The Bloody Cross

A crucifix sits on the mantle, above the hearth that stood for the warmth and security of the home in which he lived. That solitary crucifix represented his faith and his master’s sacrifice, but he never looked at it: it hurt too much think about all that Christ had done for him… and what he had done in for Christ. The cross of conviction was too much to bear. The cross of commitment was upon the mantle ever always, but what can a shelved symbol profit? How can a caged crucifix convict the heart of a lost soul?
A candle under a basket will either be stifled, or will grow too strong to be contained and burn the basket.
The cross of Christ is a cruel symbol of pain and suffering, the final sacrifice to snatch sinners from the jaws of a fiery Hell.

What price is then too great for us to pay to save just one more from everlasting death? What excuse then can we proffer to justify not taking action in a radical way? Can we keep silent in good conscience while dying men and woman, crying for mercy and peace scream to hear the truth of God’s love?
Who are we to be satisfied with our salvation alone? Are we thus content with our own security of eternity to condemn countless others to a wretched torment? Can we live with ourselves while others die with their selves?
The bloody cross rides on the back of an innocent man. His beatings horrific. His skin: a bloody pulp of human flesh. His completion like death streaked in scarlet from the thorny crown piercing His brow.
The bloody cross lays itself down at the place of the scull as the man who bore it’s shame is forced to lay upon it. A spike, a mallet, a cry of pain as metal pierces flesh, pinning His hand to the bloody cross.

The bloody cross is raised up for all to see the innocent man being slain in cruel agony. His forgiveness emanating in exothermic explosions of grace. For His righteousness was absolute, His love was infinite, His heart was broken, His life was given, death’s keys were taken, and eternity can be received.

The bloody cross is not something we should shun or turn away from because of its gruesome history. The cross of Christ is a burden we must bear. Its horror should inspire us, should drive us, should comfort us. His death brought life, His cross and sacrifice are symbols of mercy, of a God that loved us to death. If Christ be lifted up, He will draw all men unto Himself. The bloody cross should be displayed upon our highest steeples, on our largest walls, on our necks, and in our conversations. A constant reminder that the price of redemption is everything He had, and that God asks nothing less of us.

Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all. Here’s is a song that puts into words the calling of the bloody cross like no other: “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross”.

As always, thanks for reading.

–the anonymous novelist