Monday Meditation: Because the Father Turned His Face

He came on a colt. The fragrance of His coming preceded Him. A King bent on a peace mission. Hailed in the name of the Lord. But hearts would harden, spittle would fly, and fists would fall. Bone-and-metal-tipped strips would find their marks. He would be ripped apart like the temple curtain. Thorns would gash His brow, and spikes would shred His strong, yet gentle, hands–and feet dusty from earth’s soil. Blood would pour. Clouds would gather. The earth would shake. And He would be overwhelmed with darkness. The world’s sin-sick pollution piled heavy on Him. Suspended. Separated. Yet arms outstretched from shore to shore. Dry ground through wave walls. He could not see the Father’s face. It. Was. Agony. He knew what He faced when He...