Man of Sorrows

Our Creator Became the Man of Sorrows

I woke this morning with the song “The Son of Suffering” echoing in my heart.

I don’t like suffering.

I try to avoid it at every turn.

Yet Jesus—perfect, holy, God in flesh—became the Man of Sorrows.

The One who holds the whole spinning world in His hands.

The One who breathed galaxies into being.

The very One who commands seas to hush and winds to still—

before whom even stones ache to sing.

He is King of kings, enthroned above all rulers.

Yet.

He saw your unformed body.

He knit together your hidden parts.

He numbers every strand of hair.

He bottles every tear as if it were treasure.

This is an intimate God.

He loves you in your shining best.

He loves you in your shattering worst.

And still—He became the Son of Suffering.

He came near.

He became one of us.

He could have left us to sink in our own undoing.

He could have remained distant, untouched by our ache.

But that is not the way of a good Father.

Philippians 2:7 whispers the wonder:

“Jesus, though fully God, emptied Himself, taking the form of a servant, being made in human likeness.”

A servant.

Our Creator bent low—

stooping to wash dirt from feet,

to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with the broken,

to pass bread to sinners,

to seek out the ones the world had cast aside.

And He bore the weight of suffering—yours, mine, the world’s—

so that in His breaking, we might be made whole.

The Son of Suffering chose the cross.

And in choosing the cross—He chose you.

For “greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.”

Jesus was friend to the sinner.

Servant to you and to me.

Sacrifice for the guilty.

He became the offering that heals every wound,

the Lamb whose suffering breathes life into the dead.

And because He was pierced, we are made whole.

Because He suffered, we live.

Because Christ bent low in suffering, we can rise in hope.