A Convict Like Me

The sun is beating down on his shoulders. With downcast, squinted eyes he surveys his surroundings. A group of onlookers gather, looking curiously at the man and his outcome. Led by two large men on either side, he slowly staggers up the walkway, to stand before the throne. He shakily raises his eyes to the being sitting before him. The King looks down on him, with a knowing and ever watchful eye, expertly peeling back the layers of his psyche, and seeing this man's base desires and character. With a stoic and steady gaze, this King holds command of an immeasurable host. This is a King who has watched him since the inception of his being, watched him grow and lead his own life.

A King who watched this man turn his back on Him.

The man plead innocent, but his testimony was in the life he led, not the expertly-constructed speech he had prepared. He was unsurprisingly found guilty, after the King had reviewed his life, and recorded who he had lived his life for: himself. Now he found himself staring at his own end.

He heard a noise behind him. Turning, he sees a Man walking up beside him, in a circle meant only for traitors. He was a normal enough looking Man, one who had seen his share of pain and the tolls taken in a full life. Hardened soles from extensive walking, lines about his eyes from countless smiles in a joy-filled life, and an innate regal standing about Him. This Stranger looks at the King, a sense of knowing between them. The convict sees the look the King has watching at this Stranger. He recognizes this look. That King loves this new Man, in an indescribable way. What is He doing standing next to a filthy traitor to the Crown?

The Stranger gently lifts the convicts hands, and unclasps his shackles. Shaking, but deliberate, He locks them around His own wrist. The convict looks around wildly, trying to understand what is transpiring. The guards beckon him to leave his place before the King. As he turns his back and walks to a safer position, he hears the King suddenly call His judgment. When the convict glances back again, he sees the Stranger's body lying motionless on the floor. The convict races back to Him, to see what has happened, and who this Man was, that He might take this man's stead. On His still face, the Stranger has a quiet smile played on His lips. One of an inside joy, that others would be hard-pressed to decipher.

Looking up, the convict sees the King's face. Instead of seeing a wrathful gaze upon him, as before, he sees a smile too big for description, the kind that lose control of the tears building on the edge of the eye. A gaze he is sure of that is not meant for looking upon him. A gaze he saw given to the Stranger before His deliberate decision.

As understanding slowly comes to the convict, he recognizes the body on the floor. A man that likewise commands the very forces of nature. A man who's place belongs next to the King. His very own Son. His Savior, from the brink of death itself.

His life, a useless waste of selfishness and ignorance, has been traded for the life of the Perfect Son, the only one to live up to the standard of perfection. He has been granted a life not worthy of him. He has been given a second opportunity to bring glory to his King.



Obviously this comparison has its limits, but I can't shake knowing full well that I have been given an inheritance beyond my understanding. We should all just spend a few moments right now, soberly mulling over the fact that a King has sent His Son, to take the place of sinners, for the sole fact that He chose it to be so, that He might be glorified, and that we might fall to our knees in awe of Him.