the wondrous cross

On which the Prince of Glory died

My richest gain I count but loss

And pour contempt on all my pride

See from His head, His hands, His feet

Sorrow and love flow mingled down

Did e'er such love and sorrow meet

Or thorns compose so rich a crown

Oh the wondrous cross

Bids me come and die and find that I

May truly live

It is late and Good Friday is almost over. I crawled out of bed to make some sense of the scenes and words I heard tonight that just keep playing in my mind. I attended a local production of the Passion of Christ earlier this evening. I know the story of Easter. I can re-tell all of the events of Holy Week.

But tonight, as I stood with believers from all around my town, I was struck once again with the words Jesus spoke from the Cross ~

Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.

I watched tonight as they beat him, whipped him

, and spat on him

. The crowds jeered at him as he stumbled under the weight of the cross and the burden of my sin. The soldiers mocked him on the cross ~

Is this your King?

And then he spoke ~

Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.

I began to think of the times in my life when I have been mistreated ~ words spoken to me in anger, stories repeated that were not true, laughter at my expense, exclusion rather than embrace. These hurts and offenses pale in comparison to what He suffered during the last 24 hours of His life.

So how was He able to forgive them for all the suffering and pain? Because it never was about Him. It was always about

~ you and me, the soldiers and chief priests, the rulers and the commoners.

Oh that I would learn to die to self. That I would release my need to be right and choose to be reconciled with even my enemies. May I be the one who speaks the words ~

Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.

Painting by Master of the Starck Triptych

The Raising of the Cross [center, left, and right panels]

, c. 1480/1490