Jesus.
All else falls silent.
Jesus.
A carpenter’s son, the son of Mary.
Brother to siblings who did not know, did not see, did not believe.
Jesus.
Water to wine, leprosy healed, blind to see, lame to walk, sins forgiven.
So much more than could be recorded.
Jesus.
Carried a cross, bore a shame, felt the sting, separated from His God.
Jesus.
Mary cried, John loved, Peter ran, Judas died, the thief and the soldier believed.
Jesus.
Cared for, cried over, anointed with myrrh, wrapped in cloth, laid in a tomb.
Sealed. Guarded. Alone. In the grave. Buried with sin. Battling hell.
Jesus.
The upper room, the disciples hide, emotions rage, faith wavers, fear evident.
Their leader, their teacher, their friend. Died just as he said. But what else did he say?
Jesus.
Discussions. Conversations. Debates. Silence. Waiting. Repeat.
Jesus.
Still there is a song yet to be sung.
Jesus.
**Matthew 27**
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