Windowframes

I painted the windowframes this weekend. I should be dead.

Darling chose the colour; a metallic grey. He was building the cupboard with that painstaking, methodical way of his. First stripping planks off the old pallets that nobody wanted anymore – nobody except us, anyway. They were beaten up and weathered and cast aside, but they seemed to change in his big, careful hands. I knew that by the end of the day these broken old things would become something new, something useful. Unrecognizable.

A little like me.

Then Jesus went with them to the olive grove called Gethsemane, and he said, “Sit here while I go over there to pray.” He took Peter and Zebedee’s two sons, James and John, and he became anguished and distressed. He told them, “My soul is crushed with grief to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.” He went on a little farther and bowed with his face to the ground, praying, “My Father! If it is possible, let this cup of suffering be taken away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine.” – Matthew 26:36-39

The windowframes were my job. I put some music on and grabbed a little brush and got to work. The paint smoothed easily over the frames themselves, hiding the weathered surface under a shiny new grey coat.

The traitor, Judas, had given them a prearranged signal: “You will know which one to arrest when I greet him with a kiss.” So Judas came straight to Jesus. “Greetings, Rabbi!” he exclaimed and gave him the kiss. Jesus said, “My friend, go ahead and do what you have come for.” Then the others grabbed Jesus and arrested him. – Matthew 26:48-50

The burglar bars were a little more difficult. They’d been painted white before and the grey paint didn’t want to stick. I almost asked Darling for help, but decided that I was a strong and independent woman and that I was going to figure it out myself. Surrounded came up next on my playlist and I turned it up a few notches, dancing in place as I sang along. “It may look like I’m surrounded but I’m surrounded by You.”

But Jesus remained silent. Then the high priest said to him, “I demand in the name of the living God—tell us if you are the Messiah, the Son of God.” Jesus replied, “You have said it. And in the future you will see the Son of Man seated in the place of power at God’s right hand and coming on the clouds of heaven.” Then the high priest tore his clothing to show his horror and said, “Blasphemy! Why do we need other witnesses? You have all heard his blasphemy. What is your verdict?” “Guilty!” they shouted. “He deserves to die!” – Matthew 26:63-66

The first windowframe took all my concentration, but by the time I moved on to the bathroom window – Darling propped it open for me with a piece of plank – I’d hit my rhythm. I almost spilt some of the paint on the windowpane, but managed to catch it just in time.

Pilate responded, “Then what should I do with Jesus who is called the Messiah?” They shouted back, “Crucify him!” “Why?” Pilate demanded. “What crime has he committed?” But the mob roared even louder, “Crucify him!” – Matthew 27:22-23

By lunchtime, the windowframes were done. I rinsed out the brush and walked into our little house. Darling was stepping back to look at his cupboard with a critical eye, but smiled as I came in. He was fragrantly covered in sawdust and sweat, and when he draped an arm over my shoulders, the perfect smell of him embraced me.

“All done,” I told him.

He pressed his lips to the top of my head, a tiny and tender gesture, but as big and strong as the hands that built our house. “Well done, liefie.”

And they went out to a place called Golgotha (which means “Place of the Skull”). The soldiers gave Jesus wine mixed with bitter gall, but when he had tasted it, he refused to drink it. After they had nailed him to the cross, the soldiers gambled for his clothes by throwing dice. The people passing by shouted abuse, shaking their heads in mockery.“Look at you now!” they yelled at him. “You said you were going to destroy the Temple and rebuild it in three days. Well then, if you are the Son of God, save yourself and come down from the cross!” – Matthew 27:33-35,39-40

“Ready for lunch?” I asked. “There’s tuna, if you like.”

His smile was the sun in my world. “Sounds good.”

We walked back towards the farmhouse hand in hand. We always do, even if it’s too hot to hold hands, just interlacing our pinky fingers together – a connection.

At noon, darkness fell across the whole land until three o’clock. At about three o’clock, Jesus called out with a loud voice, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” which means “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” Then Jesus shouted out again, and he released his spirit. At that moment the curtain in the sanctuary of the Temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. The earth shook, rocks split apart… – Matthew 27:45-46, 50-51

I pause and look back. Our tiny house basks in the autumn sunshine, almost done. The grey windowframes look new and cosy, and it’s starting to look like a home instead of a construction zone. I lean against darling and let out a sigh of contentment.

“I can’t wait,” I say.

“Me neither.” He pulls me a little closer. “I love you.”

As evening approached, Joseph, a rich man from Arimathea who had become a follower of Jesus, went to Pilate and asked for Jesus’ body. And Pilate issued an order to release it to him. Joseph took the body and wrapped it in a long sheet of clean linen cloth. He placed it in his own new tomb, which had been carved out of the rock. Then he rolled a great stone across the entrance and left. – Matthew 27:57-60

I lean against the man who loves me and I gaze out at the little house and I know that I should be dead. I know that I should have been the one to kneel in Gethsemane horrible anguish. I know that I should have been the one to stand trial in front of mocking hordes. I know that I would have been found guilty. I know that I should have been nailed to a cross and that I should have died a slow, agonising death.

It should have been me. But it wasn’t. It was the King of all kings, the Creator of the world, the Alpha and Omega. I was the one who deserved it, but He was the One who died.

Then the angel spoke to the women. “Don’t be afraid!” he said. “I know you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He isn’t here! He is risen from the dead, just as he said would happen. Come, see where his body was lying. And now, go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead, and he is going ahead of you to Galilee. You will see him there. Remember what I have told you.” – Matthew 28:5-7

I should be dead. Instead, the Son of God, Who knew no sin, died in my place. He paid all of my debts and set me free two thousand years before I was born. Then He rose again, and I rise up with him, a new creature, living a new life.

I should be dead. Instead, I painted my windowframes. I painted them grey, and I sang His praise. I hugged my man and I made tuna sandwiches for lunch. And I know, with every breath, that I don’t deserve even the air in my lungs. I don’t deserve to be starting a life together with the most incredible human being on this earth. I don’t deserve to ride horses or enjoy a meal with my family or sing in the sunshine or even my pretty new grey windowframes. I certainly don’t deserve eternal life or unity with the God that is all goodness.

He died for me. I don’t deserve to call Him Abba.

But it’s not something I earned. It’s a gift. So I paint my windowframes. I hold my man close. I anticipate the glory that is to come. And I sing the praises of the God Whose love never gives up and never finds a limit.

This is grace. Happy Easter. Glory to the King.

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