Have you ever watched someone in the middle of a game, or a job, or even just a moment of decision, and thought to yourself, “I would have done that differently?” There’s something deeply human in that instinct. We see ourselves in other people’s situations, and we quietly run our own version of what we’d do, often arriving at a conclusion that seems better, wiser, or at least more decisive than what we witnessed. It’s a reflex as natural as breathing.
But what we often miss in those moments is the full picture. We don’t have the background, the wiring, the weight of what led that person to that crossroads. The old saying gets at it plainly enough: “Walk a mile in my shoes.” We tell ourselves we would never have denied Christ three times the way Peter did, or that we would never have found ourselves on a cross beside Jesus. We might be certain we’d have refused a soldier’s command to carry a condemned man’s beam up a dusty road. But would we? Let’s sit for a moment with a portion of the Passion narrative in Matthew and see what it stirs in us:
Now Jesus stood before the governor; and the governor asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus said, “You say so.” But when he was accused by the chief priests and elders, he did not answer. Then Pilate said to him, “Do you not hear how many accusations they make against you?” But he gave him no answer, not even to a single charge, so that the governor was greatly amazed.
Now at the festival the governor was accustomed to release a prisoner for the crowd, anyone whom they wanted. At that time they had a notorious prisoner, called Jesus Barabbas. So after they had gathered, Pilate said to them, “Whom do you want me to release for you, Jesus Barabbas or Jesus who is called the Messiah?” For he realized that it was out of jealousy that they had handed him over. While he was sitting on the judgment seat, his wife sent word to him, “Have nothing to do with that innocent man, for today I have suffered a great deal because of a dream about him.” Now the chief priests and the elders persuaded the crowds to ask for Barabbas and to have Jesus killed. The governor again said to them, “Which of the two do you want me to release for you?” And they said, “Barabbas.” Pilate said to them, “Then what should I do with Jesus who is called the Messiah?” All of them said, “Let him be crucified!” Then he asked, “Why, what evil has he done?” But they shouted all the more, “Let him be crucified!”
So when Pilate saw that he could do nothing, but rather that a riot was beginning, he took some water and washed his hands before the crowd, saying, “I am innocent of this man’s blood; see to it yourselves.” Then the people as a whole answered, “His blood be on us and on our children!” So he released Barabbas for them; and after flogging Jesus, he handed him over to be crucified.
Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the governor’s headquarters, and they gathered the whole cohort around him. They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him, and after twisting some thorns into a crown, they put it on his head. They put a reed in his right hand and knelt before him and mocked him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” They spat on him, and took the reed and struck him on the head. After mocking him, they stripped him of the robe and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him away to crucify him.
As they went out, they came upon a man from Cyrene named Simon; they compelled this man to carry his cross. And when they came to a place called Golgotha (which means Place of a Skull), they offered him wine to drink, mixed with gall; but when he tasted it, he would not drink it. And when they had crucified him, they divided his clothes among themselves by casting lots; then they sat down there and kept watch over him. Over his head they put the charge against him, which read, “This is Jesus, the King of the Jews.”
—Matthew 27:11–361
A few summers ago, I had the remarkable privilege of traveling to the Holy Land with around seventy members of the Lee University Campus Choir. My brother Dan joined me, and what began as a trip became something closer to a pilgrimage. Over ten days we moved through the major sites of Jesus’ life: places where He taught, where He wept, where He was beaten, where He was hung to die, and where He gloriously broke free from the tomb. Yet what stayed with me most was simply the act of walking where He walked, of touching the actual stone pavements where He stood, talked, and bled. Suddenly, the stories I had read all my life were no longer flat on a page. Peter became real. The thief became real. Simon of Cyrene, compelled out of nowhere to carry a condemned man’s cross, became remarkably, uncomfortably real. Standing on the Via Dolorosa and tracing that path to Golgotha gave me both a renewed and entirely new perspective. When I allow myself to truly attempt to walk in another person’s shoes, though it’s not easy (honestly it can be hard), it has the power to change me. When I come to a better understanding of what they faced, what they’ve walked through, and what led them to who they became, I find a better way to empathize, and simply understand. That doesn’t mean we overlook bad decisions happening around us. But let us not be too quick to point fingers if we haven’t walked what they have walked.
Looking through life through another person’s eyes sounds straightforward enough, but it can genuinely be hard. It requires us to be willing to sit with someone else’s story, which sometimes means stepping well outside our own comfort zone. And the crucifixion story ought to do exactly that. It’s a difficult thing to truly absorb. But here is where the light breaks through: it happened, and so did the resurrection. Both are real. The same story that carries the weight of betrayal and cruelty and crowds shouting for blood also carries the most extraordinary reversal in human history. That’s the story we are invited into, not as distant observers, but as people who, if we’re honest, can find a little of Pilate’s hand-washing, or Peter’s fear, or the crowd’s noise, somewhere in ourselves.
So when you find yourself on the edge of a criticism, of a person at work, a stranger online, someone in the pew beside you, or even a figure in Scripture, take a breath and consider all that may be shaping that person. Ask God to reframe your thoughts and your intentions, so that you might best represent Him in how you decide and how you treat the people around you. Jesus came to seek and to save the lost, and sometimes the way we participate in that is simply to understand, with a little more grace, where someone else has been walking.
You also don’t have to take my word for it. I totally admit, I was a huge Elvis fan growing up and this is one of those (many) songs that stuck with me. So from another perspective, take it from the King of Rock-n-Roll: “Yeah, before you abuse, criticize and accuse, walk a mile in my shoes.”
In this coming Passion Week, consider the lives of those around you. Have a heart of compassion, of love, of forgiveness, for this is what Jesus had, and still has, for us. Love them as Christ has loved you. Let us be, truly, the voice and the hands and the feet to others, most especially in this season of remembering His death, burial, resurrection, and ascension.
Almighty and everliving God, in your tender love for the human race you sent your Son our Savior Jesus Christ to take upon him our nature, and to suffer death upon the cross, giving us the example of his great humility: Mercifully grant that we may walk in the way of his suffering, and also share in his resurrection; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
—Book of Common Prayer2
Luke Gambill 