There is a story of a man who loved a multitude. He fed the hungry, gave comfort to the brokenhearted, spoke life in dead places, played with children, and cared for the sick. He was every man's friend, a gentle soul who gave and expected nothing in return. People sought him out, desperate just to be near him, just to experience the peace that exuded from his being. He was capable of making each person feel special, significant, wanted. He was the ultimate humanitarian.
This man, so full of love for people, so desperate to see others' lives overflowing with abundance, died at the hands of those he served. A whisper started a whirlwind fueled by ignorance, guilt, and jealousy. The multitude to whom he had given his heart - his whole life - were suddenly calling for his death, seeking him out, blood-lust pumping through their thirsty veins. In the cover of night, they hunted him down, captured him, and tortured him. They punctured holes in his side, ripped the flesh from his back, stabbed thorns into his scalp, and beat him senseless. His blood spilled to the ground; his muscle tissue dangled in pieces from his bones. In a final act of cruelty, the mob of people who witnessed firsthand the goodness in this man's heart ended his life: death by crucifixion.
Death by crucifixion: the most beautiful death this world has ever known. Oh, the sight itself was ugly: a body mutilated, ravaged, destroyed; anguish seeping from torn flesh; agony etched in facial features. That moment in time speaks of pain most men never endure. The man who loved the multitude hung on his cross, looked upon those that nailed him to it, and released his last breath. When peace invaded his body and his eyes closed that final time, there on his lips lingered not the taste of bitterness but the sweet, sweet flavor of forgiveness, forgiveness marinated in love.
His name is Christ. His pain is the most beautiful thing in all the world.
With His pain comes our redemption. With His pain comes our freedom. With His pain comes our healing. With His pain comes our salvation.
The phrase "pain is beauty" truly does define my entire life. Yes, my heart has been broken. The past has clouded my present. My insecurities have led me to attempt to maintain impossible standards. My pain, like yours, has been very real. But it is not my pain that makes my life beautiful. It is His.
I am part of the multitude. He has given His life over to me. He has loved me. He has cared for me. He has clothed me and fed me. He has healed my sickness. He has given me everything He has - His very life - forever suspended in one of the most brutal moments in history. And while His death was hideous, I am the ugly one. I have spit in His face, pushed thorns into his skull, and driven nails through his hands. It was my anger-filled, insecurity-ridden heart that prowled in the darkness, looking to trap Him and tear him limb from limb. I am the one who demanded the death of the Son of Man, the One who devoted His whole life to me. And this Man gave me everything I asked of Him. He gave me His all.
I caused His pain, yet when He whispers into the ear of His Father, He doesn't speak words of hate or words of revenge. He doesn't map out retaliation. When He whispers into the ear of His Father, on His lips is the sound of forgiveness, the song of redemption. I am His Beloved. Despite my turning on Him, He takes care of me. He heals my blemishes. He erases my invalidity. Through all of His pain, He has turned His heart toward me and loved me back to beauty.
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