I was working out while Jesus bled on the cross today. Good Friday. It was around noon. The “sixth hour”.

Spirit
flesh
me

Leading up to noon, one of the criminals crucified with Jesus mocked him. The other rebuked him, accepting enough of the knowledge of God given him. He trusted. Which am I?

“It was now about the sixth hour, and darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour…” (Luke 23:44)

I was at the gym when I realized the time had reached (in Long Beach, anyway) “the sixth hour”. I was working out after aerobics on a weight machine.

one, two, three, four….

Jesus was on the cross today. Good Friday.
Suffering like this! You’re done already.
It was nothing like this. A flea to an elephant, or less.

…five six seven eight nine ten…

Mocked.
Trusted.
Which one is from me?
You’re suffering now!
Both are from you!

…eleven twelve thirteen fourteen fifteen sixteen…

It became dark as the king of glory’s body weakened unto death. For three hours it darkened. My labor is as nothing compared to his.
Stop already.
Yes, it is as nothing, compared.

….seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two…

I was gritting my teeth. I want to stop. (I can stop! There’s no deep significance to this minor pain.)
Stop already!!
Yes, it is as nothing, compared.

….twenty-three twenty-four twenty-five twenty-six twenty-seven twenty-eight…

They offered him vinegar to suck from a sponge, on a stick. As he hung on the cross. Bleeding. Weighed down by my sins.
You could use a drink just now. But go for water instead of vinegar.
This is nothing, compared. There is a deeper thirst, and better water.
Remember, it wasn’t only your sins.

….twenty-nine thirty thirty-one… thirty-two

32 is a power of two, you nerd, STOP NOW!
I stopped. And sagged.
It is nothing, compared to the weight of sin and his suffering.
Yes. It is nothing.

I can do nothing to compare or augment or change what Christ has done for me, for us. Except live.
Live my life in my power. Eat and drink deeply. You will never hunger or thirst again.

I await the ninth hour. His ninth hour, and my own. And (more) what comes after.