Tuesday, December 1, 2015
What crown is this?
My Lord and Savior, how pitiful a sight it must have been. Having been scourged and beaten, your body wracked with pain, how did you have the strength to continue on the journey? As they placed the mocking robe around your shoulders, onto the flayed and fractured skin, oh the pain that must have coursed throughout your existence. Here the man who is King of all, being made into what to mortal eyes must have seemed a contemptuous parody. With all the angels at your command your love for us kept you from calling them to your defense. Ah, how undeserving we are of that love.
As they placed the crown of thorn on your sacred dome, deriding the very nature of your holy and regal being. The thorns piercing your tender flesh, bleeding profusely across your stately countenance. You bore this mortification in our place. Having emptied yourself, you came to this world with this purpose in mind. You who wore the very fabric of space and time as your robe, took on this tattered and worn garment of purple. Him who was crowned with so much power and glory that even looking upon his face would bring on the fear of death, was woven a crown of dried, discordant twigs. From the comfort of your heavenly throne you took on instead the discomfort of the Cross.
My child, he seemed to say to me, I did this for you. What you are going through now is a crown of your own thorns. A crown that seems full of shame and loss. A decision that makes you tremble on the inside, throwing yourself on the ground in your own garden of Gethsemane and begging God to take this cup from you. Oh, my child do not let Satan convince you of this. Satan is your Rome, your opponent. He wishes to make you seem far away, beaten and destroyed. For you are a child of God, by my work you have become my co-heir and your dignity is that of the royal family. You have been grafted into the shoot that sprang forth form Jesse's stump. Your adversary wants you to believe that your shame is your dignity. That your fear is your robe. No, embrace this cross no matter how difficult. Lift up your chin and bear yourself with the regal countenance that comes from being my sibling. March forth and embrace your cross, and walk towards your Easter. Do not be resigned but rather like Jesus, rejoice in the Holy Spirit. Love this burden. Grasp it in your arms as you would a newborn child. Carry it as you would your own. For then your cross will become a cross, without a cross.
His servant and yours,