My hero, yet my victim.

I stood as a child on that hill. Tears poured down my cheeks. I wasn't sure what I was looking for or why I was crying. I just knew something was wrong. Something was missing. I watched and I waited. Again not knowing what it was I was searching for nor why I sobbed. 
A hand gently took mine. It was much bigger than mine, and stronger also. I felt the scars and the breeze that blew through the hole piercing the wrist of the hand holding mine. What was this?
Peace washed over me instantly. 
An image filled my mind.
A man so badly bruised and beaten he barely looked alive. In fact I wondered how any man could be alive that had received such blows. His face was swollen where his beard had been ripped out of his face and a cruel crown of poisonous thorns crowned his brow. Blood flowed from his wounds, as he walked quietly along carrying a rough, splintery tree. I gagged at the sight. Who could have done this? Why would this be allowed? The crowd watched, laughed and spat on this gentle creature. Still he persevered on his course. One painful, splinter filled step at a time. Flesh hung from his back and I could only imagine the pain he was enduring. I sobbed as I watched him fall to the ground, weak, yet meek. 
They nailed him to the cross and raised it high on the hill so everyone could see his shame, his suffering. Still they mocked. After hours of this torment, a soldier approached to pierce his side and finish him off, but he had already died.
I sat there crying as I realized I killed him. I stroke every blow. Every lie, every sin I had committed was just as responsible for His death as the ones that held the hammer. 
Slowly the vision faded and I turned to the man holding my hand. It was Him. Jesus held my hand and wiped away my tears. I could see the love in His eyes. I fell to my knees. He had risen as He had promised. He had conquered the grave and hell itself. 
I knew in that moment that He forgave me. I knew that He would keep forgiving me even as I knew that I would keep pounding those nails in over and over. I would keep picking up that cat of nine tails and beating Him until His flesh was flayed from His back.
I knew He was my Savior and Mediator with God. My hero, yet my victim.