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But They Crucified You
by Joseph J. Marshall
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Dear Jesus,

I really donít know what I could say to you right now. I wish I could wish you a blessed Passover, but as I watch them lay your body in that cold, rocky tomb; I know that it couldnít have been any worse. All you ever had was love to give, but
they crucified you.

But your pain didnít start last night in Gethsemane, but before you even created us. For you knew what we would do and how evil we would be, yet you made us. You knew the awesome price you would have to pay to save us, yet you still elected to make us - and even to pay that price so that some would be saved. I know in my heart of hearts that I will never understand what love moved you to even start your plan, knowing the anguish that would accompany it. You are God. You never had to inconvenience yourself for anything or anybody. You didnít need us and you still donít, yet you had this ultimate love for such pitiful creatures as I. You came in the ultimate expression of love for the people you made, but they crucified you.

I donít get it. You have striven with us for thousands of years, watching us fall on our faces and spitting in yours. This morningís mockery wasnít a new thing, weíve done it all along. How could you be so loving and humble while we are so hateful and arrogant? We have done every inconceivable act of evil against you, yet you stayed with us. We didnít deserve your care, your call, your deliverance, your law, your voice, your anything except your wrath. Oh, that you might have just turned your back on us and let us all perish into oblivion, it still would have been kinder than what we deserve. But instead you came to earth and put on flesh and blood and subjected yourself to your own creation. You came to serve the people you made, but they crucified you.

Lord, that should be me being dragged into that hole in the earth. It is I who deserved to be killed, not you. You are perfect, while I am but a vile man and member of a most disgustingly wicked race. How could you let them do this!? I
am not even worthy that you should look at me; for I am a house of uncleanness from which you, most holy one, should have hid your face. But you planned this all along. I canít help but wonder how many times my face crossed your mind as they beat you so cruelly. That beating was mine, Lord! How could you take that for me? I donít deserve it! That was supposed to be me who was tied to that post while the soldiers ripped the flesh right off my back, not you. I am the guilty one, yet you allowed them to beat you beyond recognition. Why? I am nothing that should cause you to go through that - nothing. But as if that was not hideous enough, they lay a cross beam across your shredded back and made you carry it to the detestable place where they would kill you. You knew very well that was mine, and I know that is why you did it, but I just donít understand. How could you love such ugliness so much, as to die at its very hand? In what had to be the longest six hours in history while you hung there on that cross, bleeding and suffocating in torment, part of me still canít fathom why you didnít come down. Yes, it was your love for me that kept you there; but who am I but another criminal, evil-seeking chaff which blows around in a wind to nothingness. But the whole truth is so ugly that even I hate to confess it. This was all my fault! It was my sin that mocked you, that tortured you, that killed you. In my stupid blindness and rebellion, it was at my hand that you went through this! You offered your hands of love to me, yet in my depravity, I nailed them to the cross. And I canít claim ignorance, I knew very well it was you, but I wanted to be my own god. You came down to save a fool like me, but I crucified you.

I am so very sorry. I know you have forgiven me, that is just the loving God you are, but two thousand years have passed and I still donít get it. I know you arose from that grave three days later, and because of that I too will live again someday in glory. You have sent your Holy Spirit to make me a new creation, that I may sit on your throne with you, but why? You should have killed me instead of dying for me - that is certain - but you did it anyway. And now I sit in heavenly places, enjoying blessings beyond my wildest dreams. And what shall I give you in return? I present to you my life, but what a petty offering it is. Iím sorry that I canít give you more, but it is all I have. Thank you for accepting it, as small as it is. I just pray that it can bring you even a little joy. Yet Lord Jesus, I still donít understand why all this for
me. . .

ďBecause I love you so very much, my precious little child; so much so that you could never understand. I had to save you because you couldnít save yourself. I wanted you to be with me, so I bought you. You see, the death you had coming was everlasting, and I couldnít allow that to happen to you. You were blind and ugly, but I knew that one day I could change you; and today you are brand new. You canít possibly see in yourself what I see in you, but now that you are born of My Spirit, what a beautiful child you are. You were once an orphan, but now you are Mine. You were once dead in sin, but now you are alive in Me. Youíre old nature was dragging you to hell, so I crucified it.Ē

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