I Wasn't at His Feet

Many years ago I attended a Beth Moore Conference in Seattle with my daughter.  Toward the end of the evening we ladies were asked to close our eyes and picture Christ hanging on the cross. We were to picture the criminal hanging on each side of him. Then Beth asked us to look up into Christ's face, our King's face, to see the agony he was experiencing for us, to see the look of love, compassion, and forgiveness in his eyes, and to feel the drops of his blood dripping on our heads and faces--the very blood that was washing our sins away, and to hear his words, "It is finished."

Wow.  That was a wake-up call for me because as I was picturing Christ on the cross, I saw the three crosses on a far-away hill, but I couldn't make out the shapes of the men nailed to them. I couldn't even start to look into the face of the one called "Jesus, King of the Jews" according to the sign they say was above his head. There was no way I could see his agony, experience his love, compassion, and forgiveness. I was too far away to see anything and the sky was getting darker by the minute.

I wasn't close enough to hear anything either.  Golgotha was too far away. The pounding of soldiers' hammers, the screams of men, their moans, their curses and pleas, were all lost to me. All I could hear was the increasing wind as it blew through my hair.

You see, I was not kneeling at the foot of my Savior's cross experiencing his unconditional love as he gave his all for me.  I was not kneeling at the foot of my Savior's cross where I could hear his final words of "It is finished."  I was merely a distant spectator on a hill far away from the old rugged cross. I could say I had been in the area of the crucifixion, but I certainly could not say that I had experienced it.

That exercise really made me look at my relationship with Christ.  Was it a long distance one, or was it up close and personal.  Have I seen with my own eyes, felt with my own senses, and heard with my own ears what Jesus is telling and giving me.

I realized much more fully what walking with Christ meant. I wanted to walk with him, talk with him, and sit at his feet. I wanted to bring gifts to his manger bed, hear him teach by the Sea of Galilee, kneel at the foot of his cross, and glory at the entrance of his empty tomb.

Never again did I want Jesus to be a far away, unrecognizable figure that could not even be heard, like the one I pictured at the Beth Moore Conference. Never again.