This morning I woke up and went straight to my knees to pray. I'm not sharing this to sound impressively spiritual, because the reason I fell to my knees has nothing to do with that. I was suddenly reminded that this is the week we celebrate the cross, and I have spent far too little time pondering it.
As the wife of a professional baseball coach, this week marks opening day (which happens to fall on Easter weekend) and with family flying in to celebrate the ceremonious start to another baseball season, Easter was sadly pushed to the back of my mind...until this morning.
This morning I prayerfully walked through the days leading to the cross. Like a DVD playing through the mental files of my mind, I saw Jesus praying in the garden; shaking and sweating as He realized what He was about to do. I saw his friends, Peter, James and John wiping the sleep out of their eyes as they realized Jesus looked different. He was drenched with a holy perspiration as He told them it was time to go. "Go where?" they probably wondered as the guards came for Jesus. Peter was so confused that he wildly cut one of their ears off.
The part of Easter that bothers me most is the fact that Jesus was made fun of, spit on, and whipped. I hate bullies...and it seems that the most violent kind of bullies were set on destroying Him, as they placed a crown of thorns into His head and pushed so hard that the thorns made his forhead bleed. What had He ever done but heal, love, and speak truth?
Finally comes the cross, splintered and heavy
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