Today I’m struck by the beauty of Christ. Not the blue-eyed, fair skinned myth conjured up by artists. Not the serene looking guy holding one finger up appearing to share a moment of wisdom with eager onlookers. These images don’t resemble the real Jesus and often lead to a false image of God’s Son.

The beauty I’m talking about is most certainly an unconventional beauty. I understand that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but the beauty I’m referring to would be overlooked by most. In fact, I think it’s safe to say that few would even consider it beauty.

The beauty I’m referring to is the battered, beaten, bloody Jesus on the cross.

I’ve never seen a more vivid portrayal of the torture Jesus endured than what is depicted in the film “The Passion of the Christ.” It might not be a perfect film, but one thing it does well is to give a visual portrayal of what the crown of thorns, lashes, walk up the Via Dolorosa, and nailing to the cross might have looked like.

The truth is that we simply can’t know exactly what Jesus endured. We don’t know how big the thorns were that made up the “crown” they put on His head. We don’t know how they placed it on His head, and how hard they pushed it down. We do know that that thorns were pushed onto His head, causing pain and bleeding.

We don’t know exactly what was used to beat Him. The cat of nine tails if often credited with being used to complete the lashes. But many of the details of how he was positioned, standing or kneeling, and what was used to beat His body are not known. But we do know that soldiers hit Him, yanked out His beard, and spit on Him. And we know that the beating He took was so severe that He was virtually unrecognizable when it was over.

We don’t know exactly what road He walked to get to the cross. Tradition says it was the Via Dolorosa, but experts are not in agreement on this. What we do know is that they made Jesus carry the cross beam He would be nailed to down that road. After a beating that should have killed Him it was time to carry a large wooden beam on his beaten, bleeding back. Imagine rough wood on an open wound, walking, splintering, every step.

Did the cross look like a capital T or a lower case t? Was it really tall or not? Were the “nails” long nails like the kind you might build a house with? Or were they more like railroad spikes with a dull tip and broad body? There’s so many details we don’t know for sure. But we do know that it was the cruelest form of execution the first century had to offer. We know it was a shameful way to die.

Many of the details about that day are not known. But what is known is enough to cause terrible contemplation. This was the wrath of God being poured out on His Son for the sins of every saint. Jesus took my crown of thorns, my beating, walked my road, and hung on my cross. He spilled blood that should have been mine. The wrath He endured reconciled me to God and atoned for my sins.

I was the rebel, running from God. I spit in God’s face and ran from His grace. I fought for my rights not knowing hell was waiting. And somewhere, on my road to self-discovery and liberation, it wasn’t a fair-skinned moral man that appeared and begged me to accept Him. It was a beaten, bloody, crucified Christ asking God to forgive me because I didn’t know what I was doing.

It was then that this tortured man opened my eyes and I could see just how beautiful He is. The blood stains his skin and drips from His wounds. Flesh is hanging from bones. Nails hold Him to the cross where He will die. And yet I can’t stop looking at Him as the beautiful Savior He is.

I am immediately aware of how unworthy I am. Why would God choose to save me? I know there’s nothing good or lovely or worth saving in me. Why would this holy, righteous, perfect Son of God take my place and bear God’s wrath? That’s my wrath, I deserve it. But instead of wrath I get forgiveness. Instead of blood and thorns I get atonement. Instead of death I am given life.

The man on the cross is beautiful. It’s not the conventional beauty this world has been trained to see. It’s not the kind of beauty that can be seen with human eyes. It’s a beauty that humbles its viewers and brings onlookers to their knees. It’s a holy beauty.

Today I’m struck by the beauty of Christ. I am compelled to see Him on His cross and remember that without the cross there is no resurrection. If Jesus never dies I will never live. I am silenced by His beauty as He takes my place on the cross. I am humbled by His sacrifice as He dies my death. I am forgiven because of His obedience as He suffers the wrath that is mine. I am alive because He walked out of the tomb.

All praise, and glory, and thanks to the Savior that is so beautiful in His passion. Your passion, and the beauty that came from it have given me life and I am forever thankful.