Blood Splattered Faces

Sin. It digs deep into the body of Jesus, ripping into His flesh. You lash the whip deep, hard. His blood splatters, landing on your face. The very blood that has the power to save you.

You bash the crown of thorns ruthlessly into His head. You call Him, "King", but with your life you mock Him as such. Your spit clings to His face.

You fail to acknowledge, you fail to see who He really is. And though He came to bring you life, you demand that He be put to death.

I am guilty.

I am the one who ripped open the flesh of Jesus. I am the one who mocked His Lordship. I am the one who spit in His face, and demanded to have Him crucified. I am guilty. I did it.

"Father, forgive them, they know not what they do"

Here I am, digging nails sharp into His Hands which created me... and Beloved Jesus cries out, "Father, forgive her."

Jesus. My sin afflicted Him, the wrath meant for me was dumped upon Him. And while He endured separation from God, I was welcomed into His Inner Court.

And while I'm doing it, Jesus Himself is interceding... for me. For my forgiveness. For my reconciliation.

Christ Jesus is He who died,

Yes, rather who was raised,

Who is at the right hand of God,

Who also intercedes for us.

(Romans 8:34)

When you see such Grace, when you see such Love... such rich Mercy. How can you extend the whip again?

When you do... hand trembles violently, whip falls to the ground. Voice cracks sharply as you cry out in anguish, "What have I done!?" You fall shaking to your knees, a river of repentance flowing down your face. He lays there, beaten beyond recognition. His eyes meet yours. They speak forgiveness.

Purify me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;

Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow

(Psalm 51:7)