My sin put him on that cross.
My beautiful savior, Jesus, the blood dripping down his side, down his face. The thorn crown shoved into his scalp, the cold wind biting at his naked skin, as he lay there crying in pain, screaming, they pounded the nails deeper into his wrists.
As I turned away from my husband, that hammer hit the head of the nail. Pain seared through my loving Jesus’ body, his waist raised up in anguish, his face contorted in horror.
As I slept with that stranger, my merciful redeemer’s blood dripped deep red down his face, past his steaming eyes. Blood I caused, pain and hurt I made him endure. The pain from the jagged thorns pushed against the bone of his forehead stinging as it dug deeper with every movement.
As I signed those divorce documents, my beautiful master’s cross was raised up to stand in the dirt. His body’s weight hung from the long nails embedded in his arms and feet, tearing into his flesh and bones. His body was broken. Skin hung from exposed muscle, it was mutilated by whips, thorns and nails, because of me.
Jesus wailed in pain, screaming for his Father, wanting comfort, but there was no answer. God turned his face from him in this moment. Because of me.
Barely able to breathe, the indescribable emotional burden of my sin, of the wrong I have committed, weighing on his heart. He felt all of hurt I was causing him, he knew what I would do ahead of time and he carried the weight of my sins as he carried his cross to the hill where he would die.
While I was taking pleasure in the sin I was committing, Jesus was in complete, overtaking agony, on the cross.
He knew ahead of time what I would do and that I wouldn’t comprehend that I was causing him this hurt. He knew that I wouldn’t consider that. And he still agreed to be tortured. He knew that I would sin against him over and over again, not thinking about the cost he would pay, and he still volunteered to cover me with his blood.
A spear ripped into his side, blood poured out, audibly landing on the ground at his feet. A scream of agony.
“Father, forgive them for they do now know what they are doing.”
I didn’t know.
I couldn’t see.
And I don’t know what would be worse. Looking back at the irresponsible acts I did and knowing that even though I had been taught it my whole life, I somehow couldn’t see that I was hurting my God? Or being able to see, hearing him tell me this, but just not caring or comprehending and going ahead with it anyways.
And it was Easter weekend that God brought me back to him.
The weekend that we celebrate his death and resurrection. The weekend that we celebrate that God saves us from our sin, no questions asked. Easter weekend Jesus himself gently took me by the shoulders, and whispered “Beautiful girl, it’s time you saw.”
His one hand held my cheek as the other gently but firmly took the scales from my eyes. And as the light was finally allowed in, I saw him there before me, his kind and soft face smiling at me, and I knew what I had done.
His face told me everything.
It told me he loved me. It told me he already knew everything about me. It told me that he had covered my sin already. It told me that I was his beautiful girl.
His eyes lit up with excitement as he saw my recognition of him. He threw back his head and laughed, “I’ve been waiting for this moment.”
And in that instant, I knew I was saved. I was rescued and nothing I had ever done mattered to my God. All he cared about was that I was with him again. He had paid the price for me and knew ahead of time what I would do against him and once I asked forgiveness and tried to explain myself, he wrapped me in his crimson cloak, and said “My little girl, you have and always will be my bride.”