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