True Love

This entry is not about student teaching, this entry is not about me, this entry is about the person who made the ultimate sacrifice.

Thursday night, 5:45 to be exact. I traveled with my roommates and a few friends to a church a few miles away from school for a Maudy Thursday service. (For those of you who are unfamiliar with Maundy Thursday, it is a remembrance of when Jesus broke bread with his disciples before he was crucified.) It was Lutheran church, much more conservative than what I am used to. The pastor had a white collar and I think about 75% of the congregation was over the age of 65. I wasn't really sure what to expect from this service.

The sanctuary was small with streams of color protruding from stain glassed windows. We sat in cushioned pews and an illuminated cross hung before us on the wall. Music began to flood out of an organ and songs spilled from our lips as we sang from a green colored hymnal. The pastor told us to be seated and he began his sermon. My eyes began to wander as he preached about the Last Supper. They bounced around until they saw a banner of Jesus with a small child. Any other night I wouldn't of have had a second thought about it. After all, it's a church, pictures of Jesus are everywhere. But for some reason this was different. The way He was looking at this child, it was as if they were having a discussion. I soon wondered, what would it have been like to talk with Him?

I couldn't stop looking at it. My mind was filled with pictures and possibilities of discussions that Jesus and I would have. What did His voice sound like? If He took my hand I bet his hand would be soft but strong, comforting and secure. If I hugged him how tightly would he hug back? Did he really look like the European idea that all of the pictures give us or would he be more middle Eastern? (My guess was always the latter). If I could talk with Him before the night he was nailed up on Golgotha, what would I say? Would there be words or would we sit shoulder to shoulder with the same worried thoughts going through our minds?

I switched my glance back to the pastor and before I knew it a wooden cross was standing up by the pulpit. Black cloths covered both it and the tables. My eyes bounced back to the picture of my savior.

He died so that I may live...so that everyone may live.

There are no words.