My God, My God, why have you forsaken me? Matthew 27:46

Now, I am old school. I don’t have access to a computer or a talking relationship with Mr. Google or Facebook, and I don’t own a laptop.

When I need to know something, I go to Collin’s Dictionary.

The word “forsaken” means abandoned, deserted, disowned, lonely, outcast, and so on.

Let me read from the Bible, Matthew 27:45-46.

From noon until three in the afternoon, darkness came over all the land. About three in the afternoon, Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eli, Eli, lemasabachthani?” (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”).

The same people who welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem are the same people who now wanted to see and have him crucified for crimes he did not do.

However, Jesus, being Jesus, had nothing but love in his heart for all of us.

Let us pray.

When our pastor asked me to speak today about the verse “I thirst,” my brain suddenly went blank. Then I thought, “Why did he have to choose me?” A little inner voice said, “He didn’t choose you. I did.” So, here I am.

Has anyone here ever been thirsty? I mean, really thirsty?

I recalled one incident when I was about nine years old, biking home from school against a strong, hot northwest wind on the outskirts of Christchurch. I was so thirsty. It was awful.

The next time was many years later, and I was on the ferry “Rangatira” going from Lyttleton to Wellington (the ferry left Lyttleton in those days; now, it leaves from Picton).

From Wellington, I was to catch the train to Hamilton. I was going to visit my sister, who lived in Hamilton.

Well, I suffer badly from motion sickness, and this particular crossing was extremely rough, to say the least. I spent all the time on my knees with my head over the toilet. I was so sick even when there was nothing left to sick up, I still kept retching.

Eventually, I arrived in Wellington, where the train was waiting. My throat was hot and dry and burning. My lips were sore and dry, and I kept licking them, but that did not help.

I knew there was a dining car on the train and thought at least I could get a drink, a cup of tea or something. I was desperate for a drink as I was totally dehydrated.

When I approached the stewardess on the train, I was told that the dining car would not be open for another hour. I was in agony.

That was the worst thirst I had ever experienced and the best cup of tea I had ever tasted.

Now for the “thirst” that caused Jesus to cry, “I thirst.”

The last time Jesus had had a drink was when celebrating the feast of the Passover in the Upper room.

It was later that evening that Jesus was arrested and treated so very badly by the soldiers, by the High Priests, and by Pilate and others.

He was punched in the face with a closed fist. He was spat upon, his beard was pulled, his back was laid open with a leaded whip, and the soldiers made a crown of thorns and placed it on his head.

All these things fulfilled the prophecy. See Psalm 22:15 (NIV) – My mouth is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth; you lay me in the dust of death.

Then Psalm 69:21 (NIV) – They put gall in my food and gave me vinegar for my thirst.

Jesus lost so much blood. His strength was gone. His body was so weak naturally. He was so very thirsty, and He endured it all for us.

But note that Jesus didn’t say, “I am thirsty.”

He said, “I thirst.”

To thirst for something is to have a strong desire or to crave something. King Solomon had a thirst for wisdom and knowledge. Einstein had a thirst for Physics, etc.

Today, Jesus still says, “I thirst.”

I thirst for your love.

I thirst for your company, your companionship, and your friendship.

I thirst as a Bridegroom for his Bride.

NOTE: Mary wrote and shared this reflection on John 19:28 during our 29 March Good Friday service.

I like to read. And write stories mostly.

If I am unable to sleep at night, I begin a story in my head. It may eventually get to written form, but most don’t get past being a possible story idea.

I have often wondered what Mary was thinking as she stood long hours at the cross, so I’ve come up with a possible conversation she may have had with herself!

“Is this what Simeon meant? That lovely older man who met Joseph and me at the Temple the day we took Jesus to be dedicated when he was just days old. He made sure he told me that “sorrow like a sharp sword would break my heart.” 

That’s what it feels like today, a sword twisting a little bit more every time Jesus groans in pain or struggles to breathe.”

Minutes slip by as Mary wipes away a few stray tears. The conversation starts again.

“It was interesting that when the sky darkened around noon, the rubberneckers and most of the verbal abusers drifted away. I was pleased the soldiers had kept most of those people from getting too close to the cross, and once the darkness had fallen, there wasn’t so much to see. The sudden darkness frightened many, and they anxiously headed home.

Mary Magdalene and Mary of Clopas are here with me, as are John and his mother, Salome, who comes and goes from time to time. Others are still standing vigil, the disciples aren’t too far away, and some women who travelled from Galilee with us are huddled in groups just out there.”

I can hear Jesus struggling to breathe again, so he shifts his position, but that only brings soft moans of pain, and so it goes on a never-ending cycle. He has been up there for hours, and it could be many more hours. What then?

Life after today isn’t going to be the same, is it? Where to from here?

I know Jesus spoke of his death; he’d talked to me about it a few times, as he did with his disciples. I also know he talked about being raised up. I’m not quite sure what he meant by that, but I do know he won’t be here. What do we, his followers, do now without him to lead us?

Where will I live? I’m probably not welcome to live with my family now; they don’t think much of Jesus and his ministry. Perhaps some of us women followers could make a home together. Oh, dear Joseph, what would you have made of all this?”

Mary stops the conversation in her head to listen to Jesus.

“Woman”, Mary looked up to meet  Jesus‘s  gaze upon her, “ Behold your Son.” Then his gaze shifted to John, who was standing beside me, “ Behold your Mother.”

John laid his arm across my shoulders, and we both nodded in acknowledgement.

In those few words, Jesus had secured Mary’s future physical and spiritual well-being, the last act of a first-born son for his Mother.

We shall leave Mary to her thoughts now as she waits for what will come, perhaps soon.

NOTE: Marcia wrote and shared this reflection on John 19:26-27 during our 29 March Good Friday service.