Caught in the thorns

I have traveled far, so far, down a lonely road.  Brambles line the sides.  They grab at my arms as I walk.  Snagging my clothes, pulling me towards them.  At first I fight them, but then I smell the sweet aroma of the berries they produce.  I quit fighting and I step deeper into them, unaware of the sharp thorns tearing into my skin.  I am focussed solely on the fruit of these bushes.  The berries are plump and juicy.  I can't resist the allure of them.  Their taste is tangy and sweet at the same time.  Their juice stains my lips and fingers.  I gorge myself until I can eat of them no more.  Their fragrance soon becomes sickening to my senses.  I can finally feel the rips that the thorns have put into my skin.  I try and turn, make my way back to the road, but I am tangled deep.  The thorns that were easily walked into are not so easily left.

I look at my blood stained skin, the thorns dipped in red.  Suddenly they are not just my thorns, they are Christ's.  I have crowned Him in these thorns that I willingly walked into.  He suffered, bled His own blood, skin peirced by the thorns that weren't His own.  His glory forsaken, to be crowned in my sin.  His eyes, tear stained, know my pain.  I can see Him on the road.  Just waiting for me to ask, to ask to be untangled from the vines that grab. 

I can see Him, yet I stand mute in my thorns.  Why do I stand, just stand?  Stained and bleeding, torn to shreds and yet I choose to stand.