ONLY THEN

Was Christ conscious of the birds singing that day? DID the birds sing that day? They must have. Perhaps in subdued whispers, muted overtones of disbelief that Man could be so blind as to mock and crucify his Saviour.


We crucified Him. You and I.


We crucify Him still, by our disbelief—and by our choices.


When we choose to ignore the need of others and gratify our selfish wants, we crucify Him.


When we snap and snarl and stab at others with vicious tongues, we crucify Him.


When we lie and cheat and steal—white lies, tiny deceptions, minor pilfering—we hammer home another spike to hold Him on that cross.


Yet it is not our spikes that hold Him there. It is His love for us. It is His desire that we be given every opportunity to come to our senses and realize that this that we are choosing is not life, but death. That only the road to others is the road to Him; the road to self is the way of death.


Darkness and despair stagnate within. Brooding on our desires entombs us, enwraps us in a marshmallow miasma of unconcern, and severs our awareness of the world around us.


It is only when we turn our eyes outward and upward that we truly live.


It is only when we help others that we are truly Christ-like.


It is only THEN that He is finally taken down from that cross.


It is only then that He lives again.


In us.


And through us.