I Was There

Were you there when they crucified the Lord? I was there. I didn’t plan to be there. Looking back, though, it feels as though I was meant to be there. The whole scene was nothing too unusual at first. Someone had mentioned that three men were going to be executed that day. I didn’t give it much thought until I saw the criminals passing through the streets and noticed that one of them was the one from Nazareth called Jesus. He was familiar to me. I guess you could say that we had crossed paths on a number of occasions. Though he had caused quite a stir among the people, I couldn’t grasp why he would be among those to be crucified. Something inside drew me to the crowd, so I followed them to the place outside of town called Golgotha.

Were you there when they nailed him to the tree? I was there. How could I forget it? I knew what crucifixion was, but I had never actually watched one happen. It seemed so cruel. So unjust. It bothered me. What I felt was strong, but it wasn’t some kind of righteous anger. Though I was saddened by the sight, what I felt was more than sadness. Rather, it was more like a sense of guilt. It was like there was a voice in my head telling me that I was responsible for putting him on the cross. But how could that be? The leaders of our people were the ones plotting to kill him. I had nothing to do with that. The Romans were the ones strong-arming him, and I certainly had no part of that! None of it made sense. Yet the voice would not be silent. Somehow his blood would be on my hands. I just wasn’t sure why.

Were you there when they pierced him in the side? I was there. I was there all afternoon. Once I was there, once I looked upon him, I couldn’t leave. I watched him. I listened as he spoke from the cross. Amazingly he spoke words of forgiveness, words of selfless consideration. The more I watched and listened, the more I came to feel that what was happening was as much about me as it was about him. I had been convinced since the first time I met Jesus that something about him was different, special. Some people had suggested that he was a prophet like Elijah whose spirit had returned to us. Rumor was that one person close to him had confessed him to be the Son of God. Though I had disregarded this thought as one man’s extreme opinion, it was amazing that day to hear another person say it, a Roman soldier at that (Mark 15:39)! Who was this man? As I gazed upon his dying face, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my hands could have been those that struck the nails and thrust the spear.

Were you there when the sun refused to shine? I was there. Many people were openly disturbed, even fearful. Honestly, the darkness didn’t bother me much. Why should it? The darkness of those afternoon hours was no darker than the darkness of my heart. You see, I’m a great pretender. I can make most people believe that I am a good, decent person with pure thoughts and right motives. Most people don’t know the real me, but it sure seemed that Jesus did. He was right in his judgment when he said that the light had come into the world, and yet people loved the darkness rather than the light (John. 3:19). I was pretty sure that the sun only hid its face from me because I had become so good at hiding my face from God.

Were you there when they laid him in the tomb? I was there. I even thought about offering to help when Joseph and Nicodemus came for the body. After all, Jesus was essentially a good guy, and he deserved a respectable burial. The least I could do is see that he was laid to rest with at least as much dignity as anyone else. Honestly, though, I just wanted to be sure that he was safely put away, like an object that has outlived its usefulness.

At one point Jesus and his ministry seemed interesting. His insightful teaching and powerful miracles caught my attention. But seriously, his standards turned out to be far too high. He invited me to be a follower once, and it seemed like a great idea. I said to him, “Sure, I’ll follow, but I have some family matters to address first. Let me get that done, then I’ll come” (see Luke 9:59-60). He just bluntly said, “Let the dead bury their own dead.” Who did he think he was? You can’t just expect people to upend their lives like that! I hear that he actually did have a small group of committed followers, but even they have scattered now. It seems to me that his whole movement was just a big disappointment.

Were you there when they crucified the Lord? I was there. It is where I should have been. As I open my heart in honesty before God, I must confess that I should have been there. I should have been there, not standing marginally in the crowd, not joining in the shouting of insults, not laughing as the religious leaders mocked Jesus, not with the Romans soldiers who callously carried out their duties. I should have been there on the cross. You see, it is the cross that was used to punish law breakers and rebels, and though I would never want to admit it, no one could possibly be more of a law-breaker or rebel than me.

Yes, I should have been there, and I was. Just not in the place that I deserved to be. I couldn’t; he had already taken my place. I searched my mind to try to understand why he would do such a thing. As he looked at me from the cross, his eyes told me that the reason had everything to do with love.

“God demonstrates his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8