The Big Question

He Bore Our Griefs

Jacobus Revius

No, it was not the Jews who crucified,

Nor who betrayed you in the judgment place,

Nor who, Lord Jesus, spat into your face,

Nor who with buffets struck you as you died.

No, it was not the soldiers fisted bold

Who lifted up the hammer and the nail,

Or raised the cursed cross on Calvary’s hill,

Or, gambling, tossed the dice to win your robe.

I am the one, O Lord, who brought you there,

I am the heavy cross you had to bear,

I am the rope that bound you to the tree,

The whip, the nail, the hammer, and the spear,

The blood-stained crown of thorns you had to wear:

It was my sin, alas, it was for me.

The question for Easter is not the “how.” Crucifixion was common in the days before Christianity, for petty thieves and insurrectionists alike were subjected to brutality. The question is not the “how,” but the “why”? Why would Jesus Christ allow Himself to be crucified? Why would He who dwelt in the perfect love of the Father allow Himself to feel only His Father’s perfect wrath? Why would He who hung the stars allow Himself to be hung upon a cross? Why would He who split the waters above from the waters below allow His side to be split asunder? Why would He who led Israel to the Promised Land allow Himself to be led to death? Why would He who dwelt upon Mount Sinai, too holy for any man nor beast to approach, allow Himself to become so defiled as to be cast outside the city away from man and beast? Why would He who gave light to the sun allow Himself to be buried in absolute darkness? Why would He who formed man from the dust of the ground allow Himself to be laid in the dust by dust?

Why? “It was my sin; alas, it was for me.”