For You. When I was little, we used to have a school play at the end of each school year. I remember even now, sitting in the crowd and watching my older brother gleefully as he played one of the magi in the nativity play. Even though it was quite obvious to me that he had since mentally transported himself to his happy place (which naturally, was anywhere but where he actually was at the time) my mother would give a standing ovation and clap as if he were one of the Three Tenors, nearly beside herself with pride and joy. It was hilarious. But I digress. As I mentioned, we had school plays when we were young. Our Drama instructors, bless them for their patience, had but ONE requirement of us and it was not to be broken. EVER. As soon as we set foot on stage, we were to keep our eyes on the big red circle at the end of the hall. We were never EVER to break eye contact. We were to project our voices towards it, dance with our eyes on it...in simple words, the dot was all that mattered. They did this for two reasons. The first was to help us sing or speak better. If one was speaking to the back of the hall, then that persons voice was far more likely to resound than if one was speaking to just the front row. The second and without a doubt the more important reason, was so we would not get distracted and forget our lines. During rehearsals, when the halls only occupants were students and instructors, we were resounding successes. Naturals. Born with scripts in our hands. Prodigies. Not so much on D - day. I remember being on stage with my peers, singing some song or the other, eyes firmly fixed on the big red dot. All was going reasonably well, give or take a couple of off notes here and there as might be expected of five year olds. We were still at that age when singing off key had not stopped being cute. Cue my beloved. Beaming all the pride and joy a mother could possibly muster, it was too much to ask not to sneak a peek at her. And so I did the unspeakable, I broke eye contact with the all important dot. As if that was not enough, I waved at her. WAVED! I cant be entirely sure but there is the distinct possibility that one of our Instructors may have swooned at this point. As for me, I didnt care. Her smile put the sun to shame, such was its splendor. As I beamed back and tried to continue the song, I realized that in that split moment, I had gone out of sync with the others and momentarily forgotten my lines. To my unending gratitude to God, it was not a solo rendition. And so, I found a way to fall back in step quickly and mumble something or the other. Fast forward one or two decades. This time it wasnt my mother distracting me and this time it was not a recital. This was serious stuff. This was worship. My hands were raised, my eyes closed. The words were flowing out and my voice was doing precisely what it had been trained to do. To see me would have been to see a person in the very thick of devotion. But just then, I heard a voice in my head. It wasnt loud. But I could hear it distinctly above the other worshippers and the music. Did you think about Me even once just now when you were singing? If anyone had been watching me closely, I would have appeared slightly odd. I stopped suddenly in the middle of the song and became very still. I said not one more word. What was the point? He was right. He was quite literally the last Person on my mind. At some point (and it pains me to say that I cant even remember at what exact point that was) I had gotten distracted. I had removed my eyes from the big red circle. The ONE person I should have been gazing at, I had completely forgotten about. It could have been the beautiful music, it could have been that it wasnt one of my favorite songs being sung, it could have been the lady worshipping so ardently in the congregation, or it could have been the person beside her who was not. The reason was irrelevant. What I knew without question was that I must find a way to make sure it NEVER happened again. The answer? The cross of Jesus. The word excruciating originates from the Latin word ex cruciare - it means a pain like the pain of crucifixion. There were no words to describe the sort of pain endured on a cross and so the word was formed. Death on the cross is said to be the most painful form of torture ever invented by men. A medical catastrophe, it was reserved for the most vicious of male criminals. It was designed such that a person was forced to maintain an anatomically impossible position. Having been nailed to the cross, he would have to support the weight of his body with the muscles of his thighs. A position that would be impossible to sustain for more than a few minutes at a time. Within a couple of minutes of being hung on the cross, Jesus shoulders would have dislocated, followed shortly by his elbows and wrists. These latter series of events would have forced his rib cage to be pulled upwards and outwards in a most unnatural state - an almost permanent state of inhalation. In order to exhale, Jesus would have had to push down on the nails of His feet to raise Himself up enough to breathe out. To understand the gravity of the previous sentence, one must factor in the skin of his back that had recently been almost completely removed by the Roman instrument of correction and degradation - the flagellum. Such was the nature of the wounds on Jesus back, that the mere whisper of a soft breeze across that now mutilated back would have been unbearable for Him. Unlike most depictions in Hollywood movies, a person on the cross could not stay still for long. They had to keep moving in order to breathe. As vivid as this description is, it does no justice to the awful pain He endured - for me. The cross of Jesus has become my big red circle. When I find myself wandering I picture the cross. My eyes are riveted to it and to the God Who hung on it for me. Words become few and precious as I gaze at the One Who turned an ugly and vile instrument of humiliation and unimaginable pain into the symbol of love and hope it is today. I see my King and I vow in that moment to give Him the kind of worship that was so sadly lacking that day when He hung on the cross. I know now how special He is, my One-of-a-Kind Jesus. It is my singular honor to kneel before Him every day. An unspeakable honor. And here I will remain. Until He bids me cease. Heart unwavering. Worshipping unceasing. Love unending. For there is none more worthy... None more deserving, than He. Jesus - The Incomparable.
Posted on: Wed, 16 Jul 2014 04:23:37 +0000
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