I am changed...

I am changed. 

I went to the Good Friday service at church tonight.  I watched the drama of the first Good Friday and I saw it with new eyes tonight.  I saw it through the eyes of a mom.  Oh how my heart mourns for Mary.  How hard it must have been for her to watch her son, THE SON, be crusified, murdered.  I can only imagine that she must have been down on her knees praying to GOD and perhaps a little angry with HIM.  I can just hear her cry out, "God what are you doing to our SON?  How can you let this happen?  Help him, don't you love him?  HELP HIM!!!!"  It was prophecy...  It was written...  It was necessary. 

Her son, THE SON of GOD, had long ago left the home of his mother, and he cleaved to his Bride, the Church.  HIS church was not that of the saved, but the sinners.  His church had no lumber or nails, no roof nor walls.  His church was the Church of the meek, of the hurt, of the sick, and of the lost.  He knew this all long before the wheels were set in motion.  He knew He would shed His blood to cover the sin of a fallen world.  He died on that tree so that we could live. 

He knew all of this...  But Mary...  what did she know?  She knew that her heart was broken and that she would never be able to hold her Jesus again.  She knew that Jesus was God's son and that God had called Jesus home.  She knew the pain that so few know, that of a mother who has lost their most prized possession, their child.  She must have wanted to take his place.  She must have begged to GOD, please I will gladly die for HIM - for my son, for my Jesus.  It must have been so hard for her to take her first breath after He took his final.  I can imagine that her legs must have been numb.  She must have felt as though the blood was drained from her body and her heart was stopped.  The anger she must have had, the hate she must have felt, and the emptiness that must have consumed her. I can only imagine what Mary felt.

And when it was all over, there on that cross hung the lifeless body of her first born.  There was a crown of thorns atop his head, that beautiful head that she must have kissed a thousand times over.  Where once his eyes shown with love, mercy, compassion, and determination, there was just a swolen mass of hollowness.  The robe she made for him, that she might have wanted back to have something of His to hold on to, it was being fought over by the very soldiers, those very men were casting lots to see who might have it.  There were nails pounded into his hands and feet, the very hands that fed and loved the hungry and unloveable, and the feet that walked so many miles just to share the GOOD NEWS of GOD.  There on that tree hung the lifeless body of her Jesus the man, and my Christ the Savior. 

I am changed.