Has something taken your focus off of the Cross this Easter season? Master storyteller Charles Martin has written twenty-five books, and in this sacred space leading up to Resurrection Sunday, he invites us to walk Jesus’ path to the Cross, where brokenness meets healing and despair gives way to hope. Let’s kneel on this Herodian road with him and focus our hearts and minds on the inconceivable exchange that transpired upon those ancient stones and the unshakeable truth that indeed, It Is Finished. It’s a joy to welcome Charles to the farm’s table today…

Guest Post by Charles Martin

The last time I was in Jerusalem, we walked down underground to a Herodian road that bordered the west side of the city and led from Caiaphas’s house to Pilate’s praetorium. Almost a direct shot.

In studying the history of Jerusalem and the life of Jesus, there are many things we are not sure of. Some things we have to guess at. But we are pretty sure Jesus walked this road. Especially if they wanted to shame Him. 

The stones are old, worn, smooth, and shiny. You can almost see your reflection in them.

“Standing on those stones, it struck me. This was real. This really happened. They really gambled. They really beat Him. And He really bled—maybe right here.“

Standing before the praetorium, with my feet on those stones, two things struck me. Over on the ground to my right, I saw something that looked like a tic-tac-toe game carved into the stone. Through much use, the multiple perpendicular lines had formed deep grooves in the stone.

Here on these stones, beneath my feet, is where they would strip the condemned, and because he had no further use for his clothes, they’d gamble for them while someone swung the cat-o’-nine-tails. An executioner’s perk. 

To my left, a few feet away, sat a circular hole. Maybe eight inches in diameter. Soldiers would wedge a post into the hole, then lash a prisoner to it. Face to the pole. Then they’d whip him. Mercilessly.

Standing on those stones, it struck me. This was real. This really happened. They really gambled. They really beat Him. And He really bled—maybe right here.

Splattered all around me. I knelt and traced the grooves with my fingers like a letter written in braille. In my ear I heard Isaiah saying, “His appearance was marred more than any man and His form more than the sons of men.” (Isaiah 52:14) The NTL says it this way: “But many were amazed when they saw him. His face was so disfigured he seemed hardly human, and from his appearance, one would scarcely know he was a man.”

I stared at the stones. Listening. Did it happen right here? Did Jesus become unrecognizable as a man on these smooth stones? Shaking my head, I whispered, “What kind of love is this? What kind of King does this?” 

In my ear, I heard this echo: The same King who says: “[So] that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them.” (John 17:26)

Perfect love. 

“…I am blood-bought, blood-washed, and blood-redeemed. And I am so unworthy. And I am so grateful... We were bought with a price.“

I spent the next few minutes on my knees, palms to the stone, my tears falling into the grooves, mixing with the dust.

Inches from the stone, it struck me: I am blood-bought, blood-washed, and blood-redeemed. And I am so unworthy. And I am so grateful. And I wept.

For the joy set before Him, and despising the shame, Jesus really did this.

Redeemed mankind.

With His very own blood. The most precious blood of any blood ever, and He shed it. For us. Emptied Himself.

“We were bought with a price.”

And that price cost Him everything and me nothing. Even after all this time, I can’t wrap my head around this. That He stood in my place. Brought me out from beneath the spear. Paid my sin-debt. Returned me to His, and now my own, Father. It’s inconceivable. What kind of love is this? Better yet, what kind of King?

I hope I never get over this. Hope I never get used to the idea that Jesus literally paid it all. Willingly. Because I know me, and I’m not worth the life of the Son of God. And yet, to Him, I am. 

An inconceivable exchange. 

If readers could read only one of my twenty-five-plus books, I’d want them to read this one. Because in truth, it unashamedly points to the only thing on planet Earth that matters.

As I write these words, I am in Jerusalem. Literally staring out across the Mount of Olives and the city where He has placed His name forever. The city of the great King. I love this place. I love these people. I love this mountain of God.

“…This city where He healed. Cast out. Preached. And this city where He, Jesus, who knew no sin, became sin for us so that we might become the righteousness of God.“

This city where Abram raised his hand to God Most High after he met Melchizedek, who brought out bread and wine. This city where David returned the ark, dancing. This city where the prophets wept. Where Jesus the boy stood on the southern steps of the temple and astounded the aged leaders. This city where He healed. Cast out. Preached. And this city where He, Jesus, who knew no sin, became sin for us so that we might become the righteousness of God.

King Jesus, here’s what I hope from this day forward: I want to live like You’re alive. Like You really did walk out of that tomb. Like it really is finished. I want to live in the power of Your resurrection.

I pray that You would help me share Your story with others so that they might come to know You and that same love.

From what You’ve told us, there’s more than enough to go around. So come, Lord Jesus. Rule. Reign. Let Your kingdom come. Your will be done. Be magnified and lifted high. I pray that it is no longer I who live but You who live in and through me.

And let me follow You all the days of my life having come to know You, Jesus Christ crucified, the power of the Cross, and the immeasurable glory and victory of Your resurrection. In the matchless, all-powerful, undefeated, limitless name of Jesus.

Adapted from It Is Finished: A 40-Day Pilgrimage Back to the Cross by Charles Martin

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{ Our humble thanks to Thomas Nelson for their partnership in today’s devotional.}