Golgotha.
The Place of the Skull.
Hollowed-out rocks.
Scary shadows.
Gloom.
Darkness.
Grimness personified,
So men could be punished.
A skull without flesh and blood,
No longer a living face
Transformed by smiles, eyes reflecting joy,
Sadness, hope, pain,
But bone only:
Concave sockets where once eyes shone brightly.
Hollow space where once a nose wrinkled in fun or distaste.
Sunkenness.
Cavities.
Shape without substance.
Here, in that place of bleakness,
Jesus died for our sins.
Here, in that place of hollowness,
The Son of God breathed His last,
And blood and water gushed forth from His side.
Let none sanitise this forsaken place.
Let none pretend life could flourish here.
But remember: this is not
Journey’s end.
Come instead to the garden
And see flesh known by His scars.
Not bone,
But resurrection skin.
Not death,
But pulsating life.
Vibrancy.
Death-defying vitality.
Walk through Golgotha.
See the empty tomb,
But linger in the garden,
Where the second Adam
Defeated sin and death
And spoke peace to those who mourned.
Allow hope to rise,
Life to blossom,
Faith to stir.
Eden recaptured,
Everything restored.
Life reborn.
Leave the ghoulish gloom of Golgotha with gratitude,
For the skull has been transformed
By the sacrifice of the Saviour
And we will never be the same.