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The day was still young, and the sun, warm above the driving wind, could only cast its light upon Golgotha’s rocky hillside. It traveled mercilessly down an all too familiar path, coming to rest upon footprints warmed, not by sun, but by blood oozing from sandal-less feet.
The pathway had known these scarlet splashes before, its journey never carefree -- always care-worn. Weighed down by burdens; burdens not cast aside, but lifted up onto care-worn shoulders that would not be freed of them until they, themselves, were borne as burdens upon the downward-journeying shoulders of others.
No, this path was not a stranger to blood. But even it shuddered beneath the flow now running unchecked. Footprints planted by bleeding soles now overflowed, becoming pools filled from the torn mass of flesh which shaking limbs could hardly hold upright. Still, the footsteps pressed upward. Un-measured. Staggering.
The compassionless, purpose-driven crowds pushing behind did not notice, or did not care, for they trampled the priceless offering beneath well-shod feet, and grumbled in irritation at the slowness of the trek. Willingness drove both journeys, but destinies were eternities apart.
And forced to stop, to pause, when the one whom they walked behind lacked power to move onward, the robes, flowing about their own feet, recognized the value of the cast-off treasure and drank deeply, soaking up the crimson stain. But the soaking went unnoticed.
Mercifully, the climb ended, though not the journey aloft.
Stirring restlessly, the followers watched. Mockingly. Dispassionately. None guiltless. Though some at the last moment could only turn their gaze away, as torn and mangled, the bleeding body was lifted upward once again; now on ragged beams that wrenched away the last barrier of anguish. And blood dripped, steadily, until the saturated earth would bare no more.
At last the bloodletting stopped. Remnant stains remained to mark the reality of its passage. Quieted crowds, more reflective, voices solemnly hushed, now shuffled step-by-step back down the road they had earlier tread, heedlessly trampling underfoot heaven’s bloody trail of truth. Nothing changed. Nothing altered. Only stains -- clinging, unheeded, to each sole.
“If we deliberately keep on sinning......how much more severely do you think a man deserves to be punished who has trampled the Son of God underfoot,who has treated as an unholy thing the blood of the covenant that sanctified him and who has insulted the Spirit of grace?” (Hebrews 10:28a, 29 – NIV)
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O, Grace Incarnate, I do not want You to look at my feet! I have looked, and they are bloodstained. Bathed with the undeniable evidence of the grace I have trampled. My heart breaks. Your heart, grieves. Ignorance cannot be held accountable; if only it could! For You faithfully plant Your truth clearly before me. And here, looking in Your heart I cannot hide my truth. It is my way, O Blessed Lamb, my way that I follow. Time after time. Shunning Your grace, shed drop by costly drop. Unbelievably, Your love remains, upon me, calling me to turn back to Your heart. Wash me anew, Precious Jesus, and set my heart today on seeking only Your face.
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