Silence. The silence was deafening. My Jesus was...dead. I remember when I met Him. I was lame when my friends lowered me through the roof that day. Lame...sick...with no help in sight. I was terrified He would rebuke me, but He was my only Hope. Then...He told me I was forgiven...forgiven. I had arrived crippled and defeated...but I walked away, healed and forgiven.
Darkness. The darkenss was chilling. My Savior was...dead. I remember when I met Him. I was caught in adultry when the Pharisees came in. They dragged me through the streets and then threw me infront of this Man. I thought He was going to kill me...but then...He started drawing in the sand next to me. He said that only those who had not sinned could stone me...and the Pharisees left one by one. He saved me from an inevitable death. Never making me feel less than Him, but making me want to be more like Him.
Anguish. The anguish was crushing. My Emmanuel was...dead. I remember when I met Him. I was just a young virgin...betrothed to Joseph, when an angel appeared to me. He told me I would give birth...to the Son of God. I was terrified, but willing. When I held my own tiny Redeemer that night, I knew this day was coming. My Son paid for my sin...and I have everlasting life because of His death.
Silence...Darkness...Anguish...but there is a stone rolling away, very soon...
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