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"Calvary" is the English translation of its Latin equivalent, and it is also a synonym for "Golgotha," the Hebrew word for "skull." It is the name given to the place where Jesus died. Its usage evokes a reverential awe that humbly bows the heart in utter gratitude for the greatest and most efficacious of all sacrifices, a chosen obedience to the will of the Father. It was an obedience that caused the Only Begotten Son to empty Himself of divine prerogative and take on Himself the necessary representative form of humanity. He died, physically and spiritually tormented, to effect the exchange of the perfection of purity for the hideousness of sin. When I consider His emptying, the ridicule and disdain He faced even during His years of earthly ministry, the agony of His death, and the solitude of separation from His Father, the last word I would ever consider to apply to it all is "fair." Was it fair that His place of birth was in the midst of the stench and squalor of an enclosure meant for animals? Was it fair that the days of His youth were overshadowed by the rumors of an unwed mother, who some questioned why she hadn’t been stoned? Was it fair that His touch of healing compassion was publicly challenged, and His words of authority infuriated created beings much lower than Himself? Was it fair that His sinless body was flogged and shredded, and His nakedness exposed to gawking, taunting stares?
The sacrifices we are called on to make pale in contrast, and yet so often, when life hasn’t treated us well, hasn’t met our expectations, has jostled us with ill health or loss, or we lose out in the game of comparisons, our words exclaim, "It’s not fair!" Why me? We tell our children, but we fail to catch the lesson ourselves – life is not "fair." It is not a journey of equal opportunities and equal compensation. It doesn’t always satisfy us. It can leave us empty on the inside, if not in despair. I say "good bye"-- again. I wait, still longer than the last time. I do my best and I still struggle. Any sense of control is seemingly snatched from my hands.
Consider Calvary. Nothing about it was fair, but it accomplished the will of the Father. And we are the beneficiaries. Somehow, some way, all the inconveniences, disappointments, and tragedies of my life fit into the will of my Father. I may not understand. I may still experience a whirlwind of emotion, or face the emptiness of loss. The burden though of my own "unfairness" finds a refuge in the "unfairness" that was unleashed on Jesus. Calvary brings the Father close. Calvary exemplifies the eternal purposes of God. Calvary flows with love, and tenderness, and enablement – in the midst of unfairness.
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