Heaven Help Me

     I am ashamed of what I have done. I followed this man who spoke wisdom and showed me how to live a life pleasing to God. I felt compassion for all those who encountered him and found a new way to exist as a result of their experience. I am to blame for his death. I did not build one sliver of the cross on now which he hangs, but I condemned him nonetheless. I shouted, “Crucify Him!” Just like any other person around me, my voice pierced through with harsh condemnation. I wanted him to do something miraculous. I wanted him to save himself. Now the only thing I hear are people weeping at his feet.

     I stare at the sight of a kind man whose body surrenders to the harsh realities of humanity. God sent his son, the most precious gift anyone can offer, and we killed him. Though I feel betrayed, I cannot stop looking at the face of the man subjected to such a cruel death. Gone is the man so full of passion for God and others. Now there is silence. No peace, just a wind is seeming to pierce the moment.

     I look up at him, knowing that I stand in the middle of greatness—this tender person hanging on a cross. I look up and ask, “Why his life? He had so much more to offer us. Now we will not know the many lessons on how to love good and each other that still elude us. I hold this moment, hoping to sear it into my brain. This man may not be the Messiah, but he proved himself a devout follower of the Most-High-God. I look up and plead with Jesus, “Please forgive me, my Lord.”