My Sunday School Jesus

my ss Jesus

Recently, I found myself sitting in a Good Friday service at my church with my 4 year old snuggled on my lap.

This service was intended as a time to remember the sacrifice Christ made for us, and sure enough, right there amidst the Scripture reading, the drama, and the touching music, a video clip was played. This was one of those really gut wrenching clips, the ones that make you come to grasp with the reality of what Jesus actually faced.

My Jesus, the King, was pictured beaten. Raw open wounds all over his unclothed body, blood dripping from the thorns pierced in his forehead. The clip played out His struggle as He was forced to carry upon His shoulder the weight of the cross, the very thing that would take His life. The sound of the nails piercing through his wrists was cringe worthy.

And, there I was, with this little girl on my lap. I found myself desperately wanting to keep her from this. I wanted her to turn her head. It took everything within me to not reach up and cover her eyes, or plug her little ears to keep her from knowing. To keep her from seeing the brutality of what REALLY took place.

The strange thing is my 4 year old already knows this story. She knows about Jesus. She knows that He was beaten, that He died. She knows that he hung upon a cross for our sins.

Still I wanted to shield her from the excruciating truth of what that really meant. Because it’s much “nicer” to think of Jesus like the pictures we see in Sunday school. It’s much more gentle and calming and less likely to prick at my conscious if I remember my Jesus un-bruised, un-bloody, peacefully hanging on a cross.

And, sadly, I think it was more me.

I didn’t want to see.

I didn’t want to remember.

Because it’s heartbreaking to think that He endured the cross for my sin.

Because when I remember, I can no longer go through my day pretending like I don’t know.

And sadly, sometimes, I think my 4 year old understand it better than I can.

Jesus gave it all. He loved me enough to pay that price, and though I want to remember him as this meek picturesque Jesus hanging on a poster like I saw in Sunday school, that’s not the reality.

May I remember today the truth of what He gave up, the pain He went through just so that I could know Him, and the life that was lost simply so I could have life. And, may I never again take that for granted. 

Thank you Lord for your sacrifice. Never let me forget.

Isaiah 53:5 “But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him, and by His wounds we are healed.”

 

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