Okay, so Jesus was mocked.
And they beat Him up.
And the Father's wrath was poured upon Him.
Bad stuff. Painful stuff.
But somehow, this morning, listening to Pilate say, "Your own nation and the chief priests have delivered You to me," a different pain appeared.
Those people scheming to get Him killed, those were His people. He chose them. He gave them not only their lives and breath, but their nation and their land. He sent them prophets to call them back to Himself. And now for three years He'd been healing them, preaching to them, forgiving them, helping them.
And it annoyed them so much that they wanted Him dead.
These weren't just some people that a nice God wanted to save because He's full of love and goodness. These were His very own people.
What ache is there like the ache of unrequited love, especially when you're pouring yourself out for one who not only doesn't appreciate it, but hates you because you love?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment