The cross on Calvary

Now it's quiet on the hill. Not quiet, but calm. For the first time that day there is no noise. The tumult died down as darkness fell—that enigmatic darkness in the middle of the day. As water extinguishes a fire, so gloom smothered mockery. The scorn, the jokes and teasing stopped. One viewer after the other turned away and made their way home. Or rather, all viewers except you and me. We didn't go away. We came to learn. And so we stayed in the semi-darkness and pricked up our ears. We heard the soldiers swearing, the passers-by asking questions and the women crying. But most of all we listened to the groans of the three dying men. A hoarse, harsh, thirsty groan. They moaned every time they tossed their heads and shifted their legs.

As the minutes and hours dragged on, the moaning subsided. The three appeared dead. At least one would have thought so if it hadn't been for the nagging sound of their breathing. Then someone screamed. As if someone had pulled his hair, he hit the back of his head against the sign that had his name on it and how he screamed. Like a dagger tearing through the curtain, his scream rent the darkness. As upright as the nails would allow, he cried out like one calling for a lost friend, "Eloi!" His voice was hoarse and rough. The flame of the torch was reflected in his wide eyes. "My God!" Ignoring the raging pain that flared up, he pushed himself up until his shoulders were higher than his pinned hands. "Why did you leave me?" The soldiers stared at him in astonishment. The women stopped crying. One of the Pharisees sneered, "He calls for Elijah." Nobody laughed. He had shouted a question to Heaven, and one almost expected Heaven to call back an answer. And obviously it did. For Jesus' face relaxed and he spoke one last time: «It is finished. Father, I commend my spirit into your hands."

As he breathed his last, the ground suddenly began to tremble. A rock rolled, a soldier stumbled. Then, as suddenly as the silence had been broken, it returned. All is calm. The mockery has stopped. There is no more mocker. The soldiers are busy cleaning up the execution site. Two men have come. They are well dressed and the body of Jesus is given to them. And we are left with the remains of his death. Three nails in a can. Three cruciform shadows. A plaited crown of scarlet thorns. Strange, isn't it? The thought that this blood is not just human blood, but God's blood? Crazy, right? To think those nails nailed your sins to a cross?

Absurd, don't you think? That a villain prayed and his prayer was answered? Or is it even more absurd that another villain did not pray? inconsistencies and ironies. Calvary includes both. We would have made this moment very different. Had we been asked how God was going to redeem his world, we would have imagined an entirely different scenario. White horses, flashing swords. Evil lying flat on his back. God on his throne. But a God on the cross? A god with cracked lips and swollen, bloodshot eyes on the cross? A god shoved in the face with a sponge and thrust in the side with a spear? At whose feet the dice are thrown? No, we would have staged the drama of redemption differently. But we weren't asked. The players and props were carefully chosen by heaven and ordained by God. We were not asked to set the hour.

But we are asked to respond. In order for the cross of Christ to become the cross of your life, you must bring something to the cross. We have seen what Jesus brought to the people. With scarred hands he gave forgiveness. With a battered body, he promised acceptance. He went to take us home. He wore our clothes to give us his clothes. We saw the gifts he brought. Now we ask ourselves what we bring. We are not asked to paint the sign that says it or wear the nails. We are not asked to be spit on or to wear the crown of thorns. But we are asked to walk the path and leave something on the cross. Of course we have to do that. Many don't.

What do you want to leave behind on the cross?

Many have done what we have done: Countless people have read of the cross, More intelligent ones than I have written about it. Many have meditated on what Christ left behind on the cross; few have pondered what we must leave there ourselves.
May I plead with you to leave something on the cross? You can look at the cross and examine it closely. You can read about it, even pray to it. But until you have left nothing there, you have not wholeheartedly accepted the cross. You have seen what Christ left behind. Don't you want to leave something behind too? Why not start with your sore spots? Those bad habits? Leave them on the cross. Your selfish whims and lame excuses? Give them to God. Your binge drinking and your bigotry? God wants it all. Every failure, every setback. He wants all of that. Why? Because he knows we can't live with that.

As a child, I often played football on the wide field behind our house. Many a Sunday afternoon I have tried to imitate the famous football stars. Vast fields in west Texas are covered in burdock. Burdocks hurt. You can't play football without falling, and you can't fall on a West Texas field without being covered in burs. Countless times I've been so hopelessly riddled with burrs that I've had to ask for help. Children do not let other children read the burs. You need someone with skilled hands to do this. In such cases, I would limp into the house so that my father could rip out the burrs - painfully, one at a time. I wasn't particularly bright, but I knew that if I wanted to play again, I had to get rid of the burrs. Every mistake in life is like a burr. You can't live without falling, and you can't fall without something sticking to you. But guess what? We're not always as smart as young footballers. Sometimes we try to get back into the game without first getting rid of the burrs. It's like we're trying to hide the fact that we've fallen. That's why we pretend we didn't fall. As a result, we live with pain. We can't walk properly, we can't sleep properly, we can't calm down properly. And we get irritable. Does God want us to live like this? no way. Hear this promise: "And this is my covenant with them, if I shall take away their sins" (Romans 11,27).

God does more than just forgive our mistakes; he takes her away! We just have to bring them to him. He doesn't just want the mistakes we made. He wants the mistakes we're making right now! Are you currently making mistakes? Are you drinking too much? Do you cheat at work or cheat on your spouse? Are you bad with your money? Do you rather lead your life badly than rightly? If so, don't pretend everything is fine. Don't pretend you'll never fall. Don't try to go back into the game. Go to God first. The first step after a misstep must be towards the cross. "But if we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins" (1. John 1,9).
What can you leave behind on the cross? Start with your sore spots. And while you're at it, give all your grudges to God.

Do you know the story of the man who was bitten by a dog? When he learned the dog had rabies, he began making a list. The doctor informed him that there was no need to make his will that rabies was curable. Oh, I'm not making my will, he replied. I make a list of all the people I want to bite. Couldn't we all make a list like this? You've probably seen that friends aren't always friendly, some workers never work, and some bosses are always bossy. You have already seen that promises are not always kept. Just because someone is your father doesn't mean that man will act like a father. Some couples say yes in church, but in marriage they say "no" to each other. As you've probably seen, we love to hit back, bite back, make lists, make snide remarks, and snap at people we don't like.

God wants our list. He inspired one of his servants to say: «Love does not count evil» (1. Corinthians 13,5). He wants us to leave the list on the cross. This is not easy. Look what they did to me, we get indignant and point to our injuries. Look what I've done for you, he reminds us, pointing to the cross. Paul put it this way: “Forgive one another if anyone has a complaint against another; as the Lord has forgiven you, so forgive" (Colossians 3,13).

You and I are not pleaded - no, we are commanded not to keep a list of all the wrongs that have been done to us. By the way, do you really want to keep such a list? Do you really want to keep a record of all your hurts and hurts? Do you only want to growl and sulk for the rest of your life? God doesn't want that. Give up your sins before they poison you, your bitterness before it stirs you up, and your sorrows before they crush you. Give your fears and worries to God.

A man told his psychologist that his fears and worries kept him from sleeping at night. The doctor had the diagnosis ready: you are too tense. Most of us are. We parents are in a particularly delicate position. My daughters are getting to the age where they start driving. It's like just yesterday I taught them to walk and now I see them behind a wheel. A terrifying thought. I had thought about putting a sticker on Jenny's car that said: How do I drive? call my dad Then my phone number. What do we do with these fears? Put your sorrows on the cross - quite literally. The next time you're worried about your health, or your home, or your finances, or a trip, mentally walk up that hill. Spend a few moments there and look again at the paraphernalia of Christ's sufferings.

Run your finger over the spearhead. Cradle a nail in the palm of your hand. Read the plaque in your own language. And touch the soft earth, wet with the blood of God. His blood that he shed for you. The spear that hit him for you. The nails he felt for you. The sign, the mark he left for you. He did all this for you. Don't you think that's where he's looking for you, since you know everything he did for you in that place? Or as Paul wrote: "He who did not spare his own son, but gave him up for us all - how should he not give us everything with him?" (Romans 8,32).

Do yourself a favor and bring all your fears and worries to the cross. Leave them there, along with your sore spots and grudges. And may I make another suggestion? Also bring your hour of death to the cross. If Christ does not return before then, you and I will have one last hour, one last moment, one last breath, one last opening of the eyes and one last beating of the heart. In a split second you will leave what you know and enter something you don't know. That worries us. Death is the great unknown. We always shy away from the unknown.

At least that was the case with my daughter Sara. Denalyn, my wife and I thought it was a great idea. We would kidnap the girls from school and take them on a weekend trip. We booked a hotel and discussed the trip with the teachers, but kept everything a secret from our daughters. When we showed up in Sara's classroom on Friday afternoon, we thought she'd be delighted. But she wasn't. She was afraid. She didn't want to leave school! I assured her that nothing happened, that we had come to take her to a place where she would have fun. It did not work. When we got to the car, she was crying. She was upset. She didn't like the interruption. We don't like anything similar either. God promises to come at an unexpected hour to take us out of the gray world we know and into a golden world we don't know. But since we don't know this world, we really don't want to go there. We are even disconcerted at the thought of his coming. For this reason, God wants us to do what Sarah finally did - trust her father. "Do not be afraid of your heart! Believe in God and believe in me!", Jesus affirmed and continued: "I will come again and take you to myself, so that you may be where I am" (John 14,1 and 3).

By the way, after a short while, Sara relaxed and enjoyed the outing. She didn't want to go back at all. You will feel the same way. Are you concerned about the hour of your death? Leave your anxious thoughts about the hour of your death at the foot of the cross. Leave them there with your sore spots and your resentments and all your fears and worries.

by Max Lucado

This text was taken from the book "Because you're worth it to him" by Max Lucado, published by SCM Hänssler ©2018 was issued. Max Lucado was a longtime pastor of Oak Hills Church in San Antonio, Texas. He is married, has three daughters and is the author of many books. Used with permission.