When Mercy Roared: Death Could Not Touch Him
I wrote something a little different for Easter this time. In this reflection, I step into the eyes of John at the cross, seeking that we might experience, even if in a small way, the grief, awe, and hope he must have experienced. May it help us see the depth of Jesus’ love, mercy, and hope He provided beyond the cross, in a new way. I imagine John watching, his heart breaking and yet filled with awe…
This is what I saw that day when they put my Savior on the cross. I was trembling so bad I could barely stand. The crowd… they were like mad men and women, shouting, pushing, stumbling over each other. I didn’t know where to look first—at Him… at His mother… at the chaos all around. My heart was pounding so hard, I thought it would burst. I wanted to run to Him, but I couldn’t move. I was Frozen with fear.
Then… they jammed the crown of thorns into His head, full force, so brutally. His flesh opened up like a fountain of blood, streaming everywhere—down His face, into His swollen eyes. Oh God! I couldn’t stop crying. My chest was so tight I could barely draw air. My knees gave way. My very soul was trembling.
I watched as they nailed His hands and His feet into the wood of the cross. Each hammer strike made Him jerk, made His back arch against the beam, opening His wounds all over again. His face was so unrecognizable, soaked in blood, bruised, swollen. I wanted to scream for them to stop, to take me instead, but I couldn’t move. My legs were shaking so badly, I could hardly stand.
He stumbled up the hill—Golgotha, the Place of the Skull—under the weight of the cross. He fell again and again. Every time, the pain hit Him all over, every muscle and bone screaming. I could hear Him gasping for air, drowning in His own pain. He was a man… and yet He carried it all.
And still… He looked at His mother. Through the horror, He saw her. “Woman, here is your son,” He said. And to me, He entrusted her. I took her hand, my legs trembling so badly I could barely hold on. I couldn’t imagine what she felt. I wanted to carry all their pain for them, but I was powerless.
Beside Him… one of the criminals hurled insults, his voice sharp with bitterness. But the other—his voice was different. Broken… yet steady, admitting his own guilt, declaring Jesus had done nothing wrong.
Then he turned his head, and said,
“Jesus… remember me when You come into Your kingdom.”
I held my breath.
Even now… even here… someone saw Him.
And Jesus—through blood and pain, through the weight of the world pressing down on Him, answered with a tenderness I will never forget: “Truly I tell you, today you will be with Me in paradise.”
Even then… He was saving. Even in that agony, He gave hope. I couldn’t stop staring. I wanted to cry out to the world to see His mercy, His love—yet I could barely breathe.
And then… He said, “It is finished.” And finally, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” And He gave up His life.
The world seemed to stop. Then… the sky turned pitch black. The ground shook beneath us with a roar that threw me to the earth. The veil of the temple tore from top to bottom with a sound that shook my very bones. Graves opened. People were stumbling over each other, screaming in sheer panic. I clung to the ground, praying I wouldn’t be crushed. Even the soldiers… their hands shook, their faces pale, stunned by what had just happened.
One of them—the one who had driven the nails into Him—fell to his knees and cried out, “Surely this was the Son of God!”
I could hardly breathe. My Savior was gone. And yet His presence filled everything—the love, the sacrifice, the mercy. I could still feel it burning in my chest. I wept for Him, for us, for the horror we had witnessed. I paused, trying to grasp the enormity of it all. The world seemed unbearably quiet, yet inside me, His presence roared louder than any fear.
It was a sorrow that cut deep, yet a love so vast it could not be contained. I clung to it, letting the weight of His suffering and mercy settle over me, and in that stillness, I understood something I had never dared to hope: death could not touch the depth of His love. I wept, broken and shaken. The power of His love had not ended. The promise of life beyond the cross was fulfilled, and nothing could undo it.
I don’t think I’ll ever be the same. I just can’t stop trembling when I remember it. My Jesus—He endured all this, and more, for me. For all of us.
