“Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted.” -Hebrews 12:3
Christ laid down His dignity to take up the shame of our failure.
He hung bare, trembling in the early morning sunlight – first in the courtyard of the gaurd – vulnerable for whatever would come – his breath hanging on shredded moments as his spirit willed the guards to live …as He died.
Each lash must have taken away his breath
Each lash must have shattered whatever mental focus He had, so that between each shocking gasp there was a scrambling for identity,
His mind fumbling to hold onto the joy set before Him.
The screams swallowed with difficulty – his throat closing – choking on the pain that wheld up like clay…
Then, at last, when the last stroke pulled away the trembling gasp of relief.
…Then numbing realization that there was more…
Every second dragging out in little shivers of pain. Each shiver sharper than the last. Holding onto the thin thread of consciousness.
A prayer for strength, even as the will to pray ebbed away.
Holding back the gut reaction to call forth every mind numbing and flesh healing and angel fighting power that brushed right there on the edge of His consciousness… On the tips of his fingers, running through his tear ducts…
sliding down his tongue
across each breath…
How his heart must have raced with brain wired panic. Even the beat thudding with throbbing pain.
As if it would tear free on command.
The small raspy whisper, edging on a growl of power, “if you ask I will stop all of this!” rage blurring on the edges of his vision. Visions of revenge and righteous judgement. “If you are the Ssson of God then wield the sword! Surely you can pull it from the stone. Make the bread!” Visions of dust returning to dust. Visions of peace… “Comeon, turn them all to dust!”
…But that joy!
A surge within his chest.
Oh how the joy tore at him.
His battered body could not contain the surge of emotion as the memories surfaced and he stumbled below the weight of the wood he’d grown
to know beneath his hands…
the splinters tore at him as the memory surfaced as sharp and real as the face had from the mud in his hands.
The eyes blinking at him in the universes fresh light.
The recognition in the beings response…”Yes! You can create all thhings! So! You who heal,heal yourself.”
How his teeth must have ground together both with self control and uncontrollable pain.
Sobbing, as he pushed himself up and on?
…
Then again, hanging in the morning heat, his body exposed for every common passerby
To every bird and animal and insect… Did the flies land on him???
How the heat and pain must have exhausted him.
No dignity in anyone’s sight – his labored breath and moans of pain displaying utter weakness.
No dignity of strength.
Dismay…Body betraying him in every way.
He danced as one might to a crude drum beat.
His breath whimpers
Strained…
His back slipped in its raw fleshy streaks of blood –
His head rolled against the wood – stopped by the thorns jagged design
The sky darkening and his eyes lost focus and clarity.
Black spots entering his vision from lack of oxygen and overwhelming agony.
His mouth too dry
Swollen eyelids blinked against the sting of
blood?
sweat?
tears?
Stabbing lightening shot up through him as his body attempted to kneel in prayer
His head flopped forward
From the side of his eye the faces He loved so dearly!
…His Spirit clawing for flesh holds to translate one last desire
Forcing out the words with primative clarity
Losing whatever hold he had on a supply of air
His followers
His family
Gazing up at his exposed body on display
Or did they cover their faces to hide his shame?
The overwhelming thirst
Hunger?
Or did the pain and thirst overwhelm whatever hunger could have been…
Nausea?
Pain so hard and so fast and so prolonged that vomit rose in his already dry throat?
Heaving and straining and longing with no hope because already His Father’s face had turned away
Was this the moment He knew He’d accomplished all things?
And this
This is what brought me healing.
…
His ways are not my ways
And His thoughts are not my thoughts
By His stripes I am healed
And the punishment which brought me peace was upon Him.
Oh my soul, consider Him. Who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted.
