Just Another Weekend?

As a college student, a three day weekend home can seem like just another weekend to relax and enjoy family and friends. Unfortunately, in our culture, even a weekend like Easter has become that to many families - simply time to gather with family and enjoy good food and pleasant feelings.

In my devotion times lately, I've been indulging my imagination a bit more than usual. One of the things I like to do most is to put myself in the place of a character in a Bible story. This week, I took the luxury of spending nearly 45 minutes spinning a story of what this weekend of the Last Supper, the crucifixion, and the resurrection would have been like for me, had I been there.

As the story progressed, I found myself increasingly confused by the situations around me. I think I got so into the setting in my imagination, that I forgot how the story ended. Jesus being taken from the Garden of Gethsemane sent my thoughts into a wave of worry, wondering what was happening. I started to doubt - hadn't I given everything to follow this man? What would happen if he was brought down by the government? What would happen to our group that followed him? Would we be in danger? How would our beliefs ever last beyond just our generation?

And then the beating and the crucifixion. I won't walk you through my entire imagined story, for it's very personal. Mixed into the crowd as just another face, and yet feeling the pain and shame that He endured with every mocking. Hiding my face as I stood at the foot of the cross, longing to step out and speak out against what was happening, but holding back in fear. Going home from there, and sitting in the dark, sobbing. The next two days, going about my daily activities with no interest or desire to continue living.

And then the news from the disciples. Skepticism. Doubt. Wishful thinking. What dreamers they were! They needed to accept reality. I don't believe all that. But I do need to walk by the tomb anyways, put the customary spices and such. Might as well go today, check out these rumors.

And then, I see a man. In the garden. Maybe I'll ask him what's going on. He says my name - I know. It's him.

My name. The name He's given me. Spoken softly, intimately. Has He thought of me all throughout this weekend? Even through His great pain and sorrow, even through death - was He aware of me? Of the pain and need I would one day experience, and of how I would rest confident in this death and resurrection of His? Surely, He was. As He hung on the cross, His thoughts drifted to me. To the image of me crying, sitting on the bathroom floor. To how He would be with me in that moment, and in each after it.

In His death, and life, God was glorified. May my life also bring glory to Him.