I sat on the far side of our worship center. The room was about half full; tomorrow I expect it to be an overflow crowd. The drama and music team began a moving depiction of the death and resurrection of Jesus. As the music began a figure entered the room from the back and began moving forward, touching other characters and also certain audience members lightly on the head, shoulder or hand. It was Jesus, as portrayed by a young man. Given that he first portrayed this role last year, I looked forward to a repeat performance this year. He moved down the opposite side of the building in and out of the people. And then he moved toward me.
Already I had tears in my eyes and the performance had barely begun. My heart ached to see the real Jesus and for just a moment, the sincere care which showed in the actor’s eyes gave me a hint of Jesus’s care for me. And then he touched my arm and smiled. I wonder if he understands how deeply my heart was touched?
As the evening progressed the events of the passion unfolded, from the Last Supper, to the betrayal by Judas; from the carrying of the cross, to Jesus being nailed and hung on the tree, Mary weeping at his feet. And I cried. I wept as he suffered the terrible abuse of the Roman soldiers. I wept as they cursed him and mocked him, inflicting damaged on his body. I wept at the sight of Mary struggling to understand all that was happening. Most of all I wept because he did this for not only the whole world, but for me.
And then he rose again. He was radiant in robes of white linen, arrayed in the splendor of his majesty. And I cried for joy.
I am not ashamed of my tears. For they have their source in the gratitude of my heart for the Lord Jesus Christ and the price he paid on our behalf. So gladly I weep outloud for love and for joy, thanking God daily for our risen Savior who now prepares a place for us, and looking forward to his imminent return.