Start at the Beginning

The crack of the whip rings in the air. A gasp escaped from the lips of the bruised and now bloody man’s back

 My greed.

 The whip cracks again.

  My bitterness.

  The blood from His back splatters those standing close.  Again the whip cruelly lies open His back.

 My hatred.

 Crack.  The blood sprays their faces.

  My lust.

 Crack.  The blood splatters their clothes.

  My selfishness.

 Crack.  The blood is in their hair and on their feet.

 My jealousy.

  Finally, He’s thrown to the blood soaked ground.  Only to struggle through town with a rough-hewn beam thrust on His shredded back.  Each step a struggle amidst a mocking crowd.

 My drunkenness.

 At the top of the hill to the joy and delight of the crowd He’s thrown down on top of the rough beam and the nails are lined-up on the wrists and the hammer raised.  The thud of the hammer rings out amidst the cries of agony.

 My gluttony.

 His body twists in a jolt of blinding pain as the crowd cheers the thud of the hammer.

 My lies.

 Thud.

  My gossiping.

  Thud.

  My hypocrisy.

 The blood was splattered liberally around the ravaged body of the Man.  It was sprinkled on all who drew near. 

  It’s far easier to step to the back of the crowd and look the other way. My inability to live, as I should is far less noticeable the farther back in the crowd I stand.  If I just look the other way, why, I can see that I’m certainly not as bad as those others over there.  It’s much more neat and orderly back here.  Not so messy. Cleanliness is next to godliness, you know.  I’m sure if I just get busy enough that nagging emptiness that snuck up on me will go away.

 Back here I can mark my sin up to only being human and my unanswered prayers as “it must not have been God’s will”.  My flesh’s attempt to deny that the Lord is my righteousness and that He promised to answer when I pray will keep me neat, orderly, and in control instead of bloody.

 What is this about the Holy Spirit wanting to be in control and that He wars against my flesh? War is not neat, orderly, or nice.  I hate this flatness; this emptiness in my life.

  What to do, what to do?

 Do I dare trust Him to win the war?

This emptiness bleeds the life from my soul.

 The war begins as I decide to draw near and be splattered by the Blood; I look into His eyes and cry out in agony “I’m unworthy of this sacrifice!”  Oh, how it rips and shreds my pride and arrogance.  It reveals my absolute nakedness and filth.  How can my flesh stand this!   It can’t.  It dies.  And I weep for I have always had this flesh beside me to guide me.

            Those nail pierced hands gently cup my face to draw my gaze upward.  It is frightening!  How can I endure such pain again!  But the hands are so gentle as they wipe away the tears. I give His face a quick glance.  How can it be?  With all the exposure of my wicked sin there should be wrath and anger.  My sin is so ugly and caused so much pain.  So what was that look on His face.  He didn’t appear to be angry.  Perhaps I should look again.  Oh, no! What do I do?  This kindness, this love on His face, could it be for me?  How could He love me when I’m so ugly?  Again those gentle hands draw me up on to His lap and He rests my head against His chest.  And as He cradles me in His lap I think, “Perhaps…could this be…love?”

           

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            To all those that are weary, burdened and hunger for more, come and we will go on a journey to find Life and life abundantly.