lifted

3

Gethsemane, the place of the press.

From the darkness a loved one – betrayal with a kiss,

a skirmish,

a wound,

healing,

peacemaker,

arrest,

Now before the High Priest, accused, abused, questioned,

“Tell us if You are The Christ, the Son of God.”

“It is as you say.”

“BLASPHEMY!!!”

To Pilate, to be tried and executed for this violation of the high priests.

Tried, found innocent and convicted to the scourge and the cross.

the scourge …

The Romans had developed the scourge to a fine science, able to wring the full pain and life from flesh, yet leaving the man alive, but only just.  Sometimes the victim’s feet were chained to one side of a pillar, and his hands to the other, with his back stretched tight over the top, unable to move. Other times a length of chain was dropped from a cross beam above the courtyard to bind his wrists just above his forehead; surrounded by guards. Hoping to escape the first searing blow, the victim would twist and contort spinning away only to expose new flesh to a new blow. The long stiff rods whipping through the air to burn the skin to blood, the multi-thonged lash with its bits of bone and shell and metal, sinking these teeth deep into flesh to peel it back from the bone and muscle beneath, the scourge.

The goal was not death, it was pain. Stopping a blow short; the victim was not beaten to death.  He would most probably die very soon from shock or blood loss, or later infection.  Even if by some cruel misfortune the victim survives even the infection, the body’s ability to heal, now perverted, would distort, contort the body, as flesh reached across wounds to flesh, leaving a crippled lump.

To this He was convicted …

They struck Him … and they struck Him …

and again …

and again …

and again …

and again …

and again …

and again …

Then they mocked Him.  Mocking His Kingship they wrapped Him in a purple robe and shoved a nest of thorns over His head. That same sweet tiny brow into which Mary has whispered hymns and prayers was now pierced to bone for our sin, my sin.

Pilate at Gabbatha, the Pavement, the judgement seat;

   “Behold your King!”

But they cried out,

   “Away with Him, away with Him! Crucify Him!”  

   “Crucify Him!!”

… they cried “CRUCIFY HIM”, they cried “CRUCIFY HIM”

WE cried “Crucify Him”

We cry “Crucify Him” with every sin, every lustful look, every hateful act, … with every idle word.  We cry “Crucify Him” …

I cry, “Crucify Him” … without the cross, there is no punishment for sin, without His death there is no sacrifice; there is no blood payment for my sin. Without this sacrifice I am lost, dead in my sin, no chance, no hope … forever … for all eternity … so I pray, “… crucify … Him.”

…  so they did …

They led Him to the Place of the Skull, Golgotha, laid Him down on the cross, stretched out His arm, placed a spike in His hand … and drove the nail home. The same tiny hand that once held Mary’s finger as she rocked, now held a nail … for me.

Then they held the other wrist, pulled hard against the first nail to stretch His arms out wide, wider, “WIDER, … there that’s it.” … and drove the nail home. The same tiny hand that once carried Mary’s as they walked through the strange and bustling market place held a nail, carrying my debt … in my place.

They overlapped His Feet, pushed the sole of one against the rough wood, bending His knees up at an angle, placed the point against His instep … and drove the nail home. The same small feet that learned walk on top of Joseph’s feet, now held the third nail, treading the path to destruction … for me.

Then they lifted Him up …

“If I be lifted up … I will draw all men to Me.”

… He was and He does.

Crucified.

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About thinkingoutkeyboard

Thinking without the proper equipment with unsupervised keyboard access. View all posts by thinkingoutkeyboard

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