Tears rolled down my cheek. “Why do I keep doing this to myself?” I silently ask myself. Every year it becomes more difficult. Last year I opted out — I could not bring myself to do it. I’m talking about my goal of watching “The Passion of the Christ” every year before Easter. Lynne is a nurse, so I venture she might say it is therapeutic (she’s probably surprised I understand the term).

“Good Friday” seems an inappropriate title for what happened on that long-ago Passover day. We can only call it “good” in hindsight, as we are now able to see how God revealed His unfathomable plan of salvation to a lost and dying world. Nevertheless, I find myself often taking for granted what Christ did for me on the Cross. Sunday services, singing, hugging friends and family, encouraging messages, and saintly fellowship tend to push the Cross of Christ into the background. The crosses we wear and the symbols of our faith we display diminish the harsh reality of the Cross. The Cross was an ugly event, brutal as only godless men could conceive.

Shortly before His death, Jesus taught a lesson to a Pharisee who invited Him for dinner. A woman, a “sinner,” came and anointed His feet with perfume and wiped them with her hair. “And Jesus answering said to him, ‘Simon, I have something to say to you.’ And he answered, ‘Say it, Teacher.’ ‘A certain moneylender had two debtors. One owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. When they could not pay, he cancelled the debt of both. Now which of them will love him more?’ Simon answered, ‘The one, I suppose, for whom he cancelled the larger debt.’ And he said to him, ‘You have judged rightly’” (Luke 7:40-43, ESV). He then went on to justify the woman’s actions. “Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much” (Luke 7:47, KJV).

I know what my life was like before coming to Christ, and I know the freedom that came when Christ set me free. Not everyone lived the lifestyle I did, and consequently not everyone rightly perceives the cost of their salvation. I never want to forget the price that Christ paid for me! John 3:16 tells us that God “so loved” the world that He gave His Son. All too often I let the broad sense of the word “world” dull the fact that my sin put Jesus on the Cross. Had I been someone who lived a good life, never stole, never lied, never did anything bad in a worldly sense (and the world’s bar gets lower every day), that sin of self-sufficiency in my own works would have destined me for hell just as much as those who steal, kill, and destroy. Sin breaks the heart of God. Paul told the Ephesian church that God can be grieved. “And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, by whom you were sealed for the day of redemption” (Ephesians 4:30, ESV).

When the Roman soldier pierced the side of Jesus, water and blood came out. Dr. Cahleen Shrier of Azusa Pacific University does an annual lecture on the physical trauma inflicted by crucifixion. She sums it up by saying that “Jesus most likely died of a heart attack.” My sin broke the heart of my Savior. Watching “The Passion” again this year, I was once again struck by the scene where Jesus crawls to the Cross on which He will be nailed, and I am reminded of the words of a John Michael Talbot song (“Why?”): “And why did they nail His feet and hands, His love would have held Him there.”

Some years ago, a very eloquent pastor named S. M. Lockridge gave a sermon titled “It’s Friday but Sunday’s Coming!” It was Friday, and the sky turned dark. The Savior spoke. “It is finished” and He released His Spirit. The earth shook. The Temple veil was torn. Death was rejoicing. But it was only Friday. Sunday was coming!

So I watch “The Passion” repeatedly because “the one who is forgiven much, loves much,” and because Jesus said, “if you love me, you will keep My commandments” (John 14:15). Have you forgotten the ugliness of the Cross? Have you settled into a sense of complacency, forgetting the sin for which you were pardoned? If so, you might consider watching “The Passion” as well. Let us be men who love much because we’ve been forgiven much so that we might serve much.

What say ye, Man of Valor?