Easter is, or at least should be, an emotional time for Christians. It is the three days that fulfilled prophesy and secured our place in heaven. Without the violent death of Christ and his resurrection, we would be bound to a death we deserve and we would have no hope of ever being with our Creator.
Today, Good Friday, I am filled with many emotions.
There is a natural sadness that I have so little self control over my sin that a living being had to die a horrific death. I'm thankful for that sacrifice, but saddened by it. I know sin dates back a lot further than me, but I carry it on. I hate it and I should.
Sunday will be the culmination of our celebration. The day we look forward to, the day that made the sacrifice worth celebrating. Sunday we celebrate the day Jesus arose from the grave. They checked, He was not there. He had overcome death.
Easter also tends to be a bit of a trigger for me. I have written about it before, so I won't belabor the story. A family friend and church ladies bought me an Easter dress and shoes for church services when I was in elementary school. My dad was absolutely against me going to church and had no idea I was sneaking off to services as often as I could.
This particular Easter, he planned a harsh punishment for me after church. In my new clothes and shoes, he drug me to the garage once I arrived home. I assumed there would be a beating, but had no idea what was about to happen. He set the dress on fire with me in it and left me to save myself. I did manage to get the dress and shoes off. I suffered burns across my lower back where he had initially set the bow of my dress on fire and blisters on my feet where the shoes had started to melt from burning lace that had dropped onto them.
At the time, I took the punishment very personally. I was punished because he hated me. I understand now that it wasn't about me at all. My dad hated God and hated that I was being exposed to it. My dad setting my dress on fire wasn't as much about hurting me but making me not want God. That worked. I didn't want to go back. What was happening was a spiritual warfare over my soul that I wouldn't really grasp until I understood the evil inside my dad.
I didn't die over my desire for church, but I could have. I was injured physically and traumatized emotionally. It is of no comparison, but there are people being put to death for their faith.
Just yesterday, 147 people were executed because they admitted they were Christians. Even though they watched others being killed, they boldly proclaimed to be Christians when asked. They were forced onto the floor, face down and shot in the head.
I'm not sure I could do that. I should be able to. Jesus bled and died for me. He willingly went to the cross so that I could have eternal life with my true Father. He died a horrific death so that I could one day escape the evil of this world. Would it not be right for me to sacrifice my life in His name?
The truth is I'm a coward. I'm fearful. I'm so stuck in my sin of unbelief that I would choose this world over eternal life.
I know it is all part of sanctification. I know that nobody truly knows what they would do unless they were actually in that situation. But I know my faith is weak. I admire those 147 people who were executed on the eve of this holy weekend. They ultimately chose their faith over the world, over their own fears. In that moment, they showed no unbelief.
I have so much gratitude for what Jesus did, what God did for us. I pray that my faith someday reflects my thankfulness for the gift of the sacrifice.
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