What sweetness to the ear, like

honey upon one`s thoughts, glistening

and undulating between

the cracks of savage savored loss.

What a cool balm in a

desert of desperate

desertion of hopes,

such as that contained

within the Masters voice:

“Thou Art Forgiven”

Before the Judge can utter a word, I know my own guilt. Without being pronounced a sentence, I know my only verdict can be a death eternal. I am a vessel worthy only for destruction, and such a destruction can be my only fate… except for Him. He comes…

He comes to make all things new. He razes the proud, rebukes the mighty, exalts the meek… reclaiming that which was lost, He repairs what is broken and gathers His children unto Himself. He is the Christ, upon Himself is His Church built – bringing forth those out of every tribe and tongue, to stand for all time as an irrefutable testament to His abundant mercy.

Can it be that I should benefit from the atoning work of the Messiah, that my transgression could be forgotten by the Almighty Father – that I should be transformed from an enslaved brigand into an adopted son?

In the crispness of the late Autumn`s Eve, I am warmed by thoughts of the wonder and radiant beauty of forgiveness – the eternal and inexpugnable forgiveness that can only come from Him. A pardon perfect, a grace sublime.

This is a miracle of miracles – the freedom from Sin found only in Jesus Christ.

I am forgiven.


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