Someone had to die, because someone had to pay. My heart is prideful and greedy, proud and vengeful and because of that a price must be paid. The just thing would be for my sin to be exposed, my heart to be made known and my life covered in shame. That's what ought to happen. But it doesn't.
When it's time for that to happen, the Father's heart is filled with love and compassion. So he steps in, sends his son, that when the shame of my heart is exposed everyone thinks it's him, not me. My anger sticks on him, my lust, my arrogance, my ugly envy, my greed for wealth, my "better than", my vengeful spirit. And I stand quietly, a distance back, someone else getting the blame for all I've done and thought and said, but worse yet, for all I am. The ickyness falls on him, and he takes it- because his Father asked him to, because he loves me. He takes it and wears it and is blamed for it and judged for it- the sentence is death.
But it's so unfair. I scream and shout- No!- but my voice is not heard. "It's me!" I am ignored. The execution continues. I am helpless. There is nothing I can do. An innocent man is going to die because of me- because his Father loves me.
It happens. He dies. It's over. There's nothing to do. No one to whom I can appeal. Over. Done. Past. Finished. They killed the wrong one.
My grief is intense- O the injustice of it! I want to fix it, but it's no use fighting. It should have been me. It was my ugliness on the tree, but it wasn't me. I want to cry, to scream, to punch something- I want to yell loud enough that it actually makes a difference. But it's no use. It's all over. I can't change it or undo it or reverse it. It's too late. He's dead.
No comments:
Post a Comment