We celebrate Good Friday by going to a barn. Let me explain. A great friend, John, is a real cowboy. He owns a ranch and he has this incredible barn on his property. At Christmas and Easter, he, along with his church, transforms that old barn into a stage where the Christmas story and the Easter story are acted out in front of a crowd of onlookers. It is always an emotionally rich experience. Last year after the Good Friday service, he asked me to move the cross. Now, this is not some Styrofoam replica of the cross of Calvary. This is a huge 12-foot cross. I’m sure it weighed as much as a Volkswagen. Ok, a little exaggeration. Wanting to help, I quickly agreed. Bad idea.
I want you to get a picture of the comedy of me trying to balance that cross on my shoulders and drag it 20 feet. Pride got the best of me. Not wanting to ask for help, I stooped down and lifted this thing. Not wanting to appear weak, I did it. My back hurt for a week. My hands were filled with splinters. Don’t feel sorry for me. I should have asked for help, but I learned a valuable lesson that day…and it had nothing to do with my physical abilities or lack thereof. It was an incredible weight that Jesus carried the day He was crucified. The weight that day was not measured in pounds, but in lives burdened by sin. He carried it. He carried it for me. He carried it for you. Carrying his own cross, he went out to the place of the Skull (which in Aramaic is called Golgotha).John 19:17 Will you let me carry yours?