Warning: I’m talking about religion today if that sort of thing bothers you.
This past Sunday in church we discussed Jesus Christ and what he went through in his final hours. It occurred to me just how humble and patient he was to put up with it. Here was the son of God, with the power to heal bodies and souls, raise the dead, multiply food, transform matter, and any number of other miracles, allowing wicked, corrupt men to stand in judgment over him and decide his fate. He allowed men to abuse him, to torture him, and eventually slay him in one of the most cruel methods known to man.
He allowed it. He could have stopped it. He could have killed every one of the vain and foolish men who, in spite of all the evidence that he was who he claimed to be, sentenced him to death for claiming to be very Messiah they were supposedly waiting for.
Why? Because it was essential to his Father’s plan. He endured it all out of love for all mankind–even for the very people who were mocking, abusing, and killing him. Even for Jeffrey Dahmer, for Jim Jones, for Atilla the Hun, for Pol Pot and Stalin. Even knowing that most of those he did it for would turn their backs on him and his gifts to us. I have no doubt he would have done it even if only one of us ever benefitted from it.
He allowed himself to be judged by people who had no business or authority to judge him.
So why do I get so bent out of shape when I am judged unfairly? Am I better than he? Far from it, and that’s why I rail so when I am treated unfairly. I don’t even manage to take it with indifference, let alone forgive those who are treating me so unfairly and unkindly.
I’m not sure it’s possible to be that forgiving, that patient. But I can certainly be better than I am. I can at least try. As a Christian, as a disciple of Christ, it’s the least I can do.