The worship leader was singing a spontaneous song. “look upon the beautiful bloodstained face of Jesus” and as is often the case with me in worship, I had begun to see Him. I was getting ready to immerse in His beauty. It is one of my favorite contemplative places.

He had other plans.

I saw his hand. His hand had the hole where he was nailed to the cross. He superimposed his hand on my hand. I reminded him we were supposed to be looking at his face. He didn’t stop but rather impressed physical weight into this experience. The weight of his arm, of his hand upon mine, alerted me that this was something he really wanted me to note.

So I looked at his hand.

His hand upon mine.

Thoughts of suffering came. How hard it is. Yet necessary. I brought a current situation before him. I shared I could not see the redemption yet. It seemed like just pain. I mentioned I did not know how he was able to do it. To go to the cross. all the way. Stay forward. Endure. And remain whole. It seems impossible in this situation I was bringing. I asked for help. His answer was to show me another aspect of the cross.

He took me back to the garden. The love was so tangible. The peace that permeated the atmosphere surely led to good health. It was beautiful. And I sensed father there. It was like His heart supported all life that was there. And suddenly it was broken. A great wrenching opened a door. Yukky things came through. Things began to change. Deterioration, which had never been known, was now a factor in all life. In this experience what gripped me the most was the tremendous explosion of pain. It was Father’s heart. He was weeping. Such anguish I had never felt. Beyond the waves I have known, this pain seemed to have no crescendo, it kept expanding. Breathing was hard. My throat was so tight. The weight of the experience had tangible tension, I could feel heaven pressing me down. The tears began but there was no articulation that could capture the feelings. I was so overwhelmed. His heart hurt because relationship had been broken. For him it was always about family. It wasn’t that he didn’t know it was coming. it wasn’t that he didn’t know what was ahead. It was the great pain of choices being made that violated love. He knew those choices would lead to death. The closest imagery that comes to mind is if you had a son and you saw him in the moment he was committing suicide. And death was not even the hardest part. It was the separation. The break of the spiritual connection that had existed and made life love. Then he spoke.

‘Jesus was willing to identify with my heart there. Only Jesus could fully share that pain.’

And then I am in the place of revelation, and people are weeping because there was no one worthy to open the scroll. And I know, that Jesus’ willingness to share the Father’s heart over broken relationship, was part of what made him worthy to open the scroll.

I am struck with the understanding that all the tears of everyone everywhere, throughout all of the halls of time, would not be enough to share the pain of my Father, that day, in the garden. And Jesus not only identified, but he offered himself, to bring reconciliation to the creature that was too immature to understand, and to ease His Father’s heart.

The revelation still feels too big for me.

He  spoke again. ‘Until you identify with my heart, until you let it be your motivation, there is mixture in your agenda.’

I know the only way to identify with his heart is through his son.

I am broken.

The intensity has gripped me in a way I cannot word.

I had not known, or thought about, his sorrow.

What else can my response be?

Father, let my heart do nothing, without identifying with yours. Cleanse my agenda.

I only want to do what I see you doing. Let your love be my reason.

Teach me how to love.

Selah.