Seeing myself in the story

Just found this and wanted to pass it on...thanks dianne.

There I am, amidst the fickle crowd, praising Jesus for His miracles one minute, demanding He be crucified the next.

There I am, clothed in my self-righteous knowledge, clinging to my position and power.

There I am, at that last Passover meal, not willing to let Him wash my feet.

There I am, in the garden, struggling to keep awake long enough in my Lord’s darkest night.

There I am, coming to Him in the dark of night with those who would kill Him. With a simple innocent kiss, I betray Him.

There I am, warming my hands at the fire with the others. Three times I deny that I ever knew this Jesus.

There I am, in the Praetorium, trying to wash my hands of His blood.

There I am, mocking Him, twisting thorny branches into a crown to press upon His brow and tossing in my lot for a piece of His garment.

There I am, hanging on the cross next to Him, spewing my bitter hatred His way.

There I am, at the edge of the crowd, unable to do anything but watch.

Yes, there I am, in all my sinful rags.

But there He was, fully aware of each and every transgression ever committed against Him, past, present and future. Still, He endured. His love never wavered, surpassing the sum of humankind’s sinfulness. And though I often avert my eyes from His, I cannot escape His loving gaze.