Jesus
The carpenter raised his hammer, and let it fall heavily on the nail he'd lined up with precision.
He smiled as it made contact: each smart tap, tap, neatly driving the flat-headed nail into the joint, securing the leg of wood to the heavy table he was working on.
Selecting a set of larger iron nails, sweat beading on his brow, he hammered the next row of joins with more force.
K-thunk, K-thunk.
The repetitive rhythm was calming, reassuring… painful?
A sudden searing flash of a future in which cruel nails would be driven into his flesh and bone, securing wounded legs to bloodied wood…
The hand of the carpenter that reached for another long nail, held between his lips, froze in mid-air.
An unrelenting thump, thump.
The cruel hammer, disregarding the writhing agony of their victim as cold iron pierced sinew and broke through flesh, securing human wrists and feet to rough wooden plinths.
The carpenter shuddered as each heavy thump resounded, echoing through his mind, as though he were already on that cross.
For a harrowing moment, he was transported to the future reserved for him. Suspended between the earth and heaven above, carrying the weight of the world…
He removed the long nail from between his lips, his throat unexpectedly parched, and let it roll on his palm.
The sweat that beaded on his brow was suddenly cold. He clenched his hands involuntarily as a chill ran down his spine. The sharp nail dug into the flesh of his hand, pricking him and drawing blood.
Inhaling deeply he shut his eyes, and slowly lowered his hands with a long exhale to the underside of the table he was building.
He tried not to think about how somewhere out there, there was a tree growing big and strong, that would be cut down and cut into pieces for him to hang on.
Clenching his jaw he ran his hands over the wood of the new table, feeling the grain. His work-calloused fingers caught on the splinters, and he made a mental note of the areas he still needed to sand down. The smooth and the rough interacted with his senses, and brought him back to the present moment in the carpentry workshop.
Once again inhaling the scent of sawdust and fresh wood, he reopened his eyes, letting them travel around the humble space.
To the side, lining the walls, were finished articles of furniture - chairs, tables, drawers, frames - objects of all kinds that he had constructed and repaired over the past few months.
As he gazed at them, he felt a surge of love. He remembered how he had taken his time with each piece, steadily planing, sanding, sawing, honing and perfecting them.
He remembered just how he had loved his work. Each object, no matter how small, was his craftsmanship, and deserved his time and attention. He wanted them to be just right for the owners they were going to next.
This table that he was crafting was the very last.
Jesus knew that the closer he came to completing it, the more slowly he worked. Whether he admitted it aloud to himself or not, he knew that it would be hard - no, it would be difficult, incredibly difficult - to tear himself away from the life he had comfortably and happily lived for the past 30 years.
The carpenter's boy was well-known and well liked. Always with a smile and a friendly word for everyone. He always did his work well– very well: he could make incredible things out of wood that looked like it would only ever be scrap– and he was surrounded by good friends.
He enjoyed life. Eating, laughing, living. People liked him. And he liked to have friends.
But he would have to leave them all once this table was complete, and be considered crazy by those to whom he was once so well beloved…
“And yet, for this purpose, I came into the world…” he exhaled, murmuring quietly.
Again he picked up and studied the long iron nail, his dark-lashed eyes heavy with sadness.
How he would have loved to continue living this life: to marry a pretty Jewish girl, have children and grow old. For a moment his eyes were dreamy, imagining not going through with it, imagining an alternative future.
Another thought, like a whisper, brought him back to himself.
If he did continue on his current path, what would those children, and that wife do when time came for them to die?
When they passed from this life to the next, just where would they go?
The carpenter frowned, his thick dark brows beetling together as he pressed his lips into a hard line.
They would be suspended, between heaven and earth, permanently. They would never be able to go into the presence of a holy God, with Adam's sin blocking the path, cutting them off from His righteousness and love.
This breach… it had to be dealt with.
The dark locks of hair that framed Jesus's face and neck swung as he shook his head.
The gulf between God and man could be spanned no other way. The fellowship between God and man could be restored no other way.
Mankind had cut himself off. He had looked for a way back, but had found himself unable to span the breach. All since Adam had been born in sin, in unbelief, through Eve's error– all of them condemned to die, and none of them able to do what was required.
A sinless birth, a sinless life… A perfect sacrifice. Man's life given for man's sin. That was what it would take.
A bridge that only the love of God, the very heart of God, God with us, Emmanuel, could carve and build.
This bridge had been foreordained before the world began. This bridge had preempted the choice of man. This bridge had felt the sting of man's regret. The burden of his desire for reconnection with God had mingled with God's desire for reconnection with him, laying the foundation for its beginning manifestation in Genesis.
This bridge was to save those foreknown by God and beloved, those who were His workmanship, but were condemned under Adam. This bridge had been slowly built and honed through the generations…
It would take time, as his craftsmanship always did, to finally perfect, but Jesus always finished what he started.
For the Grace of an eternal God had provided a Saviour before sin had even entered the picture. That whosoever should believe in Him would no longer perish, but have eternal life…
“For this purpose, I came into the world…” the carpenter repeated, this time with more steady conviction. A determined glint stole into his dark eyes, and he raised his hammer, resuming his work and the steady k-thunk, k-thunk without flinching.
He had a momentary glimpse of the future beyond the cross: a glimpse of the family of God, reunited, seated around another table, miles and miles long, with all the time in the world…
“To redeem and restore all those who will believe on me…” he smiled.
K-thunk, k-thunk.
“I have come to claim what is already mine, to pay for it in full, with my blood…”
K-thunk, k-thunk.
“Sinless, perfect, I am God's requirement for fellowship… I am the only bridge. My life for theirs. I will be the way for them. Not because they love me. But because I love them…”
K-thunk, k-thunk.
“For their sake, I sanctify myself… That where I am, they may be also. And together we will be in My glory, forever…”