I was
driving home from work the other day, and I found myself thinking about the
Cross again. I’ve studied that center-point event of human history for half a century,
and I’m constantly aware that there’s more to understand about it.
I was
reflecting what a bloody, violent, dark day that was: the creator of the planet
was gasping, bleeding, nailed to this hunk of wood stuck in the ground. Evil
men were sighing in relief. Disciples were shaking their heads in confusion.
Demon hoards were cackling with delight.
I paused to
ask Father how he felt about that dark day. After all these years, he still
surprises me.
He reminded
me of a day in my own life.
I was standing next to my friend who was my pastor.
My brother was standing next to me, and he and I were both wearing tuxedos.
There were some other men and women with us, standing in front of a large crowd
of people; music was playing somewhere. There were flowers, I think, and maybe
some candles.
I saw none
of that. There was a woman down at the other end of that aisle. She was dressed in white and it seemed
that all the light in the room came from her radiant smile. And she was looking
at me. At me! She began walking quietly, confidently down that aisle. Toward me. I could barely
breathe.
I had been
looking forward to this day for years. I didn’t know a whole about my life and
what I would do with it, but I knew, I knew I must share my life with her, we
must do this together. She was my dream come true.
And here she was. She was going to, willingly, without any coercion, join her life with mine. This woman, she loves me! Me!
And now it
was happening. It was actually happening! My whole life was just now beginning, this day!
She walked toward me, through that crowd that neither of us saw. She stepped forward and stood next
to me and looked into my eyes. I was undone. My eyes were wet and my knees were weak.
And Father
whispered hoarsely,
“That.
That’s how I felt that day.”