Was I, worth that?

John 15:5–15 (ESV)

I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not abide in me, he is thrown away like a branch and withers; and the branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit and so prove to be my disciples. As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.

“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.

Was I, worth that? That’s the question I remember asking myself following an especially impactful Good Friday service many years ago. The people from my church had acted out their own version of the Passion play, and it had been especially passionate. A man named Bruce played the part of Jesus, standing at the front of the sanctuary in full on Jesus garb. For whatever reason, his blonde hair and probably blue eyes honestly didn’t distract me from the fact that the Jesus he portrayed, was unjustly bound and paraded in front of another man from our church who played the part of Pontious Pilate.

I can still hear that man’s voice asking those of us in the congregation what he should do with this Jesus he had before him. Almost before he got the question out and I had time to think; many members of our church choir jeered mockingly. A second time Pilate asked the question and this time the choir’s retort was short and direct; “Crucify him!” Bruce, along with two other men, was led down the aisles and then back to the front of the church and laid down, where we couldn’t see them, behind an altar rail in the area where the choir sat on Sunday mornings. As they lay there, being tied to the crosses, someone in the back of the church hit two large pieces of metal together mimicking the sound of nails being hammered. I started to cry. Seconds later, Bruce and the other two men were lifted up, and played out the rest of the story as they hung there on their crosses in the front of the church. My crying continued.

That night I dreamt the entire play over again, except this time I was more than a bystander, I was a willing participant. I followed Jesus to the garden where I pointed as soldiers came to take him away. I waited petrified as he was tried in front of Caiaphas the Jewish High Priest, and listened as passers by made judgmental comments under their breath. And then, when Pilate yet again brought Jesus out for the crowds, I was surrounded by their calls to crucify, until I heard my voice join the chorus. Jesus was led through the streets of a Jerusalem I had never been to or seen before until again I heard those haunting screams and clanks from the nails being driven through His hands. As this Jesus was raised, my eyes yet again became wet with tears, until I woke up physically and audibly crying, in an almost panicked state. There in my room I again asked myself the same weighted question. Was I, worth that?

Sure, I had heard the story of Jesus before as a child, but it had never felt so real to me as it did two times that night. Both the Jesus in my church, and the Jesus in my dreams, had suffered a fate far worse than that which I had previously pictured in my head. Not only did He die, but He was beaten, betrayed, belittled, broken and abandoned. Where were all His friends? Why didn’t someone come and fight for Him? Was there no one who would defend His honor? Just five days ago many of these same people had lined the streets begging for Him to save them, and now, in what seemed to me a blink of an eye, they had turned into a murderous mob – killing the very King they called for and celebrated.

What person deserved that?

Certainly not Him.

What person was worth that?

Certainly not me.

And yet, I believe this story is not just some made up tale in the back of a book somewhere written to make young men dream dreams that make them cry. This is not a far fetched fable designed to pull at the heart strings of all those who hear it. The story I have described, the Gospel, is the one that tells the lengths that Jesus went to, in order that He might have a relationship with me. A real God and a real man. A Creator, betrayed by His creation. The King of all kings and Lord of all lords, reduced to mere mortality, all that I might live forever.

I’ve oft heard people quip, “He would’ve done it, even if only just for you.” I’m not sure I’ve ever believed them. Surely the God of the universe had more worth than the weight of measly little me. He must have had more on his mind as the scourgers tore at his skin and the nails held him to that God forsaken tree, than just the face of this one man who all too often struggles to follow. Certainly a sinless man did not need become sin on behalf of one who cannot seem to stop. Still on that cross He hung. My weight of sin, He bore. The payment I had due, He paid.

There’s a popular Christian worship song (How He loves) that describes the love Jesus has for us with a lyric I can hardly forget;

We are His portion and He is our prize

Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes

If His grace is an ocean, we’re all sinking

And heaven meets earth like an sloppy wet kiss

And my heart turns violently inside of my chest

I don’t have time to maintain these regrets

When I think about, the way… He loves us – Oh, how He loves us

The song’s writer says that the love that he sings about is not a pretty, “Hollywood hot-pink” love. It is a kind of love that is willing to love even when things are difficult and messy. He says, “This song isn’t a celebration of weakness and anger. It’s a celebration of a God who would want to hang with us through those things, who would want to be a part of our lives through those things, and, despite who we are, He would want to be a part of us, our community, and our family.”

I think nowhere is the imagery of Heaven meeting earth more present than at the cross. And no better words have described the moments of Jesus crucifixion than “sloppy wet kiss.” In those words there is raw, unbridled emotion. At the foot of the cross there is hope disguised as despair. The love of God on full display.

For you. For me. For a guy named Bruce who would someday play Him in a passion play. Good Friday is good for us, because it wasn’t good for HIm. On Good Friday, God makes good on both ends of a promise that He knew we could never keep. All because He loves us. Oh, How He loves us. And greater love has no one than this; that He would lay down His life for His friends.