Post #20: The killing tree.

I wrote this during church (yes, during church) as a form of worship. I’m not real sure if all the theology and stuff is correct, but it’s at least a thought.
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�i have been crucified with Christ, and i no longer live��

once again i find myself at the foot of the killing tree�this is the place where my journey began. an innocent man climbed up this tree. they hated him, this self-proclaimed Son of man, a simple, uneducated carpenter who was supposed to save us all from oppression of one sort or another. and when they put him there i found myself there at the first, when they first put hammer to nail and the sound went out to the edges of the universe and the depths of my soul. there came no cry from him, just a broken whisper: �God�why have you left me here alone?! and i think i saw a salty tear fall from his eye like a drop from the darkest cloud. it mixed with the red flowing from his heart, and the water and blood found their way to the place where i stood and caused in me a flood. any horror and shame that i felt rose to my throat and threatened to choke me with their density. and the more i watched him weep, the more i realized he was weeping for the sins of a generation�i realized he wept for me. the words he spoke then still echo in my war-torn brain: �Father, forgive them,� but i remember at the time it sounded like my own voice screaming �forgive me!� forgive me for the wrong i�ve done. forgive me for the blood shed and the evil desires of my heart. forgive me for the nails i�ve put through your hands, for the whip i lashed your back with, for breaking the heart of the eternal in human flesh. for it was my hands that held the hammer and the spear that rent the heavens and the earth and the world-weary body of this Jesus. and his tears became my own�a grief for the sins of a generation, for the shattering of the intimacy that my Creator made me for.

so it was then that i climbed the tree, the tree where a holy Lamb had been offered as a blood sacrifice, and made it an altar for the body of a poor traveler. i made the killing tree my own. and the hammer drove nails through my wrists and ankles and i suddenly understood the abandonment the carpenter knew�only mine was that of a midnight world turning its back slowly on me. and instead of a cry of �forgive them� i found myself (to my surprise) yelling �gloria!� i looked down and saw my executioner wore my filthy rags�he looked back at me and�it was him. the holy sacrifice. the innocent taking on my guilt. the Son of Man. Jesus. before i could even wonder how or why�one last breath, and i was gone forever�

or so i thought.

it felt like such a short time, and yet like eternity�i woke on the ground, in new clothes, in a new skin. i was myself, but not myself�for now i bear the scars of Christ. and so i walk this road. never alone�the living Sacrifice whose blood covered me and compelled me to take for myself the killing tree took me for himself and walks with me forever. and every once in a while i�ll find myself going down the road back to the place where i died; there hangs my bruised and bleeding flesh that i left behind that day. but every time i go back i always find someone else giving themselves up as an offering, and dying the death of the cross, the tree of cursing. i�ve brought a few here myself to this place, compelled by love for the One who died for me there�why? because i know it not only as the killing tree, the place i found death�but an altar, the place where Life found me.
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*LiNk oF tHe DaY* the faerie queene musings. My friend Hannah’s blog…not a lot there as of now (it’s only two days old), but destined to be a lot of fun.


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