How can something be the most powerful … and yet the most powerless? Strange dichotomy. It would make no sense in philosophies or perspectives or a political stance on life. It would sound wishy-washy or archaic or plain old stupid. But it makes sense if the strange dichotomy is a person.
And it is.
The most powerful. Creator who spoke the universe into existence with words of life. Who blew breath into the lungs of a man and a woman, and of every man and woman, boy and girl, baby … who has entered the world since that time.
Who then entered the world as one of those babies. With breath and flesh and blood and bones. And little more than a fool’s promise and a few hundred prophecies to fulfill.
The most powerful calming storms of the seas and storms of the heart. Calling a girl to rise from the dead and a woman to rise from her shame. Speaking words of truth mingled with the strangest blend of grace.
The most powerless strung on a cross between two other crosses, grasping for every tortured breath until he breathed his last.
And then, upon rising, once again the most powerful … yet still the most powerless. For He waits on the consent of every human heart.
Such mystifying polarity. Such majestic poetry. The love of the Son of God. The Son of Man. The one called Jesus.