Nailed to the Cross He took the charge that stood against us, every ordinance, every stain. He blotted out the handwriting, and He nailed it to the tree. Not hidden. Not negotiated. Not left for us to finish. He dragged the debt into the open and killed it on the wood. Boast in the Lord. Boast in the Lamb. Boast in the blood that does not fail. The cross is the power of God to them that are saved. Foolishness to them that perish. Victory to the ones He bought. He spoiled principalities. He made a show of them openly. He triumphed over them in it. Death thought it had the last word. The grave thought it had the lock. He walked out and left the accusation pinned to the beams like a dead decree. This is the boast: not our hands, not our vows, not our record. Christ crucified. The wisdom of God. The power of God. Sin taken away. The law’s curse spent on Him. The accuser disarmed. The serpent’s head crushed under a pierced heel. Lift it high. Do not whisper it. The Son of God loved me and gave Himself for me. He became sin who knew no sin, that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him. It is finished. It is finished. It is finished. So let the weak say, I am strong. Let the poor say, I am rich. Let the dead say, I live — because He nailed the sin to the cross and left it there. No other name. No other boast. The power of God, and the cross.
