The Cross

Good Friday is good for us. It wasn’t so good for Jesus.

The brutality of crucifixion cannot be overstated. The scourging itself was beyond imagination, then nailed to a piece of wood, searing pain rushing in waves through the body, taking in gulps of air, pressing down against the nails in the feet to free his diaphragm to allow each exhaled breath, each time dragging his back, turned hamburger meat by the Roman whip, across the center beam of rough wood, naked, surrounded by mockers, bearing the full suffering of sinful humanity and broken creation in himself, rejected, forsaken, alone, hour, after hour, after hour.

God hung on a stick for me. It is no wonder the earth shook and the sun turned away its light.

Today I’m reminded that there is no brokenness that has not been fully carried. No provision that has not been fully made. No healing that has not been purchased. Adam disconnected from God in order to rely on himself. This is death. Jesus fully entered into this forsaken death that I might be connected again to the source of all life.


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