Good Friday

And so You hung, God, suspended over all our sin, blood dripping scarlet onto the blackness of this broken world. And Your heart broke even as our sin split You open—we split You open, God, the God who dreamed us up in love and breathed His own breath into our lungs. And so You came, not willing to be the tyrant, for that would go against Your very self, and that would force us to bow, fearful subjects rather than willing worshippers. You came the only way You could come, in love, becoming one of us.