at a loss for words

This title is somewhat ironic, as I’m still going to put “pen to paper” here, but I’m certainly going into this with a keen awareness that nothing I say could ever bear or accurately convey the weight of reality.

I heard a sermon last Sunday that tied in the event of Christ’s Crucifixion with part of Matthew 12:34, “For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.” The message focused on what we learn about the heart of Jesus based on His words – His last words.

“My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46).

“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do” (Luke 23:34).

“Father, into Your hands I commit My Spirit” (Luke 23:46).

“It is finished!” (John 19:30).

Christ bore the literal weight of the world on His shoulders, and consequently, experienced the worst kind of separation imaginable, temporarily, so that we wouldn’t have to forever: separation from His own Father.

Perfect selflessness.

In the midst of the most excruciating death a person could die, Jesus asked for forgiveness on behalf of the very people who wrongly accused Him and nailed Him to the cross; on behalf of me and you.

Perfect love.

Even though He was suffocating and had to lift up His own weary and stricken body just to breathe, He verbally acknowledged our need for His forgiveness; we couldn’t (and often still don’t) acknowledge that ourselves.

Perfect grace.

He knew our fragile and helpless state before we could comprehend it, and He acted on our behalf before we could’ve even known to ask for the kind of atonement our sins required.

Perfect compassion.

Even though the thought of His own death had Him sweating blood and asking God if there was another way the very night before, He still prayed for His Father’s will to prevail (Luke 22:42).

Perfect humility.

He willingly went to the cross, full of real human fear, anxiety and dread, “for the joy that was set before Him…” (Hebrews 12:2). He endured because the prize of our eternity with Him was worth the cost of His own life.

Perfect obedience.

Jesus was losing strength, oxygen, blood – His very life – that day, but He was not at a loss for words.

I’ve heard before that the reason He said “I thirst!” just before he died, and received a sponge soaked in sour wine to “quench” His thirst, was not because He actually wanted a drink;

He needed the moisture on His lips to utter the very last words that led to our freedom and redemption, and declared the fulfillment of God’s perfect plan,

“it is finished!”

It initially felt unfitting to use the word “perfect” right there after describing something so horrible. It was horrible, but it was perfect, and somehow it also was (and still is) incredibly beautiful. How can such different words simultaneously describe the same thing? How could that horror possibly have been “perfect” and “beautiful”? It’s perfect because it was God’s own plan for us before time began, and it’s beautiful because it was a plan we never could’ve dreamed or realized ourselves. It’s perfect because Jesus Himself was perfect and therefore the only qualified atoning sacrifice, and it’s beautiful because this plan of His life, death, and resurrection was executed on the basis of His love for us – entirely independent of anything we could’ve possibly been or done to earn it.

I know that Jesus was without flaws, and I am not. But if He willingly hung on a cross, suffered death by suffocation, and somehow not only refused to retaliate with His words by cursing His enemies or God, but instead prayed for us, declared our freedom through His forgiveness, and committed Himself to the Father… how much more able I should be to harness my own words; how much more disciplined I should be to think before I speak, to refuse filthy language, gossip, or harsh words spoken in pride or anger. He died so that I could die with Him to all of that, and then some. And when I fail, what does that say about my heart?

It is not like the heart of Jesus… yet. But I am thankful that His sacrifice and the gift of His Holy Spirit makes progress toward a heart like His, and one day, the completion of that, a reality.

Fully selfless,

perfectly loving,

completely graceful,

entirely compassionate,

flawlessly humble,

and unhesitatingly obedient

Jesus knew exactly what He needed to say that day, until His very last breath.

And I pray that I forever reflect on what He said and did in a way that brings me to my knees and keeps me

at a loss for words.