Where life begins

I went to the cross this morning. Well, I started in Bethlehem, where the Spirit of God took up residence in a child, as a child, Jesus. I imagined the imperfect parents who "raised" him, probably confounded repeatedly at his peace and his perfect rejoicing in what was excellent, and now I think,  also his perfect grieving over broken things.
This narrative matured at the cross. He took into himself all our broken things and grieved them with the emptying of his life. To communicate his father's excellency in forgiving offenses, this was fitting, and totally worth it. The whole earth would be filled with his glory. This was his confidence while he suffocated, and bled there, and died.

I've listened recently to an account of the Pacific battles of WWII, which included some grisly descriptions of the changes that occur in a man's flesh post mortem. This morning I paused over the corpse being handled by men as it was taken from the cross and laid in a tomb, supposedly to decay. He told us this would happen. He was dead. All my wrongs were forgiven, but my love was in the grave. This is my invitation to grieve the loss of what is excellent.

This is where life begins. A hunger to know him. This is why it's good news that he was raised from the dead. We can know, and love, and wonder at him, and enjoy him forever! Our lives' purpose is restored: he is known as glorious, and his praises will fill all things.