As we look into the mirror of God’s Word one Sunday evening my sanctified imagination wanders and in my mind’s eye I am standing beside a Roman soldier whose head is bowed toward the earth. He stands there; staring downward holding his spear.
I turn to look in the direction of his gaze and see lying on the ground before us one of a choice Roman instrument of torture, an instrument of capital punishment actually, a crude cross. The wood is rough and splintered; its course fibers mocking its Occupant, showing no mercy as He lay there bleeding.
The cross has not been lifted upright yet and another soldier holds a hammer in his hand. He waits; listening to his Prisoners heavy breathing, observing the strange symbols of royalty that belong to Him. A crown of thorns is upon His head pressed deeply into the tender bleeding tissue. A King’s robe that has been cast aside exposing the King’s abused body. He is barely recognizable; ribbons of flesh quivering and blood pooling upon the cold dusty earth.
As I look around I see crowds of people staring blankly at the sight. They have seen this numerous times before but this time it was different. This time somehow it was personal.
The hammer is lifted high into the air and then with only a second of pause it comes crashing down onto the steel.
A groan of pain.
Just a groan;
no crying out,
no obscenities,
no complaint.
A simple groan.
And then another swing of the hammer.
Again and again the hammer comes down with force.
The soldier moves to the other cross beam and begins again.
With each clank of the iron upon iron I feel something tear within my soul. My pride is chipped away. Somehow I realize He does not deserve this. Another clank. My selfishness falls to the ground. Somehow I feel this is my fault. Another swing of the hammer. A spark. My hypocrisy falls away. Somehow I know I deserve this. That “the chastisement of my peace” was falling on Him.
When the soldier is finished the Man is lifted high into the air, the cross dropped into a hole in the ground to hold it upright,
and they watch Him there;
and wait.
In the mirror of the Word I not only see but I somehow hear His voice. But it’s not a hearing like that of music, or the sweet sounds of children playing that echo in your ears. It is sweet indeed but it is a hearing of the heart.
A solid conviction that this is the voice of the Son of God.
“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”
They know not what they do!? Of course they know! I watched them do it! It all seemed very intentional to me! Forgive them??? Wonderful words and puzzlement fills my soul.
“Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit:”
We watch as He gives up the Ghost.
The crowd grows quiet.
The sky blackens.
The Roman soldier utters the very thoughts of my mind.
“Truly this man was the Son of God.”
My soul cries out.
“Father, forgive me! I still am so proud and selfish. My heart is so cold and hard. Hard like stone. I want it no more! I want to be like Him!”
In the mirror of the Word I see the Man with a hammer.
The hammer is lifted high into the air and then with only a second of pause it comes crashing down onto the steel.
I groan in pain.
Just a groan;
no crying out,
no obscenities,
no complaint.
A simple groan.
And then another swing of the hammer.
Again and again the hammer comes down with force.
With each clank of the iron upon iron I feel something chipped away within my soul. It is my pride. Another clank. A chunk of my selfishness falls to the ground. Another swing of the hammer. A spark. My hypocrisy falls away. Somehow I know I deserve more than this.
I look into the mirror of the Word and I see a reflection of the Son of God.
Not the Son Himself but one who is loved deeply by Him.
One who is becoming more of Him in likeness.
I hear His voice again, it is a still small voice.
“I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this?”
I believe. Yes You know I believe!
“As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten:
be zealous therefore,
and repent.”
I repent.
I repent.
I confess my sin.
I agree with You LORD!
The preacher is reading the text “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” (1 John 1:9)
Soon the altar is opened but I’m blocked in on every side. The pew is full and I’m sandwiched in the middle. In my mind’s eye I’m at the altar bowing before the Son.
“I repent.”
“I repent.”
“I confess my sin.”
“I agree with You LORD! I beg of You God,”
“Forgive me, cleanse me of my unrighteousness.”
He speaks to my restless heart,
“enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.”
“enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.”
I rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory; many tears and a glory that carries me on ‘wings as eagles’ as we leave the church building, board our car, and travel home.
My heart sings out, “God thank You for Your Word, evermore may You increase in my life and be visible through my all to all.”
“He must increase, WE must decrease!”
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