A Man walked through gleaming halls, bare feet leaving bloody footprints in His wake. Creatures with wings and glow flew around Him, perfect chandeliers tinkling above as they fluttered into them. Curious and hopeful and distraught they were. He dragged two bags filled to a bursting point behind Him, and the creatures could hear a liquid sloshing within them. A crown adorned His head, a perfect gold circlet crudely twisted around with thorns and twigs, humble yet magnificent. His back was laced with fresh scars, His arms and legs were covered in bruises, and His neck splintered and shredded.
The Man smelled of death.
At the end of the royal hallway was a throne that towered through the skies and out of the atmosphere. On it sat a King who was chiseled from marble, power radiating off Him as He simply sat there—trembles filled your body when you pictured Him exerting His full God-ness. His glory and holiness were evident in the presence He commanded, in the pure terror and awe in the faces of the angels who flew near Him. He was so tall His face faded into the distance, yet His crown was so bright, so vibrant, that if you dared to look at Him you would be blinded.
Behind Him swirled a white force capable of destroying the world, made at His own Hand.
The King sat silent as the Man trudged up to His majestic throne, no one knowing what He would do. His thoughts were like no other. The Man’s breathing grew heavier, His steps shakier, His body quivering in each agonizing press forward. The bulging bags in His hands grew more burdensome as the minutes ticked by, yet no one dared interfere. A strange spell had been cast—nothing was to disrupt this moment.
Finally, the Man stopped before the King, head down, chest dipping and rising with great effort. Suddenly, He lurched and looked up at the Crown, not wavering, unbroken, gaze strong. Gritting His teeth, He placed the bags which had doubled in size at the King’s feet, yet the King was not surprised. Then the Man kneeled where He stood and lifted His hands toward the heavens. In each was a perfect hole the size of a coin, incredibly circular, cutting right through skin and muscle and veins, the spilled blood still resounding upon its sight. The angels gasped and shuddered, stupefied by this show of strength and horror.
The King stooped down and picked up the bags, weighing them in His Hand. You could feel the smile on His brilliant face as He considered both the payment and the Payer. Pulling the drawstrings of the bag, He spilled its contents into a huge bowl. The liquid sloshed and splashed, the beautiful noise of it filling the throne room and hall, down through His kingdom and out to the gates. The angels peered to look and behold, the bowl was filled with the purest, reddest blood they had ever seen, thick and rich and glorious, spilled from the Man’s very body, every drop mixing with love and compassion and sorrow*.
This was the most precious commodity* in the world: The Blood of God.
As the King surveyed His bowl, He nodded His Head and said in a deep, booming voice, “Well done. You have saved them.”
The throne room erupted in cheers as none had heard before, triumph and joy bouncing off the walls and reverberating through the cosmos, exclamations of praise and sovereignty being shouted through heavenly mouths, angels spouting poetry and war cries, ragged shouts and beautiful songs, years of waiting in expectance relieved a loud, a cacophony turned into a symphony as all celebrated the Prince, the Prince who had conquered death to save His people.
Years from now, when the King’s wrath would be unleashed upon the world, the Prince would stand in the same spot He had kneeled to save His people, a royal crown on His head and a robe of purple silk draped on His shoulders, and as the white force that would destroy Creation so it could be made new would stream by, a path would be made for those who believed, blazed by His own blood, a trail that led straight to the perfect throne of the King. \
Word Count: 717
I got this idea from my dad's Good Friday service, which I really wish we had thought to record to post and share-- it was honestly amazing. (It was honestly beautiful-- it was all outside and the birds were flying and the wind was in the trees and the sun was setting...) I looked it up-- no one has a concrete idea of what Jesus did while He was dead, and I wanted to write something very symbolic, that could be real but not necessarily is, but is portrayed as if it happened for real, kinda like a parable that isn't presented as a parable. Lol.
But I hope you like it, and I hope everyone takes the time to praise Jesus for what He has done for us.
*Loosely inspired by When I Survey the Wondrous Cross
*Inspired (aka directly taken from) my dad.
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