The son of a carpenter, Jesus grew up feeling the grain and inhaling the fragrance of hewn wood. It is not a stretch to imagine Him hefting a hammer or pulling a saw to construct…what? A table? A chair or a baby’s cradle? Woodworking was not His calling, but it was His trade.
Years later wood became a symbol of His calling when He was forced to carry a crossbeam up to Golgotha. This time the wood Jesus held was not to create something useful, but to accommodate His death. It hurts to think about it.
The severity of His suffering, coupled with the humiliating shame, causes me to squirm. His attitude makes me even more uncomfortable—no objecting, defending, ranting—just quiet submission. And here’s what I find really unbearable. Jesus created that wood. He created the hill on which He would die. He created the Jews who condemned Him, the soldiers who mistreated Him, the thieves who hung next to Him.
Jesus, Creator God, suffering and dying by the products of His own creative power. How great was His love for us that He would pay such a price—a price we cannot calculate or fathom.
We call tomorrow “Good Friday”—only so because Easter follows. Our sins are erased from the record. The door to a merciful God is open wide. Our forever is secure.
Jesus, thank you for carrying that crossbeam.
Finding Hope, 65 Meditations for a Broken Heart
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BARBARA HIGBY 