Can they not see the sweat dripping and the blood soaking the wood it keeps staining and the thorns piercing through the hair matting in the heat? Flesh was hanging on nails drilling clean through bones struggling to hold up a man gasping “It is finished.”
The darkness cloaking the world mocking its King they kept rejecting. In His death, rejoicing, as He hung there dying and in the darkness bearing all our shame and gathering up our brokenness and bearing the price of our sins and daring to go against demon guardians grinning shameless as they kept defying the King of Kings.
But no heavenly or earthly being nor beast or devil or phantom floating could ever stop Him from breaking the chains of sins and suffering. No past was too dark or disgusting to be held up to the light He was offering, no shame too hopeless and past redeeming, or stain too stubborn to resist His cleansing. No man too low, no man deserving, and no man too high to earn this blessing.
He came; He loved, never stopped pursuing the world. For the lost searching for the truth, the empty craving love, He spared nothing, not even His Son and sending Him to the cross, to a death humiliating.
All for love, all for reconciling a people wayward and lost and bumbling in the darkness, to His welcoming arms. All for His children, angels celebrating their return to the Father. Weeping. Rising. Praising. Proclaiming "We are home."
The first stanza was originally written posted on Tumblr on March 19: http://escapistblunders.tumblr.com/post/114040532440/grace