The fury of the cross was conquered by love.
Willingly, He set aside His regal crown and took instead the plaited thorns—each thorn unlocking a rivulet of Love.
Compassionately, He bared His back so the angry lashes could rip and tear the fleshly mantle from the Love that now heals disease and cancels pain.
Anxiously, He opened His hands to receive the nails that would open streams of Love—streams that still flow as those hands reach out to touch us and make us whole.
Expectantly, He steadied His feet against the splintered plank to feel the rusty spike of sin pinion Him to the cross and open yet another crimson fount of Love.
Agonizingly, yet excitedly, as the climax neared, His eyes searched the generations of mankind and rested on me, on you, on each soul that has known or will know life. He saw that only His crimson Love could cleanse our filth.
Oh, how His bosom surged with the swelling tide of Love. His very being wretched against the nails as He sought to fully release the cleansing tide.
The vilest, yet most meaningful of all deeds was climaxed, and in a final metaphor event, the spear opened His bosom into a spillway and released a flood of Love that engulfs all humanity.
His words were, “It is finished!”
His part in redemption was accomplished.
There remains our part—ours is not yet finished.
Sad, burning eyes search for but a glimpse of that fountain of Love.
Parched souls crave the dew of Love.
Fevered minds scream for the cool release of Love.
In a frenzied, dissonant concert, mankind is crying out its hunger and thirst for Calvary’s Love.
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