Barabbas? A Picture of Me?

Today our pastor was preaching in John 18, and he told a story that hit me in the heart.  He pointed out that many times we are sad that there was no one we can aspire to that stood up beside Jesus.  That many times we try and relate to the different people around.  I have thought about that so many times, whom would I have been like? Would I have denied Christ like Peter? Would I have run? Would I have followed weeping like some of the women? Then he started a story:

                  Just imagine that you are a Roman prisoner.  You have been for weeks, you have been beaten, and you are hungry.  Then a Roman executioner comes to the door of your cell opens it, and you know your day has come.  But instead he says, “Get up Barabbas, you are free.” What?! He says it again.  You stumble out, not sure what is going on.  There is a mob outside in a riot.  Your still not sure, so you push to the front.  There is a man carrying your cross.  The one with your name on it, the one that you were supposed to die on today, it had your name on it.  But you are free.

                  It hit me instantly. Who am I in this story? Where do I relate? Barabbas.  I was meant for that punishment, but He carried the cross that was meant for me, with my name on it. 

                  Thank you Father for taking my place.  Thank you for being Truth.  Thank you for Grace.  I am absolutely overwhelmed with the hideousness of my sin, and amazing beauty of Your Grace. No matter how many times I can read, hear, or tell this story it will never cease to throw me on my face in humble worship.  Thank you for always helping me in deepening my understanding.