It never fails. I always tear up. Sometimes silently, deeply, I weep. When I hear the words, it seems so surreal. Each and every time. You’d think after all these years and after all the sermons and conversations I’ve heard and had the story would get ‘old’. It hasn’t, and I hope it never will.
Like the sunrise in the morning and its setting in the evening it awakens me and reminds me to rest. The reality of its truth is mind boggling, yet, the power of its message is my comfort. There’s nothing else I can think of that touches my heart quite like it. At times, I can barely believe it’s real, though I know, that I know, that I know, THAT I KNOW it has to be, else, there would be no me.
A simple carpenter’s son was betrayed to the local religious authorities. With a kiss. By a dear, close friend. He was falsely accused, mocked, sentenced to death. Brutally beaten, he no longer resembled a man. His blood dripping, his flesh torn. He bore the weight of a cross beam down a long, rock strewn road riddled with scorners throwing out shame and hurling curses like candy at a parade. An innocent man, they crucified him, nailing his hands and feet to a wooden beam that day, at the place of the skull. For you. For me. For humankind. He breathed every breath, to the last. For us.
…to be continued…