The church organ began churning out tunes of lamentation. Everybody sank into their seats to send up a small prayer (or at least they pretended to) before they started scurrying out to avoid the human traffic at the small door of our church. In a few minutes, the exit was cramped with people of different shapes and ages, all wanting to get out and go home. For most of them, they had finished their responsibility of attending church on a Good Friday, and all they wanted to do, was to get out of that place now. Some of the more religious souls stayed on to be a part of the Holy Communion. As I walked out of church, I could imagine the scampering that would follow, scampering to eat the bread and wine as soon as possible, and just get out of there. I wondered how many people actually meant what they were doing that day. It was a Good Friday, not too different from the others that had come and gone. But for me, this year it was different. The message had worked its wonder on me.
I trudged out on to the street, the noon sun glaring on to my face, the message from the pastor still fresh in my mind, when something suddenly made me look at the palms of my hands. Why was it scar-less? Why weren’t there painful holes in my palms? I felt the side of my stomach. I didn’t find any spear wounds there. I felt my back. The flesh of my back wasn’t torn. Still wondering, I ran my fingers through my hair. I didn’t feel thorns clinging on to my skull. The sun beat on my forehead, and I wiped off my sweat. My sweat was colourless. Why wasn’t it blood instead of water?
That’s when Isaiah 53:5 hit me like a brick on the back of my head.
“But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our infirmities, the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds are we healed.”
- Isaiah 53:5
I walked on, and before I knew, someone I disliked caught my sight. My heart was filled with abhorrence. Immediately I heard someone hammer on something. It sounded like a big nail being hammered into wood with a huge hammer, but on looking around I found nothing of that sort happening. I was stunned. Still in disbelief I walked towards the railway tracks, when a dirty beggar came up to me and grabbed my arms, dirtying my white shirt. The tragic expression on his face didn’t soften the anger that exploded in my veins. At that moment, out of nowhere, I heard whipping sounds accompanied by moans. This was crazy. My eager walk broke out into a desperate run. I was sweating and panting as I ran on the streets of my colony, I ran till I could run no more, I stopped under a tree and thought to myself...
I trudged out on to the street, the noon sun glaring on to my face, the message from the pastor still fresh in my mind, when something suddenly made me look at the palms of my hands. Why was it scar-less? Why weren’t there painful holes in my palms? I felt the side of my stomach. I didn’t find any spear wounds there. I felt my back. The flesh of my back wasn’t torn. Still wondering, I ran my fingers through my hair. I didn’t feel thorns clinging on to my skull. The sun beat on my forehead, and I wiped off my sweat. My sweat was colourless. Why wasn’t it blood instead of water?
That’s when Isaiah 53:5 hit me like a brick on the back of my head.
“But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our infirmities, the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds are we healed.”
- Isaiah 53:5
I walked on, and before I knew, someone I disliked caught my sight. My heart was filled with abhorrence. Immediately I heard someone hammer on something. It sounded like a big nail being hammered into wood with a huge hammer, but on looking around I found nothing of that sort happening. I was stunned. Still in disbelief I walked towards the railway tracks, when a dirty beggar came up to me and grabbed my arms, dirtying my white shirt. The tragic expression on his face didn’t soften the anger that exploded in my veins. At that moment, out of nowhere, I heard whipping sounds accompanied by moans. This was crazy. My eager walk broke out into a desperate run. I was sweating and panting as I ran on the streets of my colony, I ran till I could run no more, I stopped under a tree and thought to myself...
“Whom am I running from? What am I running from? Am I running from the fact that Jesus was nailed on the cross for me. For every sin that I commit, I should be the one nailed through my hand. But in contrast, each sin of mine is like a blow to those huge nine-inch nails that almost crushed the tender bones of his hands as it inched deeper into the timber. Every blow must have sent raw agony down the spine of Jesus. Every lash must have ripped off a part of His determination to have the cup of sorrow.
Every thorn in that crown must have felt like a spear of torment embedded in his skull. Every second on that cross must have felt like a hundred years in hell. Every drop of spit that hit his face must have felt like boiling concentrated hydrochloric acid. Every centimeter he walked on the road to Golgotha must have felt like crawling on a 100- mile stretch of red-hot coals. And every time I sin, I rub his face into the burning coal. I hurt him exponentially more than he was hurt on the cross when i sin!!! Why am I so blind? Why…”
…. The church organ began churning out tunes of lamentation. I opened my sleepy eyes to find myself in church. What??? This was a dream??? The people around me got up and started scampering out of church. I just sat there, again in disbelief, realizing that I had missed the Good Friday message and I knew the late night movie I watched the previous day was the culprit. The church started emptying out. I just looked upwards and said, “That was the best dream I ever had.” I was somebody without a conscience when I slept in church, but the dream changed things. That day, I walked out of church determined to live for him, determined to make sure that the next time someone has to be nailed, it would be the guy with the tail. Three Cheers for Jesus!!!
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