Who Am I This Day?
Yesterday, they crucified Him. He hung on the wood of the tree until He breathed His last. Darkness had descended, the curtain of the sanctuary had torn in two, the earth shook. Today, the sun has risen just as it is ordained to do. But today seems different. I can’t help but ask myself ~ “Who am I this day?”
Am I Mary? My son, beaten, tortured, crucified, and now lying in a borrowed tomb ... I keep remembering Simeon's prophecy that my heart would be pierced by a sword. And now I hope against all hope that the promises God revealed to me will be fulfilled.
Am I Peter? Denial on my conscience, I now hide in shame. Afraid to be known as a disciple, I stay away lest I be accused as well. Secretly, in the depths of my heart, I hope in Jesus's teachings of God’s unending mercy and forgiveness.
Am I Judas? Trying to rid myself of my betrayal, I give in to despair. Too afraid to live with my decision, I’ve chosen to end it all and walk away from life itself. The disciples I leave behind will have no choice but to place all their hope in God's mercy on my behalf.
Am I Pilate? Having washed my hands of any guilt from the crucifixion, I anxiously wait out today wondering if the tomb is secure enough. I am hoping against all hope that this "Jesus" issue has been put to rest for good.
Am I one of the Jewish authorities? My lofty positions and my laws challenged, I feel justified in defending myself and my history. I have been hoping against all hope for a Savior, but am not convinced He was truly among us.
Am I one of the crowd who so vehemently shouted "Crucify Him?" Today I will go about my business, not giving a second thought to the riot of yesterday. I confidently place my hope in earthly kings, despite my persistent wondering as to why I am not satisfied.
Am I Simon of Cyrene? Pressed into service to help Jesus carry His cross, I can't forget the look in His eyes as I stooped to help Him. I can only hope my assistance made His journey easier and that He found solace in my company. Will my life ever be the same?
Am I Joseph of Arimathea? A wealthy member of the Sanhedrin, yet a secret follower of Jesus, I bravely asked Pilate for the Body of Jesus and lovingly buried Him in my own tomb. How well I know the Scripture verse, “and his tomb is with the rich”, and I pray my gift to Jesus is fitting for such a King.
Am I one of the Roman guards who stands watch at the tomb? I’ve heard stories of this "Jesus" and wonder if any of His disciples will try to steal the body. I hope I can help prove the hysteria is false and that this watch will be uneventful.
Am I one of the cured? My physical ailment gone. My spiritual life healed. I know who He is. I have heard what they did to Him and that He did not reveal His power and might, but allowed them to continue until death. Why did He not save Himself?
Or am I just one of the many followers who heard Him speak, or who saw Him perform a miracle, or who were told of such things? I may have heard that He was crucified yesterday. I may have heard that they are guarding the tomb. And now I hope against all hope that what I thought was the answer to my longing hasn't been silenced. I hope against all hope that there is something still to hope for. As the day wears on, through the unbelief, the pain, and the sorrow, I can almost feel it..... I almost dare not believe it... "Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up.” Keep hope, my soul, keep hope.
