FOUND

I have a friend, Debbie, who, a while back, showed me a different way to approach  God in prayer. She told me that for her, it all starts at the cross. I listened patiently  as she elaborated, but inwardly dismissed her process; because I personally wasn’t  interested in the gore, and the mess, and the dying Jesus. I wanted the King, the  strong Savior who had overcome all of that, and could take on my issues; the Christ  who wasn’t still bleeding, and beaten, and weak. 

Sometimes it takes a while for a lesson to sink in, and some months later, I was  reading a devotional on prayer that made me realize I needed to rethink Debbie’s  perspective, and take a true look at the cross. So, on that morning, I sat quietly  and let my mind travel to the scene. I settled in where I could see who was there,  hear what was being said, and experience the atmosphere and the emotions of  those present. 

I imagined myself on the ground a short distance away, where I could observe  unnoticed. The ground was rough and gritty; and guards were everywhere, talking  with bravado. They were laughing loudly, insulting each other and Jesus, and being  brash toward everyone. But underneath, a few seemed scared, as if their  conscience told them they had taken a wrong turn. 

I saw many curious eyes, those who had heard about this Man, and wanted to get a  glimpse of the One at the center of the drama. There were many who seemed  disappointed, because this Jesus was not the Jesus they wanted or expected. Like  me, they wanted the Savior, the Shining Knight who would come in and take away  their shame, their pain, and restore their nation, and their dignity.     

As I remained crouched low, I noticed a group of women off to the side of the cross.  They had an unwavering posture — where others took a quick peek and turned  away in shame, or remorse, or disgust, these women remained steadfast with their  eyes locked on Jesus. It must have been agonizing for them, because they knew  Him personally. With their eyes they told Him, we are WITH You, even though we  want to cry and rage, and pull You down, and rewind this awful day with a different  outcome.  

I noticed one woman in particular, who was His mother. I could imagine that her  grief was unique from the others because of the bond she shared with the One  hanging there. She remembered the baby and the toddler, and the child and the teenager she had raised, the private moments between a mother and her beloved  Son. Beside her was a younger man, and he was holding her up. That man was  brave — he hadn’t run and hidden like the rest of the chosen 12. This disciple  BELIEVED he was loved, and that love gave him the strength to stay. And the SON  SAW, and had compassion on them, because when you lose a child, or a friend,  you need to be with someone who understands grief that feels overwhelming.    

Hovering over the cross was an eerie presence that I couldn’t see, but I sensed was  filled with hosts of angels and demons, and Satan himself, waiting with great  anticipation to see how this turned out. You could feel the tension in the air, hear  the sound of wings furiously flapping. There was a collective bated breath,  darkness hoping for defeat — light anticipating certain victory. 

As the sky turned deeper and the air cooler still, I finally allowed myself to take a  look at the ONE who was actually hanging on the cross. I hadn’t dared look before.  I began with my eyes on His feet, which were still painfully trying to hold Him up,  nails stretching the skin and tendons. His body was so badly beaten and bloody  and torn, I wanted to look away. But that is why I came, and so I timidly cast a  glance upward, past the gore and tortured flesh, past the arms stretched wide in  submission, openly taking this disgrace.  

As my eyes moved up toward His face, I braced myself for the sadness I imagined  I’d see. But, when I found His eyes, they were focused directly on ME. I was not  prepared for this — I’d thought this would be my private observation. I didn’t  expect to be FOUND there. But, Jesus often surprises me; and in that excruciating  scene, He had searched the mess, and zeroed in on the place where I cowered,  afraid to face the One who really SEES. As I gazed in wonder, I saw His eyes  locked on me as though noone else was there. And then a silence took over and  drowned out the mayhem that surrounded us. So clearly — but without an audible  sound, came His words: This is for you. You are mine!  

Not long afterwards, when He had given it all and laid down His head, His body, His  heart for me, and for you, the earth shook so hard; and a storm came, unlike any  other I have seen. God was making a statement from His Heaven Throne. Those  who didn’t understand ran in fear. Because, He is THE KING! When the curtain in  the temple split from top to bottom, my heart split with it — overtaken by the LOVE  of the ONE Who declared His love for me. While He appeared weak and defeated,  hanging on that cross, the TRUTH is that He was never stronger. The CROSS was, and IS, the ultimate show of power and a LOVE so passionate and TRUE. He didn’t  have to — but He did, for your eternal salvation, and mine.  

And so, in agreement with my friend Debbie, I kneel at the base of the cross in  repentance and devotion and praise for HIM and for what He has done. I am  grateful for the red and brown blood on my knees, His blood — I pray it never  wears off. I pray I never forget that He saw me and chose me, and that He spread  His arms wide enough to include me — and ALL who come to Him to be FOUND.  

John 3:16 

by Kathy Paukune