Think About His Love

One of my favorite praise songs from yesteryear was entitled Think about His Love. Written by Walt Harrah, it spoke of the pursuing, relentless love of God. The part that always grabbed me was the final line of the chorus…great is the measure of our Father’s love. At this time of year, we often focus primarily on Jesus’ sacrifice, his suffering and death on behalf of a sinful world, a fallen creation. But at times, I allow myself to reflect on what His Father went through in those final days of Jesus’ earthly life.

We know from the scriptures that God’s spirit can be grieved, so let’s assume our Father God experienced profound pain, grief and loss over the slaughter of His Son at the hands of sinful men. This was, of course, despite the fact that He orchestrated it. Isaiah 53 says; “Yet it was the Lord’s [Father’s] will to crush him [Jesus] and cause him to suffer, and though the Lord makes his life an offering for sin, he will see his offspring and prolong his days, and the will of the [Father] will prosper in his [Jesus’] hand.” Jesus had to be a willing Isaac, but the Father had to be an equally willing Abraham, so to speak.

I once passed a church during the season of Lent which had a crude, wooden cross near the curb with a sign below quoting Lamentations 1:12. It read simply: Is it nothing to you, all you who pass by? As I drove by, the words began to impact me immediately. Why have I grown so casual about this symbol of God’s love for me? What kind of sacrificial act was this?

For a moment, my mind flashed back to the days of the Vietnam war. Vivid in my memory were the images from TV reports showing fathers of slain soldiers as they watched protests and flag-burnings. Think about it: even as they were burying their sons and daughters, who had been killed while trying to preserve those very freedoms, their children’s heroic acts were being despised. I was aware that I knew little of this kind of love. Soon after, I heard a story that helped me understand a little better. I can’t prove that it really happened. I only know it helped me get in touch with the measure of my Father’s love.

There once lived a man called “Big John” whose job it was to operate a mechanical drawbridge. Several times a day a train sped across this bridge carrying passengers safely across a deep and potentially deadly river. Big John’s job was crucial, of course, as the slightest delay in lowering the bridge to accommodate the oncoming train could mean certain derailment, hurling the train and its occupants to their death.

On one particular sunny afternoon, Big John decided it would be a delight to bring his young son, Little John, to the jobsite and allow him the thrill of watching him work.

Sure enough, the boy could not contain his excitement witnessing his dad in action, lifting and pushing levers which engaged the mighty gears as they empowered the bridge to open and close at Pop’s command. It was not difficult for Little John to realize that the fate of many lives lay in his father’s hands, and the lad was filled with pride. Someday, perhaps, he could be so important. Someday, he thought, people’s lives could depend on him. How exciting it all was!

About noon that day Big John and the boy sat down to lunch and talked about the possibility of Little John actually trying out the levers later that day. As they talked, time seemed to slip away, and only the loud piercing whistle of the oncoming 1:05 train jarred Big John back to reality. Realizing that the bridge remained in its UP position, he had only a matter of seconds to react to engage the gears, which could lower the tracks in time to greet the speeding train. As he quickly maneuvered the levers, he assured himself that, in fact, there would be enough time to ready the bridge.

Just then he heard Little John scream. The boy had apparently lost his balance on the walkway above the gear mechanism, causing him to plunge headlong into the grinding, steel machine. In a split second, the father torturously considered his alternatives: stop the whole process with a pull of a lever, thereby saving his son, while watching hundreds of passengers plunge to their death--or allow the gears to continue engaging the bridge. Big John knew the latter option would provide safe passage for the train’s occupants while at the same time ending his precious son’s life.

In his heart of hearts, he knew he had only one choice. With tears streaming down his face accompanied by the loud cry of a man gone mad, he held his hand steady, watching as the bridge slowly came into perfect alignment just seconds before the roaring train zoomed by, its passengers casually unaware of the sacrifice just made on their behalf. Some were sleeping, some played cards--others just gazed out the window as if nothing had happened. John could not bring himself to look downward at what had become of his precious boy, but instead stared intently at the blank faces in front of him. Is it nothing to you, all you that pass by?

As painful as an account like this is, it truly pales in comparison to the horror that the Father witnessed as His innocent Son, who knew no sin, became sin for us and absorbed His wrath for us. I hope as you and I prepare for our role in retelling the story of Easter, we will be left with at least one significant takeaway: great is the measure of our Father’s love.

-tad