Behold the Wood

Behold, the wood. 

     A cross. 

          Over 100 pounds. 

               Bound to an innocent man. 

                    Carried through the streets under a blazing sun.

This piece of wood left a large, angry dent in the earth where it was plunged deep to hold fast.  It stood high, mocking what few believers were still around. The solid core pushed back against the nails being driven into it through flesh. Its jagged exterior ripped at whatever skin and muscle was left on His body.  The pale wood, newly stripped of its bark, was now stained with blood, a dark, sorrowful mahogany.  The cries of agony and suffocation echoed off its surface.  Behold, the wood.

The cross, for me, is a foundational element to my faith.  I have had to change my seat in church because I could not see the cross that adorns the front wall.  The emotional resonance stirred up in me by laying on of hands or reaffirmation services, where the cross is drawn on my forehead, is boundless.  I look to this simple symbol at the end of each reconciliation as a reminder of all that happened so that I could be forgiven.  To some, it’s just words we’re supposed to say – ‘sorry for this’ or ‘I’ll be better at that.’  It’s so much more than hollow words.

This is the most incredible gift you could ever receive.  A gift that should be welcomed and treasured above all else.  Behold, the wood.

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