They can drape a cross with purple, gold, red or any color but it will not change the fact that Jesus became a curse for us. Every time I have seen a artists rendition of what they think the crucifixion looked like they show all three on their crosses they are shown to be way high up. But they were not very far off the ground. People walked right up to the crosses. That way people could spit on them, curse at them, scream and yell at them. For the ones hanging on the crosses they could see that relief was just a foot or two from their feet. It was Rome’s double cruelty to those on the crosses. There they hung, so close yet so far away.

The emergent ones can have their beautified crosses. They can drape it, but theirs is a false cross for their false Christ.

The cross of Jesus was not sanded down smooth and shiny. No it was rough wood, full of splinters. The only draping His cross had was His sweat and blood.

Some times we see famous people like Madonna and others wearing a cross and yet they deny Christ Jesus.

The cross was not pretty. The blood on Jesus was not “Hollywood Make-up.” His blood was poured out for me, for you, for all of the world. Without it, we could not be saved.

This is one of my favorite hymns.

There is a Fountain

There is a fountain filled with blood drawn from Emmanuel’s veins;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains.
Lose all their guilty stains, lose all their guilty stains;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains.

The dying thief rejoiced to see that fountain in his day;
And there have I, though vile as he, washed all my sins away.
Washed all my sins away, washed all my sins away;
And there have I, though vile as he, washed all my sins away.

Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood shall never lose its power
Till all the ransomed church of God be saved, to sin no more.
Be saved, to sin no more, be saved, to sin no more;
Till all the ransomed church of God be saved, to sin no more.

E’er since, by faith, I saw the stream Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme, and shall be till I die.
And shall be till I die, and shall be till I die;
Redeeming love has been my theme, and shall be till I die.

Then in a nobler, sweeter song, I’ll sing Thy power to save,
When this poor lisping, stammering tongue lies silent in the grave.
Lies silent in the grave, lies silent in the grave;
When this poor lisping, stammering tongue lies silent in the grave.

Lord, I believe Thou hast prepared, unworthy though I be,
For me a blood bought free reward, a golden harp for me!
’Tis strung and tuned for endless years, and formed by power divine,
To sound in God the Father’s ears no other name but Thine.