My Great God

I can only imagine the feeling in the air that day. The cries of the people peirced the stillness as the whip came down again and again on His back. The skin hanging raw, tattered and torn, bleeding. A King slumped over in missery as He was beaten over and over. His cries of pain must have mingled with the people who shouted "Crucify Him! Crucify Him!" The eyes of love looked directly at these people who wanted Him to die a horrible, cruel death and saw through to their sinful souls. He saw their need for life and peace and love. Unconditional love. In spite of their hateful words and actions, He loved them. During this time when they spit on Him and mocked His name, He loved them. When they cursed Him with their lips and heart, He loved them. While they kicked and beat and pushed Him, He loved them. He loved them while they fashioned a crown from sharp thorns and pushed it down on His head. They did not ask for love, but He loved them anyways.

The rough wood must have splintered in the jagged flesh that hung from His back, rubbing against it. Like a million knives stabbing in to the already angushing sores. He carried the huge cross on a back that had little strength left. He carried the rugged cross with hands that reached out to the lost that surrounded Him on all sides. He carried the cross for one purpose. He walked the road of sorrow, up, up to the place of the skull. But, before He reached that dark hill, He stumbled beneath the weight. So weak, He could not continue lifting this heavy burden. And so, another man was forced to bear the load. They led Him...they led the King. Our great King of love.

Huge spikes were driven into His hands, into His feet. Right through tender flesh and bones. Up they hoisted the wooden structure of pain and death. And there He hung. He hung on the cross of Calvary with a sign over His head that read "King of the Jews." And that He was. King of everything, actually. Hours passed, and He hung there. Suspended between life and death. The eyes of His mother beheld her Son, dying. Dying for a world that would reject Him, but knowing that many would accept Him. The veil was torn, the sky blackened. As black as night. And He died. JESUS died. The blood that flowed from His head, His hands, His side, His feet. This blood poured freely for those standing before Him, for all of mankind that would ever live. His life blood. And He passed from life to death.

The moment the cries of the people went up upon finding Jesus dead, head slumped on His chest, must have been deafening. But louder still the cry of "VICTORY!" Death, or so it seemed, had won. Jesus' death had crushed death. As backwards as it seems, Jesus' death brought life. "For the wages of sin is death..." Sin was demolished, the price of sin was paid in FULL at that very moment. One perfect, holy Man, Jesus, died once for all. One time. Every drop He shed was shed for every sin of every human on the earth. "But the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord." Every person can look to the cross, to the blood that Jesus shed, to the debt He paid for all sin, and they can receive freedom. Freedom from sin's curse, freedom from it's slavery, freedom from unrest, and want, hate, and bitterness. Freedom from death itself. It's through Jesus' blood.

An amazing truth, that my Jesus could die and pay for the sins of the whole world. Yet, so often I forget to trust Him. If God, my Jesus, could take the chief of sinners and cleanse me sins, make me His own child, and teach me to be more like Him, can't He do anything? The answer: yes. My God can do anything. So why should I even doubt? Why should I ever worry, or fear, or wonder what the future will hold? Why would I ever want to commit the very sins that literally nailed Him to the cross? My heart hates sin. My heart is unspeakably thankful and joyful for this act of unconditional love that my Jesus lavished on me. Me? Yes, me. The one who deserves it the least.

That's my great God.