Easter is coming soon! I am so excited! It makes me think now of the theme for the writing contest I entered (unknown memories), and I wanted to share it with you. There is nothing more important or worth celebrating more than Jesus. I hope you are blessed in reading (and even more in believing)!
The End
It was the final week. Life in the flesh as I had known it was coming to a close. I had not been here before, but each scene that unfolded before me was hauntingly familiar.
I told my associates to get me a colt to ride upon. I knew where they could find it and I knew they would have no trouble acquiring it for me. It was mine, but I would return it. My associates did just as I told them. One person asked my associates what they thought they were doing, but retreated when they told them I had need of it. Zechariah had said it would happen just as I am recounting it for you now.
My associates put their coats on the animal’s back and I sat down on it. Although the colt had never been ridden before, it yielded docilely to me. Many people laid out palm branches and coats before me to ride upon as they shouted my praise. “Hosanna in the Highest!” they exclaimed. Others were angry and said I should make them stop. It was my world, and these were my people; the praise was justified. I did not, however, thrive on the praise of men; I only needed the approval of one.
I knew the praise would not last; people are fickle. I knew that I had to leave; I was going back to the place from which I had come. I was going back to the place where those memories were written when I had not yet lived even one of them.
Those who were angry with me sought my death vigorously. I escaped them repeatedly, but the time was drawing near when I would surrender myself to them (how foolish they were to think they would capture me!)
My closest allies had followed me loyally; they were with me even now, but they were asleep. My associates missed the urgency of the hour because what I was about to do was incomprehensible.
In my flesh, I sweat great drops of blood; I knew what was coming and I sought another way. There was no other way. My world was broken, my people were broken. There were others too, that needed me. I wanted them. I wanted them all. I did not want to oppress them—although I certainly had the power to do so!
They were condemned people, destined for hell. The law was precise in defining right and wrong, and the penalty for doing wrong. Not one of them was guiltless. I, on the other hand, was completely innocent. I had the power to condemn them to the sentence they deserved. I also had the power to pay the debt they had incurred. I set my face like flint to do the unthinkable, alone.
A heavily armed mob came for me in the dark of night. I had been praying while my associates slept. I woke them up and told them the time had come. I faced the mob without resistance, but one of my closest allies, Peter, bless his heart, tried to defend me. He cut off one of the men’s ears. I told Peter to put his sword away as I put the man’s ear back on his head.
Later on that night, I watched as that same brave man, Peter, denied ever having known me. Peter’s cowardice here did not provoke me to recoil any more than his earlier, nobler deed inspired me to continue toward my goal. I do not change like men and women. Everything I have ever done was based on who I am, not on what people thought or think of me.
I was falsely accused, covertly arrested and unjustly tried at night. My jailers felt free to mock me—beat me even, under the cloak of darkness. (Why do men think no one sees in the dark? Are not babies formed perfectly in the dark confines of their mothers’ wombs?) I knew exactly who they were and what they were doing—even when they blindfolded me. I accepted the ridicule and the humiliation (though this was undeserved), just as I had accepted the praise. No one seemed to notice. (Do they notice even now?)
The sentence was passed, death by crucifixion. My enemies reveled in my defeat. My allies hid themselves from my distress. None of them knew my impending doom would be my greatest victory. How could they? “They pierced My hands and My feet; I can count all My bones. They look and stare at Me. They divide My garments among them, And for My clothing they cast lots.” How many years had it been since I read this Psalm of David? Hundreds I am sure. Now, I lived them. I breathed my last and it was finished; the debt was paid.
I was dead once, but now I live, never to die again. This too was written before; it is the sweetest of victories, both for me and all who trust me.
