Today is Good Friday. It is the day we remember the crucifixion of Jesus. It seems that each year I have been focused on his death. This is appropriate, of course, but this year my mind and my heart have been brought to focus on something else more poignant: His rejection.
Isaiah told us that the messiah would be "despised and rejected by others; a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief." How true those words would turn out to be. Although during his time on earth he would be accepted by the poor and the outcast of society, the religious people from his own establishment constantly rejected him. He would ride on a donkey, the symbol of peace, and the people would wave branches and proclaim him to be king. He would take the road from the Mount of Olives, down through the Kiddron Valley, and up to the temple mount through the Eastern Gate, where it was prophesied that the messiah would enter Jerusalem. It was truly an amazing revolution, but a short-lived one. Nobody stepped in to stop him from being beaten to within an inch of his life. Less than a week later, this same crowd would stand in the courtyard and scream for the release of a common criminal instead of Jesus. And Jesus had to endure the rejection. Pilate could have released him, but instead, bound him over to be crucified. Rejection again. He was forced to carry his cross through the crowded streets, but the loss of blood was too great. Even his strength desserted him. So his cross was carried for him, denying him his very last chance of appeal. But the crowds mocked and jeered. Once on the place called Calvary the King suffered the utter pain and humility of being stripped and nailed to a cross, and hoisted up for public display. He was mocked and made to wear a crown of thorns. And where were the crowds then? Would they stand by him at this final hour? No! They came to see and participate in the spectacle of his passion. All but a few close women friends had rejected him. For three hours he hung there a spectacle of public scorn. Finally, on the cross he called out, "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" And he proclaimed it was finished and breathed his last. Rejected. Totally rejected. A rejected man and the end of a life of rejection.
Life can be so very hard for us, too. I am so glad that Christ knows what it means to be rejected. I am so very grateful that he experienced that on our behalf. I am so glad that he knows the heartache of being rejected by the religious establisment, of being mocked, of being exposed, of having friends dessert, of having strained relationships, of physical discomfort, of having parents who did not and would not ever understand, of having rumors circulated about him, of being called demon-possessed, of having his loving deeds misrepresented, of trying to stand for the simple, powerful, amazing power of love in a hostile world. Christ understands what it means to be rejected. I am learning it too. Oh, God, am I learning. Quickly. For years my morning prayer has included the words, "Fill me with a love that knows no boundaries, a sympathy that reaches to all." Could it be that I am learning this in rejection? I am glad I do not have to walk this road alone.
Kristi
