When I think of the cross, I think of agony, the shame,
the beating of his flesh, the bruising of his face, the plucking of his beard,
the nailing of his soft youthful skin to
a rugged tree. When I think of the cross, it is the most grotesque picture of
murder ever painted on the face of time. It was so awful that the sun was
ashamed, the ground became so uncomfortable that it began to tremble. The cross,
the place of agony, the place where love was placed on trial the sentenced to
death. It was the place where the greatest lover had to prove how much he so
loved the world.
For if he can look at his own pain and refer to it as
passion, then I must recognize that GOD loves us in a way so far beyond
anything we can refer to as love.
For who else but GOD can decide to write us a love letter
with HIS own flesh, use HIS hand for paper, release HIS blood for ink, and
declare HIS passion in the most vibrant shade of red? Oh yes, what a lover HE
is!
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