When it came time to preach, I passed out the spikes for people to hold. I then described the agonizing details of just how the Romans crucified their prisoners. Similar to how people handle and consume bread and wine as a physical illustration that memorializes Jesus’ sacrifice, I asked those in attendance to hold the spikes and allow for the texture of the metal to weigh on their hearts and minds. And then to remember that our Lord willingly had his hands and feet violently pierced by a similar object. It was a very sobering thought.
But that’s not all. While at the rail yards on that crisp spring morning, I also found a large, discarded chunk of a railroad tie. I deduced that this railroad tie has a similar look to the paintings of the crucifixion that I’ve seen. So I brought it home with me too.
Before that same Good Friday service, I chopped the railroad tie into several small pieces, enough for everyone. During the sermon, I passed out chunks of the old railroad tie along with the spikes. Then, in similar fashion to how I explained the spike, I asked each person to hold a piece of the tie and described the crucifixion.
The wood was coarse and it splintered easily, so I asked everyone to focus on the physical sensation of wood-on-skin. I then explained how Jesus’ entire body hung for hours on a similarly-textured wooden cross, and how Jesus felt the roughness of this wood on every part of his backside, due to his nakedness. Additionally, I mentioned how Jesus’ skin was extra sensitive against the splintery wood, due to the open wounds on his backside from a torturous whipping he received just hours prior. Truly a terrible thought. Yet, that is the terrible price he paid for my sins.
Today, there’s still those same railroad spikes in my backyard, and when I see them, I think of Jesus.
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