|Posted on January 26, 2017 at 5:25 PM|
This first post of 2017 comes from a day of no motivation with a slight pinch of indifference. This was the day when God would eradicate all of that with the most beautiful and brutal part of my faith as a Christian; the Cross. As I read through John 19, it hit me once again how great the sacrifice, the grace, the price, the love. And there went the apathy. Thank You, Jesus, for the Cross. Thank You, Lord, for letting me behold Your glory again. ~~~ You were flogged for me. Mocked repeatedly. Betrayed by those You ministered to. There was no charge to be laid against You, and still cried, "Crucify Him!" You responded only when needed. Truth responded and truth was recognised in the one with authority, but denied by the majority. Mob mentality. He called You King, for King Thou art, King You have always been and always will be. And King was how You were to remembered in the language of society. You carried the cross, and with it my sin and shame. No detail was missed, As Your garments were divided amongst those that didn't know how truly naked they were. Everything would be taken care of and ready for those who would remain alive after You died, Thus You provided a new son of protection for Mary. Expressing Your thirst was a tribute to humanity's state, Elusively chasing satisfaction in every sin-adequate place. With "it is finished", the sacrifice was complete. Humanity was redeemed. The soul's slavery was abolished. You died. Breath ceased to enter Your lungs. Blood ceased to pump. Heart ceased to beat. And You commanded this. You gave up Your spirit. You ended it. Death was under submission to You and You ordered it to take You. Not one detail was missed, As Your bones were unbroken and Your pierced side was the evidence under their gaze. In Your life, the Twelve were given society's stage. In Your death, an unmentioned two took care of You. Their actions denoting a devotion to You in the darkest of times, Though their belief had been previously hidden in secret under the cover of the night. And once again, we find our gaze upon a garden. Not Eden of our perfection and fall. Not Gethsemane where blood was Your sweat, and Your will surrendered as You prayed. But the garden of Your borrowed tomb. At that point never used, and would be without use quite soon. Lamb, slain. Creator, crucified. Love, displayed. Debt, paid. Yahweh, glorified. The many thought it was the end of the story, but it only concluded the prologue. The real story, life abundant, glory to glory, was about to begin. And from the Cross, we already have the ultimate end. We win. Until next time loves, Cha Gheil, S.K.C.N.R.