Six Hours

That’s how long Jesus hung on the cross: six hours. Six seemingly endless hours of absolute agony. The physical suffering was obvious: Every time Jesus needed to breathe, he had to push himself up against the driven nails in his feet and wrists to catch his breath, making every single breath pure agony for him. This was a torture by design, and it was blatantly brutal.

Then there’s the not as obvious but no less horrendous emotional pain that Jesus endured—the ridicule and humiliation and what nearly all observers and any involved in this one Man’s life would’ve labeled out-right defeat. The “King of the Jews” was on a cross, nearly naked. Dying. Didn’t that prove once and for all that he was merely a charlatan, a loser, and a liar? The Romans crucified criminals by his side; at his feet, soldiers divided his clothes by casting lots; people passing by taunted and threw insults; and the chief priests and teachers of the law mocked Jesus, calling on him to save himself. Despite the constant haranguing and ridicule, what was Jesus’ response? “Father, forgive them.”

Lastly, there’s the realm of his spiritual pain. We’re told our Savior took on our sins…every single one, from everyone, for all time…onto himself. That meant his Abba Father couldn’t look at him, for the perfectly righteous God couldn’t look upon sin. At the time of his greatest need, can you imagine how alone Jesus felt? How comfortless? His disciples had abandoned him, and then his own Father God did too.

I wanted to relate to that amount of time, to try to take in better how long six hours feels. So this is what I decided to do: At noon on Thursday, I mentally marked that as the beginning. And then I told myself to think about Jesus’ suffering throughout the day, to be conscious of how that length of time would feel. Until 6 pm.

Honestly, it felt…incredibly endless. And I was distracted by doing all sorts of activities: lunch, cleaning up, answering emails. At that point I couldn’t believe less than an hour had gone by. Then I had more to keep my mind busy: working outside, running errands to 2 stores, putting away groceries, talking with a dear friend. It was then 3 pm—Only half way through, I thought, appalled. After working in my office a while, chatting with Craig, fixing an early dinner and cleaning up…still nearly an hour to go. It felt unbearable. I felt a sense of relief when 6 pm finally came.

Why, Lord? I wonder. Why would you willingly suffer that long? I know that it takes about that long to suffocate; he determined to die a natural death, and to suffer, thus fulfilling prophecy. But certainly God Incarnate could have shortened that time, taken his last breath much earlier. But he didn’t. Christ hung on the cross the usual amount of time it would’ve taken to die that horrible death.

And he did it for you and me.

Here’s my challenge to you: Time the six hours for yourself, thinking of him, remembering where he was that entire time. It’s a six-hour stretch that should make an indelible impression. I know this weekend now has more significance for me.

Because of six hours.