From the Cradle to the Cross

Easter is coming and Jesus comes to mind. 

But what comes to mind when you think of Jesus? 

I think of a Savior and a Friend. A quiet and humble Teacher. A Healer in dusty sandals. A Calm in the storm. Holy and Human. Glorified. Genuine. Empathic. Majestic. Prophesied. Crucified. 

I think of Jesus from the Gospels: the Messiah in Matthew, the Suffering Servant in Mark, the Compassionate Healer in Luke, and the Son of God in John. I visualize Peter's lovable friend who gifted him with nets full of fishes and a faith that walks on water. 

I hardly ever think of Jesus in a diaper. Cranky. Colicky.  Baby Jesus.  The Jesus who belonged to Mary. Her son, her boy. Her pride and joy. 

Can you imagine how she felt as she knelt at the foot of His cross? 

I cannot. 

But as the mom of two sons, this I know for sure:  as she witnessed Jesus' crucifixion, Mary was not grieving for the Son of God.  While others looked upon the face of a suffering Savior, His mother remembered the face of her precious baby who once gazed back in total adoration; the grinning toddler who wobbled towards her with arms opened wide; the messy-haired young boy with scrapes on his knees.  Mary grieved for the son of her heart.

And she saw so much more than a Messiah nailed to a cross. 

The hands torn by nails once belonged to a little boy who patted His mother's cheeks and told her she was pretty... who held tightly to her finger as they walked along the streets of Galilee. 

Nobody knew the Jesus that Mary knew... the heart that grew beneath hers. She felt His first fluttering movements. Although His birth was ignoble, she knew before counting his fingers and toes that He was - indeed - perfectly made. 

It was Mary who tucked Jesus into bed, then stood quietly listening as He breathed His holy breath in peaceful slumber. She is the one who could tell at a glance whether Jesus was hungry or tired, angry or sad... and detect a fever by laying her hand across His forehead.  

Can't you just see her bandaging His blistered hands as Jesus learned to use the tools of His earthly father? And I imagine she stood in awe as her son began to manifest the tools of His Heavenly Father. 

Easter is coming and Jesus comes to mind.

When I reflect on the Crucifixion, my heart is overwhelmed at the sacrifice of the Savior who died for my sins. 

But my heartbreak pales in comparison with the weeping mother who held the bloodless body of the Savior in her trembling arms.  

The broken body of her sacred son...

The Word Became Flesh and Dwelt Among Us.

(John 1:14 )