He loved us with tender love. His heart was a winepress. You and I could approach with a cup and drink therefrom.
One thing I did not use to understand in Jesus: He would make merry with His listeners; He would tell jests and play upon words, and laugh with all the fullness of His heart, even when there were distances in His eyes and sadness in His voice. But I understand now.
I often think of the earth as a woman heavy with her first child. When Jesus was born, He was the first child. And when He died, He was the first man to die.
For did it not appear to you that the earth was stilled on that dark Friday, and the heavens were at war with the heavens?
And felt you not when His face disappeared from our sight as if we were naught but memories in the mist?