by Bob Allen:
Dripping with the poison of my sin, twisted from beauty to monstrosity, sunken into the sweat-stained, anguished brow weeping with blood, the crown of thorns pierces, maims, adorns, exalts my Lord.
My lips yearns to scream, “My Lord, no!” My mind questions, “Why is this the way?” My pride disintegrates, “I am not worthy of your death!” Yet he took this torture for me.
Obedience and perseverance and trust and faithfulness have never been harder, nor pain ever greater. But neither has love been ever truer.
That my Jesus would suffer and die for me and for you and for any who would cry out to him, “Lord, Save me!” brings unspeakable grief to my mind. It shouldn’t have to be this way. I should be better; you should be better; we all should be better.
And we know it.
But we’re not.
And that is why it has to be this way. It is why God sent Jesus, the Incarnate Word, his very Son, as Messiah, as the Christ, as his anointed and holy One. Because in his omniscience, God knows me and you, and he knows that we are desperately hopeless without his intervention. Paul proclaimed it best when he cries, “Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?” (Rom. 7:24)
That my Jesus would suffer and die for me and for you and for any who would call out to him, “Lord, save me!” raises my countenance. He “has regarded my helpless estate and has shed his own blood for my soul.” That grace strengthens my weary feet as I remember that my Savior trod this sorrowful path before I knew I was on it. When I survey the wondrous cross, my pride splinters and He reforms me.