At the Foot of the Cross

Which of us does not regret some decision we’ve made? Or not made? Some opportunity we’ve passed over. . .Just about all of us have wondered, What would my life have been like if I had, say, married Mary instead of Rachel?
What if I had finished my university training before getting married?
What if I had chosen a different profession?
In my case, I had often wondered: What if I had not walked away from Jesus that day when He told me, “Sell all you have, give to the poor, and follow me.”
My response to that question still haunts me to this day. I know some people probably believe it was because I couldn’t give up my wealth. But . . I now recognize my underlying emotion was fear. Fear and a lack of self-worth were the underlying reasons for my rejection of Jesus’ invitation to follow Him. Sure, on the surface I was a model son. But like all teens, I struggled with secret thoughts of rebellion. I guess that’s what prompted me to approach Jesus in the beginning. But something was missing from my life. Who was I, really? I wanted desperately to discover what I was capable of becoming.
Maybe I was raised to be cautious by overly protective parents, but the idea of . . . stepping out for Jesus without a backup system scared me. What if I failed? What if [it] turned out to be a pipedream? I had to be certain I didn’t align myself politically and religiously with a lost cause! After all, Jesus was a highly controversial figure. . .
Passover Week: When I learned of Jesus’ arrival, I was jubilant. Perhaps He was the Messiah. Our promised Savior. I decided that as soon as I had eaten the Passover feast with my parents, I would seek out Jesus and renew our acquaintance.
Friday morning: I awoke to learn I was too late. Jesus had been arrested and in two speedy trials, both held in the dead of night, the Chief Priests and Pharisees and our Roman enemies had condemned Jesus to die. He was to be executed that very day as a common criminal!
Needless to say, I was shocked. “How can this be?” I demanded of my father. “Such a verdict is unjust. The Man is innocent of any wrongdoing!”
My father, annoyed at having his breakfast interrupted, set down his spoon with a disapproving scowl. “This scallywag Jesus, whom you so hotly defend, claims to be the eternal God. . . He is either a madman, or a charlatan. Either way, His death is no great loss.”
Horrified by my father’s harsh attitude, I fled the house. Jesus, who had offered me His friendship and wisdom, was about to die. Time was running out. . . Now, stumbling through the streets, bumping up against hot and sweaty bodies, I realized that I, like my father, was guilty of a complacent and self-serving spirit. I was guilty of unbridled pride. Of wanting to control my wealth, dictate its use, or squander it, according to my own will.
Instinctively Jesus had known my Achilles heel. He saw me for what I was—my strengths, my weaknesses. And I had rejected Him with great sorrow in my heart. But not enough to repent. . . What a fool I was! I claimed to err on the side of caution, when all the time I was the victim of self-deception. . .
Suddenly I saw the destructive path I had been traveling. And I knew I needed deliverance from what was inside me, more than I needed a political Messiah! I wanted to be made a new man, free of my destructive nature.
“Oh, Jesus, forgive me,” I cried, but my words were lost in the noise of the crowd that bore me along. Suddenly I realized I had made my way up the hill to the Place of the Skull, Golgotha, where the vilest criminals were put to death by the Romans. And there, arms outstretched on a cross, was Jesus. Jesus who had sought to befriend me, not because I had money, but because I needed a true Friend and a purpose in life. Jesus, beaten and bloody, fighting for breath, yet very much in command of Himself.
His eyes rested on me for a second, and my heart broke. . . .As I stood before Jesus, blood running down his face from the crown of thorns He wore, my heart cried out for some Authority, even God Himself, to halt the proceedings and rescue Jesus from His pain and torment. But none came; no one spoke up. . . And then Jesus uttered a prayer that will haunt me to my dying day: “Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they’re doing.”