They Killed My Son Today!
When my son was young, the agony Mary must have experienced watching her Son die on the cross became very real to me, and I wrote this story. On her bed that night, how she must have been haunted by His suffering as she relived that awful day !
They killed my son today! I pound my pillow trying to expend my rage. Angry tears pour down my cheeks.
"Crucify him! Crucify him!" That's all I can hear. I clamp my hands over my ears, yet still I hear their yells.
Just last week the crowd wanted to crown him king. Today, they shouted for his blood. How fickle they are! His trial was a mockery of justice. And Judas--one of his closest friends. How could he betray him?
John has been so kind. The house is quiet now. But this stillness only seems to magnify the sickening thud of the hammer driving those spikes into his hands and feet. Oh, God, will I ever be free of those sounds?
His hands. I held those baby hands, and the fingers closed tightly around mine. Those small boy hands patted my arm so gently when I had a headache. Those young man hands became calloused working in the carpenter shop with Joseph. Those manly hands blessed the little children, healed blind eyes, raised the sick, multiplied the loaves and fish. They never did anything wrong. Why would they pound rusty nails into those loving, kind hands?
His feet. I remember his first steps. Joseph had just come in and Jesus, forgetting himself in his pleasure of seeing Joseph, let go of the table and tottered toward Joseph, saying, "Up! Up!" I remember listening for his footsteps each evening when he and Joseph would come home from the carpenter shop. His step was always the first to ring out on the cobblestones. He was so full of life. And now he's dead.
Oh, my son, my son! I'll never hear your gentle voice again. You'll never sit down with me after supper and tell me of your dreams. I didn't always understand what you said, but just being with you, listening, was enough.
What are these words coming into my mind? "This child will be rejected by many in Israel...And a sword will pierce your very soul." I'd nearly forgotten those words of Simeon. Is this what he tried to tell me?
Words my son spoke suddenly begin to vibrate in my soul: "I am the resurrection and the life."
Could it be? Do I dare to hope? You raised Lazarus. Do you have the power to raise yourself from the dead also?
What's this strange peace settling over me? Dawn is near. Perhaps I can sleep awhile.
They killed my son today! I pound my pillow trying to expend my rage. Angry tears pour down my cheeks.
"Crucify him! Crucify him!" That's all I can hear. I clamp my hands over my ears, yet still I hear their yells.
Just last week the crowd wanted to crown him king. Today, they shouted for his blood. How fickle they are! His trial was a mockery of justice. And Judas--one of his closest friends. How could he betray him?
John has been so kind. The house is quiet now. But this stillness only seems to magnify the sickening thud of the hammer driving those spikes into his hands and feet. Oh, God, will I ever be free of those sounds?
His hands. I held those baby hands, and the fingers closed tightly around mine. Those small boy hands patted my arm so gently when I had a headache. Those young man hands became calloused working in the carpenter shop with Joseph. Those manly hands blessed the little children, healed blind eyes, raised the sick, multiplied the loaves and fish. They never did anything wrong. Why would they pound rusty nails into those loving, kind hands?
Oh, my son, my son! I'll never hear your gentle voice again. You'll never sit down with me after supper and tell me of your dreams. I didn't always understand what you said, but just being with you, listening, was enough.
What are these words coming into my mind? "This child will be rejected by many in Israel...And a sword will pierce your very soul." I'd nearly forgotten those words of Simeon. Is this what he tried to tell me?
Words my son spoke suddenly begin to vibrate in my soul: "I am the resurrection and the life."
Could it be? Do I dare to hope? You raised Lazarus. Do you have the power to raise yourself from the dead also?
What's this strange peace settling over me? Dawn is near. Perhaps I can sleep awhile.
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