The Sacrifice
But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him, and by His stripes we are healed. We all like sheep have gone astray, each one has turned to his own way; and the LORD has laid upon Him the iniquity of us all. He was oppressed and afflicted, yet He did not open His mouth. He was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is silent, so He did not open His mouth. — Isaiah 53:5-7
When they heaped abuse on Him, He did not retaliate; when He suffered, He made no threats, but entrusted Himself to Him who judges justly. He Himself bore our sins in His body on the tree, so that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. “By His stripes you are healed.” — 1 Peter 2:23-24
Author
Milagros García Klibansky
Summary: I saw an exhausted, wounded mare pulling a cart while she was being whipped. Her suffering made me think of Calvary: Jesus bore our sin, endured his wounds, and humbly submitted to the Father. Beside his pain, my own pain and tears seem insignificant. Our indifference and our failings show the cruelty with which we continue to mock his sacrifice. Yet he stretches out his wounded hands to hold us. He knows us, forgives us, and loves us with a divine love beyond our imagining.
I saw her in the distance pulling the cart, her steps weary, her head bowed, her gait unsteady; she carried the weight of the whole world upon her. As she drew nearer, I noticed that her ribs could be counted; the bones of her hips and spine looked as though they were about to break through her skin.
I felt an incredible pain in my chest, and tears welled up when I saw the enormous, bleeding wound caused by the rope they used to pull her.
They whipped her, and she humbly served those who mistreated her, accepting the punishment with resignation.
“For God’s sake, stop abusing her! That mare is going to die!”
They did not even look; they went on their way, lashing her with the whip. She stopped a few yards away. I saw her trembling legs; she was exhausted. I looked away, and when I looked back, she was gone.
I thought of the agony of Calvary: the King bearing his burden, heavy as human wickedness, our sin on his back crushing him, the pain of his wounds, and his humble resignation and submission to the Father.
Our indifference, the cruelty of crucifying him again each time we fall, and He stretching out his wounded hands to hold us up.
And the pain in my chest becomes insignificant beside his pain…
And my tears are nothing beside his cry: “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing!” (Luke 23:34)
And we go on casting lots to mock his sacrifice.
And He goes on forgiving us, because he knows us better than anyone, and loving us with a love we cannot even imagine, because it is divine.
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