The procession stopped.
You reached the end of the journey, Jesus.
But there was still more for you to suffer.
More indignity.
The blood-soaked garments that covered you as you passed through Jerusalem and up the hill to your death were ripped from your body.
How many of your wounds re-opened?
You stood alone for all the world to see
You must have been in shock
You lived in such a modest society... were you beyond caring about that?
Of course not.
You came to be one of us.
To feel as we feel.
You were spared nothing.
Jesus,
I don't deal well with rejection and humiliation. I don't want to feel it. The pain cuts me to the core and sometimes I don't know how to get past it. How did you keep loving us? How did you manage to keep going? I imagine you standing there, bleeding with newly opened wounds. Those robes being ripped off must have been like the biggest bandage I can imagine being torn off... the pain must have been horrible for your aching body. And then just to stand there.... in front of everyone.... an object of scorn. And you allowed it to happen to you simply because you love us. Help me love those who reject and hate me. Please help me in my weakness be strong like you.
I thought I had saved this link last year when I found it, but couldn't find it and was attempting to search for it again. Thank you for reposting on Facebook. Am adding the link to my blog log, so I won't loose it this time.
ReplyDeletehow kind! thank you :-)
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