Where Vulnerability Meets Grace

Father, my offense towards You in greater than any offense I have ever suffered against me.
An irrevocable disdain,  even if only through my birth.
Tainted by breath--Your original breath of life, swallowed up by death; these clay hands to pound those nails.
The nails driven in by my own force.
They puncture Your Dear One's flesh.
They puncture, also, the wall which binds my soul from hope.
For a moment, it's as if we're near, my hand so near to Yours.
Yet when I look down, there is a crimson separation.
The nail, from my hand to yours, demands blood.
As sign of Your life surfaces and begins to trickle down, I am alarmed by an unexpected glance at Light.
It is piercing through that wall, through a small breech, straight into my soul, and I feel warmth.
I feel it now in my eyes; I cannot hold it back.
As I aim the second spike, and place it so carefully into Your flesh, I begin to tremble.
I can bear it no longer--into Your eyes I glance.
All at once, I am vulnerable.
My tears sting my eyes. They flow warmly down my face.
They fall to Your arm, mixing with Your spilled blood.
Though I could not see it until now, I now see, we are united.
Separated by this nail; brought together in Your blood.
Yet Your agony does not cease, nor does Your inflicter relent.
Slowly, as to not be overcome by this trembling, I rise to my feet. I release my gavel and it falls to my side.
I walk only a small distance from You, and I pick up the rope.
For the first time, and only for a moment, I see those standing around me. They, too, shed their tears.
With all of my might, I pull the rope.
Your cross begins to rise.
Your eyes peer down into mine.
Yet I see no hatred. I see no regret in Your gaze.
My sobs have become uncontrollable.
Only as soon as I can secure my rope to its peg, do I fall to my knees.
Slowly I drag myself to the foot of Your cross. I place my hand down to keep myself upright.
I place it straight into Your pool of blood.
Staring now at my blood-soaked hand, I see this invaluable mixture of Your blood and my tears.
Our unity.
Your crimson sacrifice, my inability, my relent.
I can go no further. I stop here at Your cross.
This is where I dwell.
The only place where my vulnerability may be met by Your grace.


"If we have been united with Him like this in His death, we will certainly also be united with Him in His resurrection." Romans 6:5

It's Friday, but Sunday's coming!