top of page

All Creation

The power would leave him soon, but the infinitude of the Father still thrummed in his bones.

The frailty of flesh pulsing with the blood of all those who came before--an ancestry of those who walked and wrestled with God, waning in their own fortitude but winning under his authority.

Those very hands pierced now by nails of man's design.

Hands that formed the world and shaped the first of his children from the dust of the ground.

Hands that healed and calmed the storms with only infinitesimal fractions of the power within.

He trembles with unthinkable pain, knowing that here in this death the bridge of life would be laid.

Here it now it would be decided. Here and now it would be finished, the work that began when the first word of the eternal God echoed into the void and fashioned light by it's very nature, and with it the resonance of all creation.

He remembers all that was and will be, and spoke once more, as then.


It was finished.

He draws a breath, and releases.


The power leaves him.

A vast wave of shimmering heat. A call to the foundations of the earth laid by the Father, resonating with the energy of all creation.

The place of the skull the epicenter of a quaking unlike any other, for indeed the Maker of Savior of the world had died.

In the temple of Jerusalem the curtain is rended. A veil fashioned by human hands that could not be torn by the same.

And now comes the silence.


All facets of creation flashed before him.

Seeing at once the vaulted skies and the earth below, layers of strata leading into the abyss beneath the deepest fathoms of ocean waters where leviathans of old still dwelt.

Layers of earth crumbled and reformed as his spirit passed through, his body to remain there upon that accursed tree set on the place called the skull until the appointed time.

When he arrived at the place of the scalding seething flames eternal, the white hot center of all the earth, his heart ached as he knew the scalding suffering of his children.

Yet the work was complete, as set out for him by the Father and his will. A life well lived, destined to die a mocking death.

All at once in impossible tension that following his descension, he knew the rightness of past wrath his father heaved upon the heads of those sons of God who fell and corrupted and made polluted humanity that bred sin in the world, the weight of all that sin and pain now wiped in absolute with the final words from the body of of the man known as Jesus of Nazareth.

"It is finished."

The dying breath of Yahweh, Elohim, Creator God matchless in majesty and light most pure brought into terrifying beautiful manifestation, just as the first resound of the Lord's voice as the Spirit hovered there over the unborn celestial waters.

So here now in the depths where humanity languished, where even the righteous were fated to and loom in a place somewhere between everywhere and the nine rungs of black ash and blazing fury, he breathed out his victory.

And he forged the key to buy the freedom for the captives with the words he spoke, soaked in grace and blood and resonant divine power.

"It is won."

Now, the return.


His spirit pulsed with a new power.

Revived and raised. Renewed and restored.

He stood, lifting himself from the cold hard stone. He raised his hands and the stone covering the tomb obeyed with surety and gladness, crying out in worship of the one true God and making way for him.

The sun shone that morning, the first of the great lights He formed. He smiled upon it, seeing and knowing that it was good.

Knowing that that indeed, it was finished.

288 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page