There’s a song by the band Blindside titled Pitiful that has a couple of lines that really hit me, lyrics that make me wonder about what it was like to be there as Christ was crucified on the cross.

But I know as they hammered those nails into your beautiful hands
Your eyes they tried to search for mine…but I look away

Imagine yourself in the crowd of people who surrounded the cross as Christ hung for your sins. If you had been one of those early followers, what would be going through your mind? Could you have stood there and watched Him suffer for you? Would you push through the crowd to help him down from the cross or simply be another bystander? Or would you not look at all?

This is a story of me on that day…

I stand in the crowd of people who have gathered on Golgotha, a crowd that has come to witness the crucifixion of the man named Jesus. The people are wild this day, many shouting and condemning Christ for the blasphemy He has spoken. How dare He claim to be the Son of God, they say. He’s getting what He deserves, others argue, for claiming to be the King of Kings and threatening the Roman Empire that has brought us so much advancement and economy.

I don’t understand my fellow citizens. How can these people hate this man who preached a message of love and peace?!? Have they not witnessed the miracles and healings He has performed?!? He’s done nothing wrong, I want to shout. He only wanted to help us! He wanted to save us! My temper begins to rise, but I remain silent.

I’m snapped from my thoughts as the shouting intensifies. He’s coming up the hill. He looks bad, bloody gashes all over His body, blood dripping from His head, barely able to walk. Next to him, another man carries a cross. I guess the soldiers took pity on Jesus as struggled to carry it. No, more likely they were impatient with His slow pace, wanting to move things along so they could get on with their lives. The group of soldiers leads Christ to the crest of the hill, where He collapses on the ground out of exhaustion. Or is it from pain and blood loss? Whatever the case, He’s not there for long, as several soldiers hoist Him onto the prostrate cross then proceed drive nails into His hands and feet. Those beautiful hands, hands that have healed and comforted so many, that have calmed storms, fed the pour and given renewed hope to those who were lost with a simple embrace. And those feet! How many miles have they walked to reach those shunned by others. These are the feet that have walked on water which are now being pierced by a nail and the pounding of the hammer.

A smattering of applause breaks out as the cross is raised up. I want to take action, to knock some sense into these idiots as I rush to Christ, to pull Him down from the cross and save Him from this suffering and mocking. I stand in silence, though. I don’t agree with these people, but I don’t want to have them turn against me. I recognize several in the crowd as being neighbors and acquaintances. Would they still talk to me if they knew how I felt? If I were to rush up to the foot of the cross, the guards would surely beat me, too. Worse, they could take me to prison for the night, or several nights for that matter. The Roman prison system isn’t exactly known for it’s great accommodations. Being beaten and imprisoned then ostracized by neighbors wasn’t something I was looking forward to. Besides, there HAD to be someone else in the crowd who felt as I did, someone who was stronger than I, who had more stamina and a higher pain threshold, who didn’t have a family to care for or worry about. Surely I wasn’t meant to sacrifice all I had! Besides, Christ was God’s son and could take care of Himself. I would do my part to make sure that I spread his message of love and hope to others. Yes, that would be my contribution! Someone had to pass on Christ’s legacy!

As these thoughts crash through my mind one after the other, I felt the gaze of another upon me. Glancing up, I find myself staring into the eyes of Christ. There is an expression of sadness on his face, but his eyes are filled with a deep love that I have never experienced before. I glance away as I’m instantly convicted about my thoughts. I had just rationalized why I would let Christ, the man who had changed my life, suffer and die without so much a step to save Him. After all He had done for others, after I had grown angry with those around me for watching as He died, I find myself acting the same as them. Hypocrite! I’m ashamed of myself. Feeling unworthy, I glance up once again.

Faint, yet visible, I see the expression on Christ’s face soften to one of forgiveness and acceptance. There are tears in His eyes as I feel His peace wash over me. It was then that I realize Christ had to die, and there was nothing I could do about it. Even though I was afraid to act on His behalf, He still loves me with every fiber of His being. He was dying to save me, no matter how pitiful my thoughts and actions were or would become.

Now your eyes are the only thing that can save me
I’m still afraid of them piercin’
You break into my prison
Just pretended for a while
My soul is sad and I walk away

I remember every word you said
Come back in time come back
And I remember I was too beaten
Pitiful, so pitiful