Sharing a Son’s Suffering by Nina Faye Morey

“Which of the two do you want me to release for you?” Pilate asked the raucous crowd.

A spark of hope filled my heart, but it was instantly snuffed out by the throng’s wild shouts of “Barabbas!”

“What shall I do, then, with Jesus who is called the Messiah?” Pilate demanded.

“Crucify him!” they shouted.

I gasped, clutching my breast. My heart felt as though it had been cruelly wrenched from my chest. I’d always known this day was coming, but I’d buried that knowledge in the dark recesses of my mind. Now there was no escape. Tears brimmed in my eyes, blurring my vision.

“Why? What crime has he committed?” Pilate responded, trying to restore some reason to this unruly mob. Pilate was no fool. He knew why the chief priests and elders had brought Jesus before him. They’d whipped up the masses into this frenzied state, convincing them to demand Jesus’s crucifixion.

The seething horde simply shouted even louder: “Crucify him!”

Blinded by my tears, I tried desperately to force my way through the crush of the crowd. If only I could reach my precious son. Tears streamed down my cheeks, but I made no effort to wipe them away. I needed to get to Jesus, to wrap my arms around Him and protect Him, as I’d always done.

Pilate now realized there was no hope of reasoning with this rabble. Amidst the roar of the crowd, he rose from his judge’s seat and poured water over his hands, symbolically washing away any culpability for what was to come. “I am innocent of this man’s blood. It is your responsibility!”

Afterwards, Pilate released Barabbas and ordered Jesus flogged before handing Him over to be crucified. My hands flew to my mouth to stifle my anguished cries. As the governor’s guards scourged my son’s flesh, I heard a scream in the crowd. Then I realized it had been my own.

I followed the Roman soldiers as they led Jesus to the governor’s palace. There they stripped my son of His clothes, dressed Him in a scarlet robe, and fashioned a crown of thorns they placed upon His head. I wrung my hands helplessly as blood began trickling down His forehead. Then the soldiers put a staff in Jesus’s right hand and knelt before Him, mocking Him with “Hail, King of the Jews!” They spat on Him, took the staff, and began striking His head repeatedly. My heart ached to cup my son’s disfigured face in my hands, kiss His swollen lips, and tell Him once more how dearly I loved Him.

Finally, the soldiers put Jesus’s clothes back on Him. Then they forced Him to carry His own cross as they led Him away to be crucified. Weak from the flogging, Jesus collapsed and was unable to continue up the hill to Calvary. My heart broke at the sight of my once strong carpenter son brought to His knees by the weight of that heavy timber. The soldiers pulled a man from the crowd, Simon of Cyrene, forcing him to carry Jesus’s cross. When they reached Golgotha, “the place of the skulls,” they began nailing my son’s hands to the cross.

Every time a soldier pounded a nail through Jesus’s hands and feet, I felt as though it were piercing my heart. Those hands I’d held so tightly; those feet I’d washed so tenderly. When the soldiers hoisted that heavy cross and let it fall into its moorings, sobs suddenly wracked my body. I huddled close to the foot of the cross; determined to keep vigil over my dying son despite the vitriol flung by belligerent bystanders.

I remained by my son’s side throughout the growing darkness; silently pleading with God to quickly end His suffering. How much more could Jesus endure? At last, I heard Him cry out, “It is finished.” No more pain; no more suffering. “Thank you, God!” Despite my deep sorrow at the loss of my precious son, I finally felt at peace, knowing He was now in the loving hands of His Heavenly Father.

The Beauty of Grace - Sulo Moorthy

I do not know how many times I had read the familiar story of the woman caught in adultery in John chapter 8, but a week ago when I read through the passage, especially the line where Jesus was  saying to the woman, "Then neither do I condemn you. Go now and and leave your life of sin," I was deeply touched by its beauty. I wrote down in my journal that day, "In my mind that's the most beautiful words anyone could have said to a woman caught in the act of sin. Never before in Jewish history had anyone let go an adulterous woman free like that."

 The Law required any adulterer or adulteress to be put to death (Leviticus20:10.) The scribes and the leaders of the Law who dragged the woman and brought her before Jesus knew the scripture well enough to accuse and humiliate her before the crowd. Self-righteousness must have blinded their eyes to make them feel superior, and  to be insensitive to woman's plea for pity. To their shock, the Law Giver chose Grace over judgement, and made them to face their own guilt. Little did they realize that in God's eyes, the sins they harbor in their hearts looked no different from the sin the woman had committed. At that place, Jesus revealed the tender heart of God for all generations to see.

I wonder what Jesus would say to those who call themselves Christians, but who stand on street corners carrying huge banners that say " God hates Gays and He laughs when Gays die" or to those people who mock and condemn those who act differently, worship differently or think differently.

Jesus, who chose to dine and fellowship with tax collectors and outcasts of the society in order to bring them into His fold, surely expects  His followers to extend  grace to those who need it. Judgement belongs to Christ alone.  Let us be cautious to  not to cross the boundary line, and  declare in our self-righteousness, who goes to heaven and who goes to hell. That right belongs to our Saviour, who bled profusely on the Cross at Calvary to save all mankind. 

Calvary love speaks of nothing, but Amazing Grace. The agony of hanging on the cross with parched throat, and nail pierced limbs, and thorns pricked forehead, didn’t make the King of kings to curse the thief who scoffed at Him, or ignore the other thief who asked for forgiveness at the last hour of his life. That is Grace! Pure and beautiful. We, who are saved by His beautiful grace are called to wriggle out of  self-righteous attitude and show grace to all who need it. Because Grace is so beautiful, it would captivate those whom we minister, and drive them towards the One who displayed Amazing Grace on Calvary!

Lessons From a Weapon of Grass Destruction - Lynda S.

I'm painting. No need for Van Gogh, Picasso, or The Group of Seven to worry though; I'm painting my apartment. After the paint comes the decoration. I'm planning "The Farm" as a theme for one of my guest rooms, and that sent me searching for my dad's saw and scythe. To my distress both were badly rusted—the victims of the high humidity here in Venezuela. I needed some expert help.

My colleagues, Bevin and Janie Wray, are entertaining Janie's sister and her family over these two weeks. Calvin and Rita farm just outside Calgary and I was pretty certain that a farmer would know about rusty implements and how to fix them. Sure enough, Carl had an answer to my dilemma.

I soaked two towels in vinegar, wrapped one around the saw and the other around the scythe. Then I wrapped both tools in plastic wrap to keep the towels from drying out. By the time I got back to them later on that evening, it was obvious that something was working—I could see through the plastic wrap that the towels were brown! The smell, as I unwrapped the tools, was not pleasant, but the rust was gone just as Cal had told me that it would be.

It was a good thing that I chose old cleaning rags to do the job. Even though the towels went immediately into the wash, they will bear the marks of rust for the rest of their days.

There had to be a spiritual lesson in this little DIY project. I thought about my life, rusting with sin. Then Jesus came, like that vinegar-soaked towel, and wrapped me in His love and forgiveness. My sins, like those rust stains, He bore in His own body, removing them forever from mine.

However, unlike my old towels, the rust stains of sin were not just transferred, they were eradicated completely, washed clean in the blood of the Lamb of God, They simply ceased to exist.

Somehow, I suspect that every time I go into that particular guest room where dad's tools will be hung, I will never be able to look at his saw and scythe in the same way again. What do you think?