A whip tore open his flesh. The most precious blood was spilled. Leather bound with bits of metal or glass. A torment for the wicked punished an innocent soul. It was part of an agony that few could ever know. Into the passion he went unto the last, bearing a world of sin. He entered into a divine ecstasy as he was crucified. The torn flesh, the crown of thorns, the sorrow filled his eyes. A brutal death that brought forth an abundance of life, each stripe to his soul is how we are healed. The scourge was more than a cruelty, it was to be a necessity. Only by this torment could he fulfill his destiny, by doing what no one could or ever will, by his suffering, he completed the fathers will.