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God rules with punctured hands and that’s very cool (why I believe reason 1)

Rulers are given emblems of authority: a crown, a throne, a regal robe. The crown of Christ was a circle of jagged thorns, His throne a torture device called a cross and His robe a solider’s ‘gift’ in spit-stained purple. 

He who was holy royalty - the King of Glory and the prince of peace - subjected Himself to naked embarrassment and fist-to-the-mouth indignity. The commander-in-chief of angelic armies endured spit and scorn without rightfully retaliating: no command to unleash cosmic forces against His oppressor, no orders issued to angel battalions, no charge for sky and earth to advance with fiery wind and stampeding stone.

Carrying His cross, the rider of ancient skies stumbles up the hill of the skull. With powerful powerlessness, healing hands - punctured, bleeding, unhealed - give themselves to the nails and the wood. No gesture to earth and sky who would gladly take up arms against their master’s oppressors. Instead the earth soundlessly soaks up His blood and the sky blushes black in sullen silence. His bleeding mouth, still refusing to issue the command for Sinai fire to blaze, whispers words garbled by blood and throat-parched thirst: ‘forgive them they know not what they do'. In blood, spit, half-sour wine and the awful sob of ‘why have you forsaken me’, he who is life dies. 

This was intended by earthly and spiritual persecutors to shame Him, but those who accused, perjured, spit, whipped, nailed and speared were mocked themselves by an open tomb, a glorified body and scared-turned-impassioned followers winning the heart of the Roman empire. 

Christ took the repulsiveness of shame - an execution device, rigour mortis, a tomb - and re-coded them into emblems of victory. The cross where men howled in naked torment was re-branded that day by the master of the cosmos who proved able to master even the kingdom of contempt. Death and shame cried out in cruciform from the top of the skull-hill: open-tombed, resurrected life sung that cry as a victory anthem. The cross was now a testament death had died: He who died lived on. The mechanism of shame became the path to tomb-busting life: shame itself now shamed, death itself now dead. 

Shame spit, shame scorned and shame mocked but in the end Christ had the last laugh by sobbing the last sob. Powerfully wielding shame itself, He who had absolute power corrupted power absolutely...

That’s very cool. 

So is He. 

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