My remembrance is a conversation with Robert Klein, an outstanding actor who had performed in the role of Jesus for five years at the time (and is performing his twentieth season in the role this week). Working with Robert was a remarkable experience. His grasp of character and focused portrayal was so intense that, as High Priest, it was all I could do to not fall on my face and repent. Talking with him one day during rehearsal, I asked him about his experience developing the character. Preparing the character for the first time changed his life forever, because he had to focus on seeing things as Jesus would see them. After five years, he believed preparing for that role was the greatest spiritual growth exercise in his life.

Think about it. Jesus knew exactly what would happen. He knew the mission he had to accomplish. He knew that every road he traveled led to an agonizing death on a cruel Roman cross. With that knowledge, every photon that entered his eyes took on greater meaning and intensity.  Given his deeper knowledge, what did Jesus see as from his unique vantage point on the Cross?

The eyes of Jesus’ body had a good view of the crowd gathered at Golgotha. A strange and unusual mix of people the diverse crowd that gathered to witness his execution wasn’t a crowd in Jesus’ eyes. Jesus saw a gathering of individuals, each with their own life experience, identity and viewpoint. Roman soldiers rolled the dice just beneath Him, dividing His clothing among them. A group of women wept, mourning the one that they had loved and followed. Jewish elders hurled insults, challenging His claim to be the Christ: “He saved others, but he cannot save himself.” Jesus’ disciples gathered, confused by their leader’s apparent surrender. His mother wept, releasing thirty-three years of motherly angst, knowing that her boy was the Son of God, knowing that this day would come. Just as in today’s church, a sea of spectators gathered around these main players, the same fickle crowd that hailed Him as King of the Jews just a week before that dark day when they called for Barabbas’ release and Jesus’ crucifixion.

The eyes of Jesus’ soul saw each person in the gathering, their needs, their hurts, their misunderstanding. As he looked at his mother, Jesus felt her heartache at watching her son die a slow, miserable death. He commissioned the disciple John to care for Mary as his own mother, a compassionate act that not only served his mother’s needs, but the needs of his disciple to love and serve his dying Lord.

The mob of bloodthirsty onlookers must have caused Jesus’ tender heart to break. They didn’t even begin to understand the redemptive scene they witnessed.  Jesus felt no anger or bitterness, as you or I might. He looked at them with eyes full of compassion, longing for them to accept the sacrifice he offered on their behalf. He prayed, “Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they’re doing.”

Jesus’ disciples—the men with whom He had traveled and lived with for three years—had no more insight than the ignorant mob. He saw their confusion,heartache, and utter cluelessness.  Of all those gathered, only Jesus fully understood what took place that day, but he knew that in time his disciples’ mourning would turn into laughter, their tears into shouts of joy, their discouragement into vision and purpose.

The eyes of Jesus’ Spirit saw what only he could comprehend. For the first time in all eternity, Jesus experienced isolation from his Father and understood the depth of human depravity and sin. Demons danced around him with delight, celebrating their supposed victory—but with eyes not limited in time and space, Jesus also saw those demons cowering in darkened corners three days later. He saw an eternal bridge, christened with his blood, that would allow mankind the same intimate, personal relationship with God that Adam and Eve enjoyed in Eden before they sinned. When others saw only defeat, Jesus saw victory.

The dying Messiah looked beyond His momentary pain and saw 3000 people receiving His salvation on the day of Pentecost as cowardly Peter, who had denied Him three times, boldly preached under the empowerment of the Holy Spirit. Further down the timeline, Saul of Tarsus, a vicious enemy of the Gospel, accepted the free gift of grace made possible only by Jesus’ sacrifice. An Ethiopian eunuch baptized by Phillip in a roadside pool took the good news to his homeland. Countless generations of mankind passed before the Savior’s eyes, generations for whom His sacrifice made possible salvation by grace through faith. Some accepted, some refused, but all made their choice between the free gift of eternal life and the self-chosen curse of eternal death. Billions made their decisions as he watched, individuals making their personal choice between grace and condemnation, death and life. Al Capone, D.L. Moody, Adolf Hitler, Billy Graham—each made their own personal, eternal choices.

Then Jesus saw you, and He knew your name.

He could have stopped his suffering. He had the authority to call a legion of angels to set Him free. Instead, He cried out, “Father, into your hands I commit my Spirit.”

Then, He bowed His head—and He died.

Because He thought you were worth it.