The last two or three weeks have been of absent-mindedness on my part.
I seem to lack "fervor" in the things i've been meditating on.
But this day, roughly two millenia ago, my Savior died for me. And He died for you. Broken souls, unworthy and filthy beings, hopeless people . . . All of us. We were truly hopeless without Him.
But in my seeming absence of passion, i'm reminded of the Passion of Christ. He was stressed to the point that He was sweating blood. This is something that happens to mortals, though not often. Facing death isn't enough to cause it. He knew what awaited Him after the torture, after the beatings, after the crucifixion, after the death . . . He knew what awaited Him when His Father would forsake Him, when He would bear the shame and penalty for every sin you and i have ever committed, when He would be face-to-face with Satan who would be laughing and mocking, beating and tormenting Him.
And He did not turn away, He did not flee, He did not hesitate to offer Himself for us.
Like a lamb to the slaughter He was silent.
He did not so much as offer a word to avoid what was coming.
No, instead He looked at the crowd and said "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do."
Instead, He turned to the man on the cross beside Him and said "today you will be with Me in Paradise."
Instead of you. Instead of me. In our stead.
As my favorite secular author described it in "The Traveller," which i highly recommend,
"Those eyes. Those eyes. My God, they’re so—they’re so hurt! Like a father who’s been beaten by his own children. Yet who still loves his children. Who’s been set upon by loved ones and stripped and beaten and nailed and humiliated!"*
*Matheson, Richard (2011-09-27). Steel: And Other Stories (p. 185). Macmillan. Kindle Edition.