Driving to work today, it should be no surprise the question ringing through my brain in song....
"Were you there when they crucified my Lord?"
That this song would be playing in my head on Good Friday morning seemed pretty close to following the predicted script. What I was not prepared for was to hear myself answer the question "Yes, , I was there". I have to admit that the answer shook me to my core- shocked that I said it, shocked further that it is true. No, I have never been to Israel and I was born more than 1900 years after the Crucifixion. Nevertheless, there just isn't any denying it- I was there.
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"Were you there when they crucified my Lord?"
That this song would be playing in my head on Good Friday morning seemed pretty close to following the predicted script. What I was not prepared for was to hear myself answer the question "Yes, , I was there". I have to admit that the answer shook me to my core- shocked that I said it, shocked further that it is true. No, I have never been to Israel and I was born more than 1900 years after the Crucifixion. Nevertheless, there just isn't any denying it- I was there.
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I was there. My name was Barabbas. I was the convicted criminal who was set free, an innocent man to die in my place.
I was there in Peter's denial. By my deeds, have I denied Him. Not 3 times or even 3 x 1000 times but 3 x 1000 x 1000 times.
I was there. That was me who scourged Jesus unmercifully and spit on Him. Everytime I refused to receive His mercy, every time I reviled my brother, it was Jesus that I reviled.
My name was Simon and I grumbled bitterly when they made me help carry His Cross.
I was the bad thief who told Him that He can't be God if He doesn't remove my suffering.
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