One Can Only Imagine the Events of Easter

By the night before the crucifixion, all the voices cheering “Hosanna” had been
stilled. The parade had ended. The throngs of adoring fans had dissipated. Even
Christ’s disciples, who had accompanied Him to the garden, had fallen asleep. Alone,
Jesus prayed at Gethsemane. Unaccompanied, Jesus petitioned the Father. Surrounded
by silence, He travailed.
No one could walk the pathway to the trial and crucifixion for Christ. He alone
could take that journey. He singularly was destined for that assignment. And, He knew
it. He had been born to die, and Gethsemane’s prayer had brought Him face to face with
the reality of the cross.
One can only imagine the scene. Perhaps the night air was damp with dew
leaving a delicate moisture upon His garments and His hair. Maybe the wind whistled
through the leaves of the trees lilting a melody from heaven above Christ’s head as He
knelt down to pray. Or, perchance the atmosphere was heavy – no breeze, no moisture,
no gentle ambiance – thus matching the heaviness of His assignment.
Were the birds twittering? Were the crickets chirping? Was the night sky alive
with a starry display of grandeur? Or, did creation acknowledge the austere moment by
silencing its grand rhetoric in reverential honor of the cosmic importance of redemption’s
story? One can only imagine.
There – in the Garden of Gethsemane – Jesus prayed. There – He wrestled with
the reality that was soon to engulf Him. There – He acknowledged that He would be
falsely accused and convicted, bound and beaten, mocked and ridiculed, nailed to a
Roman cross and crucified. There – He travailed in such intensity that small capillaries
ruptured and drops of blood co-mingled with the sweat on His brow. There in
Gethsemane – His internal tumult was quieted as He accepted the will of the Father to
pay the penalty for the sins of mankind.
And then – the soldiers came. The solitude of Gethsemane was replaced by
public exhibition. Crowds gathered again. The arrest and trial ensued. The beatings, the
Via Dolorosa, and the cruel Roman cross followed. The uproar of agitated voices, the
shouting of angry men, and weeping of distraught women penetrated any residue of
Gethsemane’s silence. How much external tumult assaulted the ears of the Lord? Was
the animosity that saturated the atmosphere so dense that it stifled His breath? One can
only imagine.
Yet – one silence remained. Jesus had hushed the cry of His heart. In quiet
resolution and alone in His destiny, Jesus walked His pathway and faced the cross. There
– He died. There – creation was no longer silent. There – the skies turned dark and the
earth quaked releasing a roar in recognition of the accomplishment of redemption’s story.
There at Calvary – the sins of mankind were atoned and the voice of condemnation could
forever be quieted.
For three days, only muffled questions about the justice of His death, hushed
uncertainty about the veracity of His promises, or subdued inquiries as to the security of
the tomb could be heard. Then Sunday came. The stone rolled away. Jesus arose
shattering the silence with a public declaration. He was alive. How amazing was the
sound of rejoicing that began that morning? How wonderful is that proclamation that
forever has the power to penetrate the tumult of men’s souls? One can only imagine.

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