I shouted angrily, pumping my fist in the air. At the top of our lungs, over and over, I and the others in the riotous crowd shouted.
Not too long ago we had all participated in joyously celebrated this same man’s entry into our city, waving palm branches in the air but now we demanded his death.
And die he did. But first he was tortured, mocked, spit upon… all the things I deserved and he did not. He screams out in physical pain and deep anguish for his Father and yet he asks for our forgiveness. All those who demanded his death, we did not know what we were doing he says.
And then then he breaths his last and it is finished.
While you may be thinking that it is interesting to put myself in the place of the angry crowd I should tell you that I was there. Not when it actually happened of course but when the church I used to attend would put their annual Passion Play. It was a huge church and a huge production, the choir in which I was a soprano was about 150 strong. We were the extras. The crowd that waved palm branches in joy, the crowd that cried out, I was a part of it.
It was that experience, that so-real-feeling experience of demanding the death of my Savior in my stead that brought the deep meaning on Easter into my heart far more than anything else could have. I will tell you that all the time I was shouting “Crucify him!” in anger my throat was so tight for fighting back the tears. I did not want to scream in anger I wanted to lay down and cry from heartbreak that in all His innocence He died for me, absolutely unworthy. Whether I was there when it happened or not, my sin demanded his death.
Here are my final edits, I’m leaving my “before” pictures on the original post if you want to see them. I think I prefer just posting the “afters” here today.
As usual, click the button for more lovely Easter shots.