Day Fifty-six

“When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved
standing nearby, he said to his mother, ‘Dear woman, here is your son,’
and to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’” (John 19:26–27)

Scripture Reading: John 19:17–27

I have often meditated on this tender scene when both a screaming throng and the searing pain of crucifixion momentarily gave way to another concern. In the midst of unimaginable torture, with every breath a struggle, the sight of Jesus’ grieving mother and horrified friend captured His attention. Inconceivable compassion spilled from His heart as He bid them to love and support each other.

I see great significance in the fact that He did not minimize their loss or grief. He did not consider their pain an insignificant detail in a work of far greater glory. He did not wonder how they could think so temporally. His heart broke with compassion, and He reached out to them in their need.

A glimpse of Christ’s heart in this tender moment can be healing for us if we’ll let it. You see, He looks on us with the same compassion. Imagine—at the very moment Christ was dying on the cross, salvation was secured for all who would believe. The enemy was defeated. Hell was trembling. Demons were howling. God was momentarily turning His face as every sin known to man was heaped on His Son. The hours Christ spent on the cross represented the most significant moments since time began.

John and Mary’s grief and confusion were nothing compared to the awesome work accomplished that afternoon. However, the friend and the mother did not look through eternal eyes to “see” the work of the Savior. They saw the impending loss of someone they loved and wanted nearby. Still, Christ looked upon their suffering and said, “Dear woman, here is your son,” and to the disciple, “Here is your mother.”

Jesus knew they could not comprehend the greater glory at work. He knew they wanted Him to climb down off the cross and live. For their sakes, He could not suspend His glorious works, yet Christ’s heart poured forth compassion.

My friend, at times Christ will do glorious works that involve suffering and loss. He persists in a greater glory even when we kick and scream and beg Him to do otherwise. Why? Because He will not allow us to cheat ourselves of something more marvelous than we can conceive. He knows one day we will understand.

Someday we will celebrate Christ’s unwillingness to give in to our demands—even when our begging broke His heart. He is working the greater work. Still, He has overwhelming compassion for our pain and confusion. Christ doesn’t grow impatient and wonder how we can be so foolish to hurt over earthly losses. He doesn’t even sigh and whisper, “If you only knew.” His heart bleeds with mercy, and He comes to our aid.

Oh, beloved, can you trust a heart like His?