He Who Is Worthy To Tred The Winepress

He was flung like the opening pitch of the World Series into the stone pit. Bruised and out of breath He lays there embracing the cup that He chose to bear. In climbed His Father, almost emotionless in His face as pain flared in the back of His burning eyes. The Father lifted His foot and dropped it with force onto His Son’s chest. The Son sputtered, coughing up blood as agony writhed through His entire frame. The space was confined, a dingy wine press, painted white and often used for grapes. The spicket was open ready to receive, the overflow of wine that was about to be trod.
There is a brief second after the first blow, plans and preparation had brought them there, the Spirit of Love held them together as the air ran thick with betrayal. Another blow. This time it is to the head cracking the skull, letting scarlet run down an already agonized forehead. Another and another blow came as the Father’s feet fell heavily on His beloved Son. Amongst the bitter cries in anguish not a single complaint was uttered from the Son as His strength was spent writhing in a pool of His own blood. The Father above Him losing none of His focus began to stomp with all of His might.
His robes were immersed in crimson as the fullness of anger was unleashed upon His humble and willing Son. Pain. Pain. All there is to describe is pain. Agony and torment riddle every scream as the Son becomes a pulpy mass. In His blurred vision He sees His creation; His hearts begins beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings. He longs for them, as does His beloved Father. Redemption drives the eternal bond of love as the Father drops His foot again onto the Son’s head, another blow laden with wrath.
It goes on for hours as the level rises. Broken bones become paste while nerves shoot off in excruciation. He is all alone as He becomes one with the liquid He lies in. The Father taking tortuous pleasure in the crushing of His only Begotten continues stomping in fury for what seems hours. The wine pours forth and drains into vats marked “JUSTICE.” The vats are many and seem to keep coming as they are filled with the wine being made. It takes three days to drain, every drop collected as the wine press empties itself completely.
The Father sees His Son laying there and picks Him up. Life bursts froth from the Son as the Father plants a heavy kiss on His Son’s forehead. “Well done My Beloved Son.” The alienation fled as the union of the Love that passes knowledge flows once again between them, scars remaining declaring Lordship over heaven and earth. LOVE beats strong within the dance of Radiant Affection while the blood cries out to have its inheritance.

He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed. - 1 Peter 2:24

Who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. - Philippians 2:6-11