Life is good thing, but it is also very hard. We reminisce on our lives and think, “Man, I had it easy back then. If only I knew what was coming,” but I don’t think that’s true. The things we dealt with then are just as valid as the things we deal with now because at the time they were important to us. The same goes for the stories of those presently around us. It’s all hard, it’s just a different kind of hard.

So what do we do about it? I don’t want to feel worried or burdened and I don’t want anyone else to either. When I see a friend in pain I want nothing more but to make them smile, to lighten their load and help them breathe easy once again.

I was reminded of this roughly three months ago as I stood staring at a stone floor covered in dirt. Two thousand years earlier in this very spot, doubled over in the kind of pain we prefer to close our eyes to, was Jesus. I had spent the past few days walking where He had walked, but what had hit me the most about it all was His humanity. Jesus was no longer a celebrity to me – heard of, believed in, yet unattainable in almost every sense of the word. That week I had come to know Jesus as a person who cared about the poor, who had a passion for setting the oppressed free and who had no interest in material success or gains. Yes, He was God, but also a person. And I realized that I liked this person, this Jesus, my friend.

And then I saw Him, His innocent flesh being torn apart by merciless lashes from a merciless hand. My Jesus, my friend, He was in pain.

I wanted to help. Let me help! Let me take away His burden, hold His hand, look Him in the eyes and tell Him it would be okay. But I couldn’t. I was the cause of this. If anyone lifted His burden then I would be condemned for He was the one that had to bear such wretchedness in order to save me. So what could I do?

Slowly but surely my trembling voice rose and out from the deepest parts of my heart came these words:

“Jesus paid it all, all to Him I owe. Sin had left a crimson stain, He washed it white as snow.”

I wondered if He had known that I would be there, singing to Him, thanking Him. Had He heard me then? Did the sound of my soft melody fill His ears as He endured every lash of that miserable whip? Oh Jesus.

For some reason I have yet to fully comprehend, I was and still am worth it to Him. I’m fully convinced He could have walked away at any moment, but He chose to stay.

Jesus is the one who bore my burdens but I am not the one who can comfort Him. Instead, He takes my burden, He holds my hand and He tells me it’s going to be okay. This means the weight of living is now a choice. I need not carry a single burden for Jesus took them all on the cross. I have the opportunity to live a life of freedom in Christ Jesus – free of worry, free of fear and free of hopelessness. It sounds like a child’s dream, escaping the realities of the “real world,” but it isn’t. It’s the Truth.

The story does not end on the cross. If it did, I would still be a prisoner to hate, to bitterness, and to shame. Jesus Christ conquered the very thing we spend our lives trying to run from; death is defeated. So I do not remain dressed for a funeral, mourning the death of my friend and Savior. Instead I am dressed for a wedding –overflowing in joy and dancing in a life of freedom. I am free! I am free! I am free! For the rest of my life I will sing to you, Jesus, thank you for setting me free.