Scarlet Robe Creations

Is it only now that we see, once the beams have been stained by His blood? Is it only now that we gaze upward, wondering about a kingdom? He spoke of the realm of peace, saying it was upon us despite the world's violence, but did we see it before, catching so much as a glimpse, when he walked among the crowds? Is it only now that we see, the scars left by thorns and scourging? Is it only now that we realize the emptiness, of that which we have ignored? copyright 2026 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author https://www.goodreads.com

Jesus Bearing the Cross - James Tissot Lord, you did this for me, a cross, a crown of thorns, whipped in a courtyard. Lord, you did this for those I love, my family, friends, those who fill my prayers. Lord, you did this for my neighbor, the one who says good morning, if we pass on the street. Lord, you did this for my enemies, the one who strikes me, the one who slanders, the one who condemns me for believing in you. copyright 2026 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author https://www.goodreads.com

Mount Moriah, carrying wood and bindings, Isaac, the long awaited of Abraham, submissive to the Father, protected from the blade. Mount Moriah, Solomon picks the first stone, laid out as designed, a temple for sacrifice, the LORD's provision, a lamb without blemish. Mount Moriah, where Roman spikes impale flesh to a beam, the final lamb, the perfect son, brings the gentiles to God. copyright 2026 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author https://www.goodreads.com

Father, forgive them, they know not what they do. Hammer, spikes, a tree lifted up, a helmet of thorns piercing His flesh. Gentiles given authority by their creator. Political pawns who may one day see what they have done. Truly I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise. A thief, one thrust upward, beside the son. A lost sheep, rescued from his wandering. A promise of eternal life, for asking. Woman behold your son.  Here is your mother. Compassion,  even in the hour. A trusted companion, a son of thunder. The one who leaned close, deeply troubled, and asked about betrayal. My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Jesus quotes a psalm from of old. A song of prophecy a poem describing every wound He has chosen to bear. I thirst Mouth dried, tongue thick, He has eaten the dust of creation. Just one swallow of water, but sour wine is offered, to quench. It is finished. A ministry too short, the serpent strikes the heel. Death ends suffering for the afflicted, for the o...

Excruciating, crux of salvation, the scourging, the rough hewn beam, each fall to the hard clay, the struggle to inhale, the death of our sin. Roman torture, long and agonizing, metal balls tearing away flesh, down to the bone, thirst, and sacred blood on the wood. Excruciating, four spikes and the head of a spear. God became man and knew, every stripe, every soul, saved from damnation. copyright 2026 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author https://www.goodreads.com

The altar on a barren hill, a sacrifice, one seen as the world's victory, one brought forth by man's own sin. The altar among the sinners, gazed upon by the curious and afraid. Some have run to shelter after denial takes root. An altar of purification, crossed beams of rough hewn wood. The serpent is crushed by an act of love. The altar on a barren hill, the arms of the lamb spread wide. "Come to me," He says, "and I will give you peace." copyright 2025 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

Do you mold God to fit your world, your life, your culture? Do you shape His words to be spoken as you wish to hear? Do you see Him as an image fabricated on canvas, or choreographed by an actor pretending? Do you see a feeding trough and wonder if the saliva of animals smeared the wood before embracing a newborn, or do you simply celebrate a gift without knowing from whence it came? Do you see a mount where a prophet may have stood, speaking words heard by those with ears to hear? Do you see a basket of fish and bread and see a miracle, or do you laugh at a fable told by the simple? Do you see the cross, the tomb, the stone that has been rolled away? Do you listen to Mary as she describes an angel, or was it the rabbi, crucified, announcing life, not death? Do you mold God to fit your world? Do you consider Eden and say it is just a story, or a parable, prepared in the next breath to say the same about the resurrection? copyright 2024 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/...

He was there, unexpected. The moment wasn't planned. He would never have chosen to be victimized in such a way. Still, he was run down in the street, like a rabid dog. They could have killed him right there, but that wouldn't be as much fun. Brought before a judge who had determined his fate before ever allowing the whip to strike flesh. He carried the beam, following the others. He fell, once. No one noticed.  No one cried. No one helped him with his burden. He wasn't loved. So how is it, that he is lifted up beside the one he never listened to? Never had the man's voice interrupted his plotting. Never had he listened to a parable, or even wondered why the religious fools called him a blasphemer. And then the third curses. He taunts the one Simon of Cyrene assisted. He taunts the one for who tears were shed. He's done nothing wrong. We deserve our fate. Those thoughts hold a siege on his painfilled mind. The words leave his mouth, unplanned. What is the worst they ...

And Pilate said, "So Christ, king of the Jews, I've had you whipped and humiliated. My men have crowned you with the mockery that pierces your scalp. You are a king of thorns. Your people, who celebrated you a few days ago, plead for your death. Crucify, they taste the sweetness of the word. They no longer shout Hosanna. I have authority, by the gods of Rome. Your life is in the palm of my hand. Will you speak in your defense?" And the lamb remained silent. copyright 2002 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author From the Collection;  From Capernaum to Emmaus

If the Children should speak, what would they say, to Pontius Pilate, Judas, Caiaphas and Annas? Would they understand that the greatest good ever given to mankind comes through an act of violence? Would they understand that God saw these betrayals, denials, this political warfare before the judgement was cast? Would it scar their innocence to see the blood of their Good Shepherd spilled out from a broken vessel? If the children should speak, would they stand alone in the riotous crowd, listening to sonnets of fear, or would they shout refrains of love into the face of mockery? copyright 2018 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

Zurbaran - Lamb of God Lamb of God, offered in ransom for my soul, in place of my flesh, submitting Yourself to an agonizing death, nails, thorns, thirst, suffocation, so I might find Your father's forgiveness. You are not a burnt offering on the altars of heathens. You are flesh and blood on a cross of wood, a tree fashioned by unbelievers, erected on a hill outside the walls of Your holy city. Lamb of God, You take all hatred onto Your tortured body. A thorn for every vice, a spike for a thousand different sins. You absorb the gossip and slander of the world. You embrace the forsaken and the hopeless. You forgive every betrayal and denial, that we might draw toward You. Lamb offered in my place do not count the days of my desperate ploys to be Pilate, Judas, Caiaphas, rather remember the few moments when I have cried at Your feet, listened to Your sermons, or waved branches in the street. copyright 2017 - Donald P James Jr https:...

Hands that rubbed mud onto the eyes of a blind man and touched the sores of a leper. Hands that helped Jairus' daughter rise up from her mat and accepted a cool drink of water from a Samaritan woman. Hands that prayed over five loaves and two fishes and calmed the ocean with a simple gesture. Hands that broke bread to be shared with friends and washed their feet as a servant. Hands that prayed in Gethsemane and healed the ear of the high priests slave. Hands  that bore slivers from the wooden cross carried and soothed the women who wept. Hands that were pierced by spikes, mounted to a beam and wounded for the sake of love. Hands that were touched by those who witnessed and believed in by those with faith. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

Troubled at times, by splinters against raw wounds. The wood has no comfort in its grain. I could never do as you did. My fear would crush me before the first nail found flesh. They broke bone, infused your blood with the fiber of the tree. A sapling grown tall with purpose beyond imagination. Dark clouds hover in the sky. The moment feels emptied of life. Help my troubled heart to find solace in the new day's light. copyright 2016 - Donald P James Jr  https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

He picked up two handfuls of steel spikes from the bench.  With calloused hands he placed all but one in the leather pouch he wore around his waist.  He felt the forged body of the single nail, knowing its purpose, being an instrument of its purpose.  The sharp point at the end of the tool he placed against the delicate flesh at his wrist, between two blood vessels.  Briefly he heard the cries of agony and a shiver coursed through his bones. He placed the spike with the others and tested a hammer on the bench for weight.  The tools of his trade, hammers and nails.  He built nothing and he destroyed much. "I heard they have three prisoners for your crew today," a voice behind him said.  He turned to face the deep baritone.  An old friend graced the threshold between the two rooms of his home. "Had two... and then they added another." "All criminals, no doubt," the friend added. "Two are thieves.  The other is some kind of politica...