There he was, at his last meal with His friends, giving thanks to me. Always grateful, always attentive, the perfect Son.
But the pain was on its way.
He asked me to stop it, the very thought of it overwhelmed Him. Yet I couldn’t, I couldn’t answer His request, couldn’t give my boy what He wanted. I held back.
Was that my will? It certainly wasn’t my desire. Not to see Him of all people in pain. And yet He accepted that, always thinking of me.
When they came for Him they brought swords and other weapons. For my Jesus! They really didn’t know Him, even though they were our people, ones we loved, the very ones that I sent Him to help. But again He didn’t crumble, He stuck to His principles and eschewed the way of violence and aggression, knowing and trusting that I could step in. That I could send my angels and pull Him out of there in a second. He had faith, complete confidence in me, yet those words would come back to haunt me.
Because they went for him. They tried Him, they sentenced Him, they flogged Him, they stripped Him, they mocked Him, they spat on Him and they crucified Him. And as they were killing Him, they called out my name, MY name. It was cruel, cruel to have to watch all of this, and then for them to question, to doubt, to joke about me rescuing Him! How dare they doubt my love for Him, my love for my own Son.
And then it happened. He slipped out of my grasp. I couldn’t quite see him anymore, I couldn’t quite hear him properly, the cord was broken. He cried out ‘My God My God’ and I could sense His pain, those words echoing through my mind. But yet we were apart. I too cried out for Him, ‘My Boy My Boy, don’t turn from me, My Boy’.
That loss, the loss of Him himself was the worst. That feeling of warmth and excitement when He smiled at me, that sense of contentment and pride in His presence. Just how exactly did His voice sound, what exactly triggered His energy and His sparkle? Oh My Boy.
… But He was MY Boy, He was special. When He passed, the earth shook. Some of the dead rose to life, new life. I love them too, I want them too. And the temple curtain was torn, they too can now come to me, they can have what we have. More sons and daughters.
The thoughts and views expressed in this are the author’s own.