Mary's Journal Entry 17: He Has Died...

Previously in this series:
Mary's Journal Entries:
Introduction 1:The Announcement;  2:Elizabeth Visit;  3:Return Home from Elizabeth;  4:After Telling Joseph;  5:Joseph's Revelation;  6:Planning for a Trip;  7:Traveling to Bethlehem8: Arrival In Bethlehem  9: He's Here!!  10: Visitors in the Night   11:Visit to the Temple   12: Running to Egypt  13: Murder of Boys  14: .Return to Nazareth  15: Search for Jesus   16: Jesus Found!

The following as if journaled from the perspective of Mary, the mother of Jesus...
Today my heart died.   

Will the trembling ever stop?  I have often thought of those words Simeon uttered straight to my soul 33 years ago when Jesus was still an infant.  “And a sword will pierce your own soul too.”  I have contemplated what that meant.  What was he saying?  Today… I know.  But to say a sword pierced it is not near enough.  It feels as if a million swords have pierced it and a million more continue.

My baby, my boy, my son, my Jesus… died today.  Not just the death of an innocent man.  He died the death of a criminal… for crimes he did not commit.  It was more than I could bear. 

Although I tried to stay strong for him and those following, my heart died a slow painful death as I watched him.  There were moments the pain of my heart was so severe others caught me.  They said maybe it was too much.  Maybe I should leave.  Were they out of their minds?!  This was my boy, my flesh, my baby.  How could I dare dream of leaving him in this moment? 

I hesitate to write what I saw, but my hand continues...  For some reason, I must put it all down.  Not because I will forget it.  Oh how I wish I could… it’s more horrific than my worst imaginations!!

How I wish I could erase the memories, the visions, the sounds, the smells of these last days.  How he walked to his death is beyond me.  The amount of blood he lost and the amount of raw tissue and skin hanging from his body was enough to kill any man. 

The beatings delivered by whips with metal on the ends, the flesh being ripped from his body with each blow.  The beard pulled from his face.  The crown of thorns on his head.  The horrific blood.  It trailed behind him… at times poured out of him.  The screams of anger from everyone around. 

Why do they hate him so?  He says he is the Son of God… He is!  And yet they refuse to believe so desperately that they torture him… for their anger.  They put him to death for their desperate attempt to justify their false beliefs. 

Had I not known he was my son, I would not have recognized the pieces left they were calling a body.  He was battered beyond recognition.  That tears my heart out to even say that.  I couldn’t recognize my own son… that is… until I looked into those eyes.   

His eyes.

So soft, so gentle, so loving, so warm, so deep, so peaceful….so sad.  Yes, those were the same eyes of that sweet boy I gave birth to only 33 years ago. 

As I stood at the foot of the cross, his hands and feet nailed, his gasps for air, his blood falling to the ground, he asked John to take care of me and me to do the same for John.  Indeed, it is ending.  He is passing on the task of providing for me as his mother.  It is over.

I can’t say I fully understand the events that transpired today.  I don’t!!   

God, today my heart died.  God, today they killed my son.  God, today they killed your son.

What am I saying?!!? 

They didn’t kill Jesus.  He is the very Son of God.  I learned so personally years ago that God is the God of the impossible.  God could have saved him.  Jesus could have saved himself.   

Instead, his flesh was torn unmercifully, left open and raw.  His blood poured out and ran down.  No, today, they did not kill Jesus.  Today, Jesus gave his life… a sacrifice like none I’ve ever seen or even imagined. 


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