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#261 Good Friday Didn’t Feel Good

I’m watching through tears as my son’s blood drips on the rock below him. I can’t believe it. God, how could You let this happen? I was sure You would do something up until my son died. Your Son! That’s what Gabriel told me! That’s what I believed! It’s hard to breathe these shallow little breaths. I begged John to bring me back–give me strength. Help me, hold me, I want to stay with him. 

It’s Passover Friday in Jerusalem. Jesus is dead. There is no question about that. A soldier just speared his side to make sure. Everyone is shocked. No one dies this quickly from crucifixion. “Looks like his heart burst,” the soldier had commented.

Jesus’ mother feels numb, thoughts swirling…The Messiah..prophesied over as a baby…angels told shepherds who came looking…wise men from far away…worshiped…honored him with gifts…King of Kings?…my son is hanging limp, dead on a cross. Fresh tears come.

John and Mary look at her sobbing quietly, and then at each other. He was Messiah! We were so sure. Their faith in Him is gone, but their love is stronger than ever. But what can they do? They have no money and no way to get his body.

If only I had saved that money spent on Spikenard, Mary cries too, I could have...

What will happen now?  If onlyHe can’t have a grave in the criminals’ cemetary!

The greater God’s actions in this world, the bigger His plan, the more backwards it looks.

based on Matthew 27:50-56,  Mark 15:39-42,  Luke 23:46-49,  John 19:30-37,

 

 

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