It’s quiet now. The crowds have gone home. The spectacle of one of them, one who was there to die is over. The cross has done its cruel task… inflicting pain, taking a life.

It is finished.

He has passed. Who knew it would come to this? Why? Why this?

From the outside looking in, it makes no sense.

He was a good man. He healed the sick. He fed the hungry, played with children, loved those in His orbit, and those outside of it. He welcomed sinners, performed miracles, and taught. Oh, the things He taught! Who would have thought we could learn so much from Him?

After all, he was the son of a carpenter, an older brother. Itinerant. He hung out with people many would ignore — fishermen, tax collectors, the sick and infirm. Yet, everywhere he went, he left pieces of himself. A touch, a smile, a word. A changed life.

From the outside looking in, it is another life that ended before its time. He was an unjustly accused victim of the establishment. He died for the sake of jealousy and misunderstanding.

From the outside looking in, it was a tragedy.

But, from the inside looking out, it was necessary.

Everywhere he went, he left pieces of himself… healing, nourishment, a place to belong. He brought with him salvation and the perfect sacrifice.

It’s quiet today except for breaking hearts and flowing tears of those who followed him, those who loved him. It’s quiet except for the confused whispers wondering, grieving, and hurting. It’s quiet as the earth and the people wait.

Yesterday was Friday and Jesus died.

Today is Saturday and we wait…

We wait…