This is the cup that He must drink: A bitter, lethal brew -of the tears of those who weep in inconsolable sorrow; from blood shed in strife, in anger, in hate as brothers kill brothers, as mother bash babies to the rocks, as one mutilates oneself in the name of vanity; from the rivers that flow from broken hearts and broken dreams, fueled by desperation, haunted by fear, crushed by shame; and from the juice of the forbidden fruit bitten in frenzy, chewed with avarice and swallowed in defiance.
This is the cup He must drink: To love what is hateful; To embrace those who scorn, those who resist, those who push Him away; To love the ugly, the dirty, the disgusting; To associate with the lowlifes, to be humbled into nothingness and to call brothers and friends those who have raised an angry fist toward Him, those who ridiculed, spat at him with derision; To see through the white-washed paints of the self-righteous sepulchers of humanity and see the decaying, maggot-filled, stench-filled darkness and yet not look away.
This is the cup that He must drink: That He should pay for a debt He did not owe; that He should be blamed for a crime He did not commit; That He should become the scapegoat so that the guilty can get away from the burden; That He should be wounded, defaced, disfigured, so that, paradox of paradox, healing may take place, wholeness may come into fruition; That He should be offered up as a sacrifice as divine retribution, as a ransom for a world who couldn’t care less.
And drop by single drop, He drank it.
He drank it, tasting its bitterness.
He drank it, flesh should have been crawling with revulsion, and yet He received it.
He drank it, and flowed out of His broken, wounded body – life.
He drank it so we would never go thirsty again.
This is the cup He must drink: To love what is hateful; To embrace those who scorn, those who resist, those who push Him away; To love the ugly, the dirty, the disgusting; To associate with the lowlifes, to be humbled into nothingness and to call brothers and friends those who have raised an angry fist toward Him, those who ridiculed, spat at him with derision; To see through the white-washed paints of the self-righteous sepulchers of humanity and see the decaying, maggot-filled, stench-filled darkness and yet not look away.
This is the cup that He must drink: That He should pay for a debt He did not owe; that He should be blamed for a crime He did not commit; That He should become the scapegoat so that the guilty can get away from the burden; That He should be wounded, defaced, disfigured, so that, paradox of paradox, healing may take place, wholeness may come into fruition; That He should be offered up as a sacrifice as divine retribution, as a ransom for a world who couldn’t care less.
And drop by single drop, He drank it.
He drank it, tasting its bitterness.
He drank it, flesh should have been crawling with revulsion, and yet He received it.
He drank it, and flowed out of His broken, wounded body – life.
He drank it so we would never go thirsty again.
Comments