Terrible Justice
The light within the hall burns my skin with frigid purity. My skin is sticky and mired with filth. I can feel the grime on my body dripping to the cool floor in sickening globs. As I hobble and lurch forward on broken and twisted limbs, even touching the floor cleanses some of the filth from my hands and knees. The exposed flesh beneath feels as though I crawl on broken glass.
I cower.
I tremble in unimaginable fear. My twisted body shivers with abject terror. How could I have dared to hope? Such hope was insanity. Such hope would insult His justice. How could I have dared to hope that His justice would be imperfect? That I would get anything less than I deserved? How dare I...
Fear grips my entrails in a vice and twists them in paralyzing agony. I've forgotten why I decided to come. Did I think that I would be able to repay? I cannot even draw a breath. Did I think that I would not get what I deserve? My lungs finally rasp a cautious breath and I quake uncontrollably. What had I done? Did I think that submitting to my deserved punishment would bring me some kind of peace? No, there would be no peace from my sentence. Any peace would belong only to my Judge.
He stands from His throne and I hear the rustle of His kingly robe throughout the whole court. It is the hiss of a thousand righteous swords being drawn for my execution. My terror becomes truth and I scream the wretched, gurgling, wailing expression of awful doom. I weep great globs of terror from my eyes and I shield my pitiful head with pitiful arms, knowing full-well the impending sentence of horrible death. I hear Him approaching and each step of His mighty feet is the thunder of a thousand worlds. My horror grows with each tread as He draws nearer to exact His perfect justice. Writhing, screaming, wailing in the throes of absolute terror, I can see His awful hands stretching out. As He grasps my whole body in His crushing grip, my last hope tears from my lips in the desperate screech of the utterly damned.
"Mercy!" I cry out. "Mercy!" I beg.
Over and over, the pitiful mewling of a deformed creature in the grip of terrible justice.
He clasps me to His chest and cradles my head against His shoulder and shushes gently in my ear. I can see His throne over His shoulder and I can see that the rustle of His robe was not the sound of doom. It was not the sound of a thousand swords being drawn; it was the sound of a thousand righteous swords being sheathed. When He stood, He had removed His robe and it had rustled as He draped it over His throne.
"Not because you hoped," He whispers gently. "But because I loved, child."
He holds me. He embraces me tenderly as the child I could never have hoped to be. My hope and more has come true, and I weep. I bury my face in the crook of His mighty arm and weep His praises.
Inspired by the wretchedness of my own broken, twisted spirit.
Dedicated to the God who loves.
I cower.
I tremble in unimaginable fear. My twisted body shivers with abject terror. How could I have dared to hope? Such hope was insanity. Such hope would insult His justice. How could I have dared to hope that His justice would be imperfect? That I would get anything less than I deserved? How dare I...
Fear grips my entrails in a vice and twists them in paralyzing agony. I've forgotten why I decided to come. Did I think that I would be able to repay? I cannot even draw a breath. Did I think that I would not get what I deserve? My lungs finally rasp a cautious breath and I quake uncontrollably. What had I done? Did I think that submitting to my deserved punishment would bring me some kind of peace? No, there would be no peace from my sentence. Any peace would belong only to my Judge.
He stands from His throne and I hear the rustle of His kingly robe throughout the whole court. It is the hiss of a thousand righteous swords being drawn for my execution. My terror becomes truth and I scream the wretched, gurgling, wailing expression of awful doom. I weep great globs of terror from my eyes and I shield my pitiful head with pitiful arms, knowing full-well the impending sentence of horrible death. I hear Him approaching and each step of His mighty feet is the thunder of a thousand worlds. My horror grows with each tread as He draws nearer to exact His perfect justice. Writhing, screaming, wailing in the throes of absolute terror, I can see His awful hands stretching out. As He grasps my whole body in His crushing grip, my last hope tears from my lips in the desperate screech of the utterly damned.
"Mercy!" I cry out. "Mercy!" I beg.
Over and over, the pitiful mewling of a deformed creature in the grip of terrible justice.
He clasps me to His chest and cradles my head against His shoulder and shushes gently in my ear. I can see His throne over His shoulder and I can see that the rustle of His robe was not the sound of doom. It was not the sound of a thousand swords being drawn; it was the sound of a thousand righteous swords being sheathed. When He stood, He had removed His robe and it had rustled as He draped it over His throne.
"Not because you hoped," He whispers gently. "But because I loved, child."
He holds me. He embraces me tenderly as the child I could never have hoped to be. My hope and more has come true, and I weep. I bury my face in the crook of His mighty arm and weep His praises.
Inspired by the wretchedness of my own broken, twisted spirit.
Dedicated to the God who loves.
posted by Matt at 10:42
2 Comments:
I feel this at times. Just remember that he doesn't leave us covered in mire, twisted. He is all our lives growing us, perfecting brokenness. Displacing our terror with His love so it overflows. This realization is the all important beginning, but not by any means the end of the story.
Alan
That's part of the problem, my friend... I've never been terrified. Thus His love is less vivid, less welcome, less beautiful, and less surprising to me than it should be.
Oh, what wretched creatures we are who spurn and assume upon such great love. Oh, what great love that saves us anyway.
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