Christ by Georges Rouault

Falling.
Christ Jesus has made Himself nothing.
He is falling.
The Bright Morning Star tumbles down from the heavens.
He is falling.
The Perfection of Beauty loses His beauty, and we turn away in disgust.
He is falling.
The Joy of Our Salvation weeps tears of blood and we hide our faces.
He is falling.
Our grieves, our sorrows, our iniquities, our transgressions, our judgment beats down upon Him.
He is falling.
The Lover of mankind is stricken, smitten, afflicted, stripped and striped.
He is falling.
The King of Glory is hung from His throne of blood.
He is falling.
He is denounced, we are delivered.
He is beaten, we are beloved.
He is rejected, we are received.
He is smitten, we are strengthened.
He is humiliated, we are honored.
He is cursed, we are kissed.
He is hurt, we are healed.
He is accursed, we are acquitted.
He is falling into the deepest abyss of sin, sorrow, darkness and death.
He falls until He can fall no further, no deeper, no lower, no weaker.
It is finished.
The Father calls His Son home.
And the Sun of Righteousness rises with healing in His wings.
We are falling.
Falling.
Falling at His feet.
And singing love songs to Love Himself,

“Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!”

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