A Good Friday Post: Good Friday Experience

            I know a few days have passed since Good Friday, but I haven’t had a chance to write about this and I need to.

            Something happened to me at the special service at my church last Friday. I’m not even sure if I can explain how I felt, but it all started with the song “La Niña de Tus Ojos.”

            First off, a loose translation is “The Child of Your Eyes.” It kind of loses the meaning with the translation, but I’ll try to explain it. The song is basically about being God’s child and how He sees us and loves us when no one else does. It’s one of my favorites.

            When the congregation started singing, I sang along half-heartedly. Honestly, I was distracted by the cross hanging on the wall. It was decorated with a black shroud and a crown of thorns. I was extremely focused on this, recalling all that I knew about Jesus’ death.

            Images appeared in my mind like pop-up ads on a computer screen. Jesus attacked by loathsome Roman soldiers. Jesus bleeding profusely from deep, aching gashes. Jesus carrying His own cross when He could barely carry His own weight. Jesus with a crown of thorns pressing into His already tormented skin. Jesus’ hands and feet being nailed through by the same Roman soldiers as if they were just hammering paper to a post. Jesus hanging on the cross, dripping blood under the sun instead of sweat. And finally, Jesus taking His last breath and dying.

            Jesus dying for me.

            These images flashed in my mind as the song started. Suddenly, personal images replaced the others. There were images of me at times when I’ve felt most alone in my life and of times when I’ve been so ashamed of something I did that I thought no one could ever love me if they knew.

            Then, there was the same image of Jesus dying for me.

Right there, standing at the pew with those I care about, I began to cry. I tried to hold back the tears, not wanting to alarm anyone. Ultimately, I excused myself. I headed for the bathroom, shut the door, and slid to the floor to let it all out.

My eyeliner was smeared, tears leaving slightly black streaks down my cheeks. My hands were wet from wiping away as many tears as possible. I couldn’t breath out of my nose and every time someone knocked I had to say someone was in the bathroom with the best “I’m fine!” voice that I could manage.

As cliché as it sounds I don’t know what came over me. There was just something that got to me.

Jesus died, for me, for everyone. Who even does that? What kind of person would give his life for people who didn’t accept him? What kind of person would submit to the death penalty of a criminal when he was innocent? What kind of person would be willing to be tortured and downright suffer one of the most painful deaths imaginable while having the power to stop it? Who would do that and why?

I can only think of one who would and one reason why.

The only reason I think anyone would die for another person is love. Personally, I can think of a few people I love that I’d die for. But die for people who don’t love me back, who hate me, who don’t even know me yet? And not only that, but die one of the most painful deaths possible? I could never do that.

Jesus did.

Now, I’ve grown up in a Christian household, so I know the Bible stories, if at least the children versions. As I grew up, I’ve found my own relationship with God and read the Bible on my own, so I know the stories more in depth too. My whole life I’ve known that Jesus died for our sins. It was common knowledge.

Yet, there I was, rediscovering the story and it felt like a punch in the gut. What I felt was so powerful, so overwhelming, that I had to cry it out on the bathroom floor. And I prayed, over and over, thanking Jesus for what He did, telling and showing Him just how much I loved Him.

 I simply realized, yet again, that Jesus died for me. Like the song said, God sees and loves me when no one else does. As a result, He was willing to die, a most painful death that I’d never wish upon anyone.

As I got up from the floor, I continued listening to the song. By then, the congregation was repeatedly singing the last line, “Te amo más que a mi vida,” which means, “I love you more than my own life.”

And as I stood at the sink, cleaning myself up after this entire ordeal, I sang along with my heart full of love, to God, to Jesus, over and over, with the congregation out there, completely oblivious to what I had just gone through.