“Let this cup pass from me… nevertheless, not my will, but Yours be done.” The immortal becomes mortal. The beloved Son of the Creator is clothed in human flesh that is torn, bleeding, sweating, and hurting as it is nailed to a wooden cross. His friends have abandoned him, hidden away, scared for their lives and only concerned for their own safety.
Lonely, dehydrated Son of man bearing the weight of every wrong since time began. A crowd of angry people cheering for his death. Mocking him as the crown of thorns presses deeper into his skull, eyes struggling to blink away the blood that falls.
A plea of forgiveness. “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” Mind-boggling, considering the situation.
An excruciating pull of the body upwards to take a labored breath. Blistered, bloody feet pushing into rusty nails. A sharp, quick intake of oxygen. A bruised body slumps back down, if only to relieve some pressure for just a millisecond.
A seemingly severed connection. A man crying out to his God, his Judge. “My God, my God why have you forsaken me?” Lost love. Abandoned. An innocent lamb slain for the sin sacrifice.
Death. Silence in Heaven. Chaos on Earth. A torn temple veil. Last words. “Father into Your hands I commit my spirit.”