On Good Friday, did Jesus smile when He thought of me? Does He now smile at me when I am at my worst? When my rebellion and anger towards Him deliver the thorns to His head and strike the nails in His hands?
It can only be mere speculation that there was any smiling by anyone during the dark day of Good Friday. Those who rejoiced in crucifixion may have been sneering a sinister smile. Proud others may have smiled at finally bringing silence to Jesus’ (presumed/accused by them) blasphemous lips.
Sadness pierced His heart. Sorrow over the depth of my sin and all that He saw in the future where I would directly disobey Him. In some ways, I would prefer Jesus not to smile. Any man fully human – and Jesus was indeed – would have been feeling horror and wretched suffering all night and all day that Friday. A machine or madman oblivious to pain could have smiled, but not a real man.
Yet, real men can smile from their hearts alone. You can sense it. You can “see” love delivered and transferred deep from within. Confident, steadfast, persevering, enduring suffering – not for the sake of suffering but for the sake of me. For the joy set before Him of finishing the work that only He could finish on my behalf: Redeemed. Finished. Loved now and for eternity.
What does it do to me – what does it mean to me – to see Him smile? It means He deeply loves me.
He led me to a place of safety;
he rescued me because he delights in me.