angelaschmeling

We are in the beautiful season of Easter and I can’t help but wonder as we look around and see the easter bunny and make plans with family and friends… are we forgetting what it truly means?

Yes, Easter is gathering together with family.
Yes, it means celebrating—Easter egg hunts, baskets, decorations, special outfits.
It means lots of food and going to church together.

None of those things are bad.

But in the midst of all of it, do we still remember what we are actually celebrating? And if we do remember—if we truly know what Easter, or Resurrection Sunday, is—why have we limited that remembrance to just one day a year?

Now, I’ve talked about this before but I think in the hustle and bustle of daily life, the revolution of social media. The desire to catch the latest show or hope on to the newest trend, we tend to forget all that Christ went through. Or even, might I dare say, forget Him entirely. We can take His sacrifice and go, “Yeah, Jesus saved me.” with nonchalance and not recall the gravity of all that He went through so that we can be saved for all eternity because of what He endured.

Have you ever watched the movie, The Passion of the Christ? It is a powerful, stirring, and beautiful movie, but it is also incredibly hard to watch. The torture. The pain. The brutality. It’s overwhelming. And yet, I need the reminder.

Because He did that for me.
For my sins.
For every stupid, pitiful, ridiculous thing I’ve done.

He took lashes, humiliation, and unimaginable suffering so that I could live free—with Him. I often need to be brought back to that truth.

And even that movie—graphic as it is— doesn’t fully capture the horror of what actually happened on the cross. Whether you believe who Jesus is or not, there are historical accounts of His crucifixion. And if you are a believer, this isn’t something we should only acknowledge once a year. This is something that should leave us overwhelmed with gratitude every single day.

So let’s remember what happened.

Jesus was 33 years old when He was condemned to death. Crucifixion was considered the most horrific form of execution at the time, reserved for the worst criminals. Jesus was not a criminal. In fact, Pontius Pilate didn’t want to order His crucifixion at all. Instead, he had Jesus flogged, hoping that would satisfy the Jewish leaders who were demanding His death.

The flogging was, in my opinion, savage. It was whips, some embedded with glass and rocks and spikes, slashing across the body over and over again. This beating was so severe that the flesh was torn from Jesus’ back. Did this satisfy those who were wanting Him dead?

It didn’t.

His beard was ripped out and to further humiliate Him, soldiers twisted thorns into a crown and pressed it into His scalp.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

Covered in blood, barely able to stand, His body broken and torn, they insisted He deserved the cross. Moreover, when given the choice, they allowed Pontius Pilot to release a murderer rather than Jesus. And so Pilot had no choice but to crucify Christ.

Jesus was then forced to carry His own cross while people spat on Him and mocked Him. According to a historian in Jerusalem who explained the crucifixion process to my father-in-law, the crosses were placed just outside the city—close to eye level, not raised high like many portrayals—so everyone walking into the city would see them. Those being crucified were also stripped naked to increase the humiliation.

Jesus was nailed to the cross through His hands and His feet with nails that were 6–8 inches long.

The nails were driven into His wrists because the Roman guards knew it would sever a tendon, forcing Him to pull Himself up using His shredded back just to breathe. His feet were nailed together with a single spike, preventing Him from supporting His weight on His legs. Every breath required pushing up against unbearable pain—back and forth between agony—while the wood of the cross rubbed against the open wounds on His back.

Can you imagine?

The pain.
The suffering.
The courage.

Knowing He could have called on angels. Knowing He could have said, “I’m done.”

But He didn’t.

Because He loves you that much.

Jesus endured this for over three hours.

Now, the human body holds roughly 3.5 liters of blood, and when Jesus took His final breath, there was no blood left. Fluid poured from His wounds.

He quite literally poured out everything He had.

For me.
For you.

Jesus endured all of this so we could have free access to God. He tore the curtain that separated us from Him. He paid for our sins so we wouldn’t have to do it ourselves. He took on unimaginable suffering so that we could walk in freedom.

So as we sit down this Easter with our families, let’s pause. Let’s look past the baskets, the traditions, and the single-day celebration—and remember the cross.

And more than that, let’s remember that Easter isn’t meant to be confined to one Sunday a year.

This is something we should carry with us every single day.

Grateful.
Humbled.
Never forgetting what it cost.