It wasn’t me who betrayed Him, surely that was Judas, with his hands firmly in the till, without a care for anyone but himself.
It wasn’t me who denied Him, surely that was Peter, so worried that he too may end up dead.
It wasn’t me who shouted “Crucify” – surely that was the crowd, with fickle minds, who are far too easily led.
It wasn’t me who washed my hands, surely that was Pilate, too afraid to stand up, and upset the authorities.
It wasn’t me who flogged Him, or drove the nails home, surely that was the soldiers, under orders, unable to disobey.
It wasn’t me that mocked and jeered, surely that was the priests, concerned about their own identity, and their own lives.
And it wasn’t me who left Him dying alone, surely that was His friends, who ran in fear.
However, today on this Good Friday, over 2000 years on, I look and see that Jesus is crucified again. And as I look more closely, I see the part I play, hear the words “Forgive them,” and know that they are for me.
It is me who betrays Him, each time I turn away, and hurt a fellow human with the things I do or say.
It is me who denies Him, each time I do not stand and fight against injustice, or lend a helping hand.
It is me who shouts out “Crucify”, for I’m of fickle mind; it’s easier to run with the crowd, and leave the cross behind.
It is me who washes my hands, and in doing so, I wash away the guilt. I refuse to see this Jesus, and the New World He has built.
It is me who flogs and nails him upon the wooden tree, but how quick I am to forget that He died to set me free.
It is me who mocks and jeers, as if I didn’t care, but after all He’s done for me, what makes me think I dare?
It is me who leaves Him dying, out in the cold and rain. I begin to see more clearly now that I have caused His pain.
So Jesus is my Saviour, who I see now that I’ve killed, but with resurrection glory, my life will soon be filled.
(Deacon Becky Lovatt)
With many peaceful blessings