His Blood Be On Us

Picture yourself, bludgeoning club in hand, raised to smash to death a man you revile, loathe with every fibre of your vibrating being. You want him gone and will do anything, everything in your limited power, to have him eviscerated to expedite his death. You have murder in your mind, and a killer has taken up the fast beating of your heart. The club in your hand is clenched tightly, and rage beams from your eyes. If you could get your hands on him, you would rip him limb to limb, chew up his flesh and spew it out for all to witness. You care nothing about who hears you, who sees you, in fact, you want all to know how much you hate, and how desperately you want to kill this man. 

Pilate saith unto them, What shall I do then with Jesus which is called Christ? They all say unto him, Let him be crucified. And the governor said, Why, what evil hath he done? But they cried out the more, saying, Let him be crucified (Matthew 27:22-23)

Damn it, you seethe. What the hell is the hold up? Talk talk talk, no action. Galvanized, you sway forward, leaning in the direction of the man, while an invisible something holds you back. He is within reach and yet you cannot approach. All you can do is restlessly wait and watch. You can feel the rage in the men that surround you; there is a force that has unified you with the crowd. You taste blood as though it has been trickled onto your tongue. Your imagination falls short and is not enough to satisfy your lust; you crave more, and impatience boils in your veins. 

When Pilate saw that he could prevail nothing, but that rather a tumult was made, he took water, and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it. Then answered all the people, and said, His blood be on us, and on our children (Matthew 27:24-25)

There now, there. As one body we have shouted our desire. Innocency be damned. This man must suffer and pay and ... Who cares if his blood splatters on us?! Pilate can wash his hands and do our dirty work at the same time, so we can rid ourselves of the Presence of Jesus. Don't get me wrong, I would do the killing myself if I could, but for some reason, I just cannot get to him. I cannot reach for and grasp him ... it is as though my arms are tied to my sides. 

His blood be on us, and on our children

Imagine now, dear reader, as killer, something catches your eye. There is movement in your peripheral vision, and you glance in that direction to see your family approach. There is a baby in your wife's arms, and your three year old, having spotted you, races toward you shouting Papa, Papa ... as he passes the raised platform on which Jesus is being scourged, blood splatters, coating the left side of your child's body. His robe, face, and hand, soak up droplets and in sick satisfied horror, your words come true ... His blood, because you cried the words Crucify him, are now own your own offspring. 

Whatever have you done, dear one? 

The Jews that wanted Christ crucified were coated in his innocent blood. The evidence of a murderous heart is a curse upon the killer, and on their children too. God does not take lightly the shedding of innocent blood, nor does he esteem those that bring their children to bitterness by teaching them to hate their King. We damn ourselves when we turn away from our Sovereign, and drag our children to hell with us when disobedience prevails in our minds and hearts. 

Imagine committing crime, and wanting your children to suffer for it too. Next, imagine that you want your children to be just like you ... does this frighten you in the least? Are you proud of who you are, and do you want your offspring to be your replicas? 

I want to be an image bearer of Christ my King, and by God in heaven, I most certainly want this for my very own son. Cursed be the man that wants the blood of the innocent to be upon him and his children ... repentance is the only cure for this soul malady, and I pray that the guilty are pierced in conscience and drop to their knees before Jesus and plead for their lives and the lives of their children.