When I think of love I think of romance, I think of happy endings, I think of a love story. Or I think of the bond of love between parents and children, the love of brothers and sisters or the love between friends. What I don't think of is a blood-drenched, broken, bruised and battered body hanging on a cross.
I like a good movie or book about love and it's triumphs. I like to hear about two people falling in love and committing their lives to each other. The story of the Cross disturbs me, it's painful to read, it's brutal to watch when depicted accurately in dramas or movies. I don't get warm feelings when the story of Calvary is replayed in my mind. I don't smile, I don't get relaxed, I don't enjoy the images of the Crucifixion.
I've seen "The Passion of the Christ" in it's entirety twice. In 2004 I saw it at the cinema and I was devastated. The horror of my sinfulness and iniquity and it's ugly consequence laid as heavy on me as it ever had. The flogging scene was the most agonizing fifteen minutes of cinematic drama I had ever witnessed. I wept throughout and winced with just about every blow. I left the theater wishing I could never sin again for the rest of my life so that I would not add one more horrific act of cruelty to Jesus. I had several opportunities to see it again but really avoided it.
Several years ago we decided to show the movie during Holy Week at church. We showed the first half on Wednesday night and the second half on Good Friday with a communion service following. People wept and prayed and repented. Many said it was the most meaningful communion service they had ever experienced. I agonized through the movie and relived the same emotions I had several years before.
A few weeks ago, channel surfing, I came across "The Passion of the Christ" being shown in its entirety on one of the Christian channels. The scene that was playing was, of course, the flogging scene. Instead of quickly changing channels, I remained fixed on the reenactment of Christ's scourging. I was once again touched in the same deep way I was originally. It is gross, repulsive and sad. The death of Jesus never makes me feel like other love stories make me feel.
And yet I know that love is the simple reason for the Cross. "For God so loved the world..." John writes in
John 3:16. Paul says in
Galatians 2:20 "I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ lives in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me." Love is the answer to why Jesus did what He did. But the Cross doesn't affect me in the same positive way that other love stories affect me. Why?
Jesus said in
John 15:13, "Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." I have heard inspiring stories of men on the battlefield throwing themselves on hand grenades to save the lives of their comrades. I have heard tales of heroic acts of people sacrificing themselves to save others. But what I believe Jesus is saying here is even beyond these realities. Jesus is saying that there is a greater love that He possessed than anything anyone has ever or will ever have. He is speaking of what He was about to do on the Cross. Jesus was saying that there is no greater display of love, no greater act of love, no greater love story than what was going to be manifested on Golgotha.
Which leads me to only one conclusion: I do not understand God's definition of love. My conceptualization of love is far less than God's idea of love. My love language is not the way He speaks love. Yes, love between human beings is a metaphor and an object lesson for us in the understanding of God's relationship to us: husband to wife, parent to child, brother to brother, friend to friend. But those examples all fall short of the ultimate act of love: the gory brutality of Jesus on the Cross.
Why crucifixion? Why not God simply speaking the Word and all sins forgiven? Why not God with the wave of His hand, the nod of His head, the tipping of His scepter eradicate the sins of mankind? If death was necessary for Jesus, why not some other, less excruciating means of dying? He certainly didn't deserve death, no less a barbaric death by the hands of bloodthirsty Roman soldiers.
Yet Jesus defines this is as no greater love. There has never been in the history of mankind a love like His. All other displays and acts of love pale in light of His love. No one possesses love anywhere near the degree that God has for us. And it is a love that exceeds my comprehension.
So what do I do with this disturbing, uncomfortable and haunting act of love? I can do what we often do to avoid the obvious. I can talk about the Cross in theological terms. I can converse about God's wrath against sin, holiness meeting our iniquities with the heavy hand justice. I can sidestep the underlying issue that is the source of my discomfort. I am squeamish about the butchering of Jesus because it screams loud and clear that I am desperately wicked, that I am depraved and ungodly. The gore of the Cross reveals to me that I am a sinner.
So, again, what do I do with this mysterious, enigmatic display that Jesus calls the greatest act of love that also causes me so much angst? Trust it. Believe in it. Accept it. Respond to it.
I don't have to have a sterling understanding of why Jesus loves me like He does to embrace that His love is real and that it's dependable. I can receive His grace and mercy. I can acknowledge that He has promised to forgive my sins and remember them no more. I can be secure about His thoughts toward me even if I can't fathom why on earth He even cares. Who am I that He should be mindful of me?
Andre Crouch summed it up with the lyrics, "I don't know why Jesus loved me, I don't know why He cared, I don't know why He sacrificed His life, Oh but I'm glad, so glad He did."
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