“Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails and put my finger into the print of the nails and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe.” John 20:25 His face looks incredibly lonesome, as if every one of His friends abandoned him in the moment of his greatest need. And sad—sad for all time. As if the weight of the whole world were upon His shoulders. There is an eternal pensiveness in His death pose. The stabbing thorns that cut so unkindly into His scalp and the blood that flowed from His head are visible, indelible. They are vivid, tangible signs of the once painful wounds that hurt no more. The gash in His side flows with blood now etched in to the cloth, running no more but visible still. A record of one final insult visited upon Him by a soldier’s side arm.

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