Last night I dreamed I went to Calvary.
Have you ever had one of “those” dreams? You know, the one where everything is so vivid and real, you would swear you were actually there.
Last night was like that for me. It was real . . . so real I woke up with tears running down my face.
A Parade
I’m not sure where the dream began, but I remember walking in the hot sun. There was a large group of people walking ahead of me who were kicking up a lot of dust. They were all dressed like – well, like Jesus and his disciples would have dressed. I realized I was dressed the same way, with a covering on my head (which was probably why it was so hot) and long robe. Dust covered my ankles, feet and sandals.
Everyone was happy and shouting, “Hosannah! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord! The King of Israel!” Women were crying and laughing, waving palm branches. The man at the front of the crowd was riding a donkey.
It was just like my Sunday School teacher taught me so long ago. This was Jesus, making his triumphant entry into Jerusalem!
A Trial
Then the scene changed and I was someone else.
It was dark outside. People gathered around small fires to stave off the cold of the night. I stood at the edge of a crowd as we all waited for something or someone. People murmured around me and I asked someone standing next to me what was going on.
“Do you know the man called Jesus? He’s on trial for sedition and blasphemy. People are calling him King, Messiah and Son of Jehovah.”
I knew how this was going to end. The Jewish religious leaders found Jesus guilty in a mock trial and then sent him to Pilate for sentencing. It wasn’t going to end well for Jesus.
A Mob
In the next part of my dream, I was outside, in the Pilate’s courtyard with another group of people. I heard Pilate ask the people who he should release, Jesus or Barabbas. The crowd yelled, “Barabbas!”
I dreaded the moment coming . . . when Pilate would ask what should he do with Jesus . . . because I knew what the people would say.
“Crucify him!” they shouted.
I knew I shouldn’t, but I joined in with the crowd as they shouted, “Crucify him! Crucify him! Crucify him!” The louder they shouted, the more I shouted as well.
“Crucify him! Crucify him! Crucify him!”
A Man
I became someone else . . . Mary, Jesus’ mother. I stood in the courtyard close to the area where the soldiers were beating Jesus, my son, my little boy. My heart was breaking each time I heard the whip strike his flesh. I waited for him to yell out but all I heard was a grunt each time he was hit.
When he was led out by the soldiers, I almost fainted. I couldn’t even recognize my own son, the child I had comforted and held on my lap when he scratched his knee, or when children had made fun of him in school. One of his eyes was swollen almost shut. Blood was running down his face from the cuts on his head. His back was nothing but raw flesh.
I sobbed his name, “Jesus, my son.” As he stumbled by me, he stopped, and looked into my face. In his eyes I saw the little boy I knew. I saw his love and I know it may sound crazy, but I saw peace.
How could he have peace when his back looked like raw meat and his face was so horribly disfigured?
Who was this man?
A Cross
Once again, the scene changed and so did I.
Sometime between the last scene and now they had put Jesus on the cross. They spread his arms out on the horizontal beam of the cross and put nails in his wrists. Then they nailed his feet to the vertical beam of the cross with his knees slightly bent.
He was slowly suffocating to death. When his lungs felt like fire, he would raise himself, pushing against the crossbar with his arms while also pushing against the cross with his feet. It would allow him to take a breath, but also tore at his wounds. Such agony.
It was me!
At first, I wasn’t sure who I was in this vivid dream. I knelt at the bottom of the cross and looked up at the man slowly dying above me. I knew it was Jesus. He didn’t look like any of the paintings or pictures I had ever seen in Sunday School or in museums. He didn’t have long, dark, wavy hair or blue eyes. His eyes were swollen, his hair matted with blood and sweat. He was bruised, bloody, exhausted . . . and dying.
Suddenly I felt the weight of all my sins sitting on my shoulders. I remembered each lie I’d ever told, how many times my harsh words had hurt someone else, the nail polish I stole at the grocery store when I was six. It was ME at the foot of the cross, not someone else. I cried in shame at the wasted life I had led. Nothing in me was good.
“Oh, Jesus,” I cried, “I’m so sorry for the life I’ve lived. I’m sorry for all the times I’ve hurt others and for the times I wouldn’t listen when people tried to tell me about you. Please forgive me.”
He looked down at me . . . ME . . . just like he did earlier when I was his mother in the dream. He smiled and said, “Oh, I have been waiting for so long to hear you say that. Let me take your sins on MY shoulders. You don’t have to carry them any more. I love you so much and I have loved you for eternity. Welcome to the family.”
My tears of gratitude, joy and pure love flowed. They fell on his feet and washed them of the blood that had dried there. I wanted to shout and sing and dance.
A Dream?
When I woke up, my face and my pillow were wet from the tears I had been crying. But they were tears of joy, not sorrow. What a dream . . . or was it?
All I can say is this: For the first time I can remember, I have complete peace. My life, my hope, my future have all changed.
"But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become the children of God, to those who believe in His name." John 1:12
Last night I dreamed I went to Calvary . . . and that dream has made all the difference!