Things had started well enough. Crowds had flocked to Him—astounded by His miracles (Mark 1:27), amazed at His power and His teaching (Luke 4:36). Soon, however, public sentiment changed.

The religious leaders were first to question His credentials, offended by the company He kept (Mark 2:16) and the “blasphemous” claims He made (Mark 14:64), and stating that the power by which He healed was from “Satan” (Mark 3:22). His neighborhood “scoffed” at Him (Mark 6:3). His synagogue tried to kill Him (Luke 4:29), and even His family felt embarrassed by His actions and antics (Mark 3:21). By the end of His days He’d been betrayed by a disciple (Luke 22:4), disowned by a friend (Luke 22:60), deserted by His followers (Mark 14:50), cursed by a criminal (Luke 23:39), and faced the abandonment of His Father (Mark 15:34).

Now we find Him in darkness—cold and alone, naked, and exposed, abandoned by all on a cross of shame. The crowd’s hollow praise has fallen silent, His followers’ loyalty pledges have proven false. Those He’d fed, befriended, healed, and forgiven are nowhere to be seen. All that remains is the muffled sniggers from His betrayers, the whimpers of His grief-stricken mother, and the murmurs of soldiers.

A “political disturber” quashed. A “blasphemous healer” silenced. A darkened sky. A tear from heaven. The sins of the world resting on the shoulders of a man.

Would I have mourned for Jesus, or scoffed? Would I have stayed “uninvolved” or, like the centurion, lamented His wrongful death? (Luke 23:47).

The one thing I know is that I would have abandoned Jesus too. And that makes His death for my sins so much more amazing.