April 21, 2024

Weak. Frail. Exhausted. The body is drained of nutrients. Fluids of hope have been spent. His flesh longs for a simple sip of water. Dehydration has made its mark with parched lips and screaming muscles. He is dizzied by desire, for hope is drawn from his core like the blood will soon be drawn from his veins. He is thirsty. But he cannot drink human wells. There are no refreshing streams of relief. He is not near a waterpot of peace. Not here. Not in this moment.  He must drink the cup. The lonely, terrible, torturous, sin-tormenting cup. The transgression-filled, dirty, poisonous, blame-embittered, disobedient-laced cup.

And he has never felt so weary. But there is no time for rest.

It is like the virtue of a thousand worlds has drained from him. Sin siphons justice from his broken body. Death stands in the distance wondering how it can touch such a holy body. But destiny must be completed. Promises have to be performed. Love has to finish this course.

He is weakened by love. He doesn’t want man to be lost. He is weakened by the light burning in him. It contrasts with the darkness. It wrestles with evil. It clashes with sin and the Satanic. He is weakened by the sickness of the sinner. He aches for their liberty. He moans for their mercy. He cries loud and strong for their future, one without darkness and death; one without hopelessness and hell; one without threats and demonic thrones. Listen now…

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