And I thought, My God, that is just what You did.
What author would write himself into history in such a way?
Before the story even began, the script was written from beginning to end.
It was written in the stars before they were spoken into existence and set to perform their perpetual celestial dance.
The birth of the son of God through the womb of a woman.
“Where is he that is born King of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him.”
The death of the world’s Creator on a crude cross.
“And I will shew wonders in heaven above … the sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood.”
Who would understand such an author? His closest friends didn’t.
“Be it far from thee, Lord,” one spoke up. “This shall not be unto thee.”
“You can’t do that. Hello! You’re the author. You’re the one telling the tale. You can’t just write yourself into the story to save it. You can’t just die! Where would the story be then?”
But what looked like the end of the tale was only a new beginning.
It was the best of times after the worst of times.
He interrupted the story that mankind had been writing for so long – a tale of confusion, chaos, and conflict.
He began to rewrite it the way it should have been written all along, blotting out the tragedies and travesties with the pen of forgiveness.
Who would write such an odd and awesome story?
…The only one who could.
It is a story replete with oxymorons, written with Mercy’s pen.
The Lamb of God slain from the foundations of the world was also the Lion of the tribe of Judah.
The King of the universe became the servant of mankind.
The Creator, killed by the very souls he created.
Misunderstood by all, yet understanding the thoughts and cries of every heart.
Unloved. Unaccepted. Yet perfectly loving and accepting.
And this was the story He wrote.
The author and the finisher.
Your name is already written upon His heart.
Will you let Him write the rest of the story?