Putting myself in Christs sandals. Or musing on my Good Friday Melancholy.

I woke up this morning and realized it was good Friday and then I went slightly melancholy as I realized that my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ walked the harrowed steps on the Via Dolorosa and what that possibly must have felt like after being tortured for the sake of Pontius Pilot keeping the Sanhedrin happy by getting rid of a rebellious problem to their elitist/establishment ways so that he and they can keep the status quo going and making christ the sacrificial lamb and also by giving them a murderer of Romans name Barabas back to them.

I saw a lot of commonalities from what happened back then to a lot of what's happening today in this country and with the administration. I know Christ was scared, I know he was also pretty pissed, which is probably what drove him to do that walk with the crucifix on his back and his body beaten and bleeding from prior torture on his way to Golgatha to meet his doom.

I was melancholy because I was trying to put myself in Christ's sandals so to speak. What was he thinking, what was he feeling beyond his clear physical pain. Was his mother actually watching him? Did he really see her? To the gratitude of that samaritan who took the load from you so you could walk the rest of the way without collapsing, only to be stripped naked, mounted and nailed onto the cross, and then hoisted for everyone to see you die from fluidic suffocation in your lungs. To know as you looking down at the people crying for you as you died, seeing them suffer as well from your pain and anguish. Watching the Romans play dice for the remnants of the clothing you have, asking for a little bit of water only to get a shit soaked rag for the last bits of refreshment you'll ever experience again. To be sided with a murderer and a thief asking for your forgiveness and to not be forgotten and you mustering the last bits of strength to remind them that as they die with you, that they too will join you in heaven for it.

Then to finally think of asking your father for a reprieve only to have Satan show up and when you are at your utter lowest remind you that you too are a god and you can call the angelic host to save you, knowing what you were born to do, you tell him no and deny him his victory. What was that like to see it? To be there. Would any of us be compelled to do something or just let it happen, knowing what is in store for the future? To see Christ finally take his last breath and die, then to see Longinus thrust his spear into the side of his chest and have that fluid rain down into his eyes and mouth and cure him of his near blindness and ailments.

It was a hard thing to imagine, but I tried. It was the least I could do for someone who died for my sins. A divine being, an aspect of the totality of the one true God of the multiverse, in a man's body who saw fit that humanity was worth saving and not getting shit on like his father did the first time. I tried to imagine it and I came up seriously short. Jesus died for me. So that I can be redeemed in soul and spirit because that's all he cared about in the end. You can do all kinds of shit and repent, but the care and feeding of your soul so that you can believe in him mattered. The soul, an intangible concept of the totality of who we are as a divinely created life force. It never dilutes, it never fades, but I imagine you can stain it and that there are beings in this universe that treat it as the divine creation it is. With holiness and reverence. 

Christ thought as much. Maybe we can return the favor. Happy Good Friday and a Happy Easter to you all.