Divinely Poetic

Poetrythe measured language of emotion; the art of rhythmical composition, written or spoken, for exciting pleasure by beautiful, imaginative, or elevated thoughts—Dictionary.com

April is National Poetry Month, celebrating all things poetry. This is what I plan to do this month, beginning today, Good Friday, the day that Christians recognize Jesus’ suffering and crucifixion for the sins of humanity. I recognize Jesus Christ as God, the savior, my savior, but today I also recognize Him as the ultimate poet, the one who personified delivering “the measured language of emotion,” his whole life being “the art of rhythmical composition,” displaying love to the fullest.

From before the beginning of time God had plans for me (Ephesians 1:4-6). These plans included living forever in concert with Him then people interrupted this plan, messed it up for all women and men, when they ate that forbidden fruit. They had to depart from His presence, separating all of us from Him, but God never dismissed us from His ultimate plan of life with Him. The people broke the connection and only He could make the connection again.

A bull couldn’t do it. A goat or bird wouldn’t do. Not a lamb or an ordinary man. Only Jesus, perfect God and perfect man when He came to dwell on the earth solely to redeem humanity back to Him (John 1:1, 14). Only he could devise a plan, set it in motion and see it through to its fulfillment. His virgin birth, His sinless life, his death on the cross, paid the price for humanity’s sins that we may live at peace with Him again and forever. “For God so love the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life” (John 3:16). Christ’s sacrifice—a plan from elevated thoughts (of God Himself)—is the measured language of emotion, a rhythmical composition that gives me pleasure. That is pure poetry.

I am happy today because of the poetry of Jesus. He simply could have said, “Come back to me” and we would have been redeemed. But the price was blood, His very own shed because of His great love for us. That’s some beautiful poetry.

Copyright 2010 by Rhonda J. Smith

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