He was unlike any man. There was nothing dangerous about Him. He brought hope that was never seen in anyone ever before. He spoke differently. He uttered words with compassion, yet with authority. He spoke as if the very words were His — truly they were.

In my eyes, he was no threat. He didn’t have an army or government. He didn’t even have a place to rest his head. His very friends betrayed Him and so did this crowd.

“Crucify Him, crucify Him!” they cried out.

They let their Messiah slip away right under their noses. He did greater things than any prophet, any man that ever lived. His compassion threatened them. His love scared them. His words often angered them. “A simple carpenter’s son” they cried out. With the same breath they gathered against him, yelling:

“Crucify Him, crucify Him!”

The people gathered impatiently witnessing his trial. There was no charge worthy of death. He wasn’t guilty of any crime. But the crowd cried out for justice… fake justice:

“Crucify Him, crucify Him!”

How can they be so foolish?

“Crucify Him, crucify Him!”

But… why?How dare they demand death?

“Crucify Him, crucify Him!”

I grew angry, and confused. How dare they condemn Him? How dare they demand death?

“Crucify Him, crucify Him!”

I was angry!

After trying to make sense of this event, I began to understand one very important truth. We blame the crowds for the crucifixion of Jesus. But that is not a correct assessment of the greater picture.

That crowd didn’t kill Jesus. The Romans didn’t kill Jesus. The Jews didn’t kill Jesus. He himself said:

“No one takes it [life] from Me, but I lay it down of Myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again.” (John 10:18)

If I want a second chance at living as God had intended from the beginning, something had to be done. That something is to have Jesus, the messiah, bear the burden of my sin. That burden was death!

So, I too had to join this crowd. There is no other way I can get God without His crucifixion. It was my sin to pay. The father had laid my sin upon His shoulders. This sin had to be punished, had to be atoned for. Only Jesus was the perfect lamb of God.

If I wanted God, I needed Him to die. This was the only way. As much as I hated to hear those awful condemning words:

“Crucify Him, crucify Him!”

I understood that this was the only way to get God.

I joined that crowd, “crucify him, crucify him!” because by this very act (and later his resurection), I get a second chance at life. I get God. All of Him. Forever.

Moe is a God lover & fearer, husband & father who in his spare time living in NYC writes at Beta Christian and shares a modern look at Biblical figures every Friday (as well as teaching his children gang signs at dinner much to the dismay of his wife).

It’s not good blogger etiquette to put the main point of the entry at the beginning.  We’re supposed to tease you, massage you, guide you and then hit you with the point like Mike Tyson at the end of the drum break in Phil Collins’ “In The Air Tonight.”  We’re not supposed to be hostile, pointed or really risk offending anyone until well into the piece when most people think “well, I’m this invested, I’ll rest the rest anyway.”  But I can’t do that.

I think people who don’t value second chances are idiots.

We live in a world where your likelihood to get a second chance is in inverse proportion to your age and whatever you did that necessitates that second chance.  A twelve year old who steals something from a store?  They’ll take some heat, a slap on the wrist, perhaps some juvie time if a prosecutor wants to make a name for themselves but most people will say “he’s a kid.  Give him another chance.”  The 40 year old dude who steals something?  You might as well have Chris Hansen walking around behind him waiting to drop the hammer.

I know in my life, I’ve blown a lot of second chances.  Thirds.  Fourths.  Probably six hundred fifty-thirds.  However, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to see the rarity of second chances and the value that comes from grabbing them by the lips and yanking them as hard as you can.

When I went through my divorce and had little choice but to let my sons live with their mother because one son needed therapy where we had been living at the time, it was like someone cut off body parts.  I love my sons.  Every day when I wake up and don’t hear Eli saying “good morning, daddy” I get sad.  When I don’t walk into the living room and find Dale on the Wii I get a twinge of pain.  They are daily reminders of how I screwed up and contributed to the downfall of a marriage.

And then I feel the painful thump on my lower back.

And then I hear the giggle.

And I hear Julie’s mother say to her “did you ask if you could jump on daddy’s back?”

And usually, I’ll just say “she’s fine” even though Julie never asks permission to jump on my back.

You see, Julie biologically isn’t mine but she calls me “daddy.”  Before her mother ever broke down and realized she needed to lower her expectations of a husband and thus marry me, Julie was calling me “daddy.”

Julie gave me the second chance to be a daddy every day.  Her choosing me made me realize the value of second chances on a level that I never truly appreciated before that day.  It made me realize what an idiot I had been for the times I took a second chance and ran it into the ground in the pursuit of my pleasures or wants or what I thought was “right.”

Now, for the Jesus Juke.

Prudy mentioned to me in an e-mail that she believes Easter is “epitome of second chances.”  I could not agree with her more.   Jesus’ resurrection and giving us the chance to spend eternity with God is the biggest chance we can have with our lives.  The opportunity to take all the sin that stands between us and Holy God and make it essentially disappear.

But I’m not going to Jesus Juke you on salvation here…I’m going to Juke you on what you do with it.

Because if you have accepted Christ, you’ve been given that second chance.  To love.  To give.  To care.  To share.  To be God’s hands and feet to the lost, the hurting and even the person sitting next to you in the pew on Sunday morning who doesn’t realize turtleneck sweaters went out of style in October 1983.  (November 1983 if they were a nice cashmere.)

Do you value it?

Jason is a father, husband, and God lover living in the light of God’s second chances.  He writes at the Mustard Seed Year.  Daily essays on God’s work in his life.